Lyrik

sounds of the wood

every morning
I set off early
and run along the river
my outings now restricted
always the same music in my ears
always the same song over the bridge
always the same song passing the kiosk
closed for shutdown
I run like a fugitive fleeing from my too narrow world
Into the town woods
which are gradually dressing for spring
anticipating the May dance in lime green
the musicians already practising
tuning their instruments
tweeting and trilling in all registers
the woodpecker drums the beat
leaves rustle like snare brushes
I take off my headphones
hear  only silence at first
then slowly my ear
retunes from the hard electrobeats
to the sounds of the wood
I listen
feel every note deep within me
my bloodstream vibrates
expands in waves
I am a part of it
I am

inside the snail shell

inside the snail shell
circling around the brittle point
at which your voices begin to blur
withdrawal leads to tightness
and fragile voices crackle
be reflected in your thoughts
palpate your feelings
free enmeshed memories
with a gentle hand
and shy away
when facing your strange self
inside the snail shell
circling around the brittle point
unwinding again
out towards the straight path
the goal oriented path
towards the athletes
strong and unwavering
when the earth trembles quietly
under confident footsteps
the soft, slimy body crawls on
pulling  behind its trail
straight lines
disappear into nothingness

searching

a dull glugging sounds
from far below
at the end of the stairway
old and tired
as if it had already sounded for a thousand years
lingering a while on every step
I climb down
to learn the reason
a wet cold slowly crawls into my bones
as I see it
the wave
as it rolls out to sea
before it comes back
it resounds
as blue wetness hits the stone
which carries pore for pore eternal stories
sitting now I listen
with one eye always on
the twinkling surface of the water
and listen to these stories
before descending the steps
step by step
searching
for a dull glugging

shimmering chamber

Wait for me
You said, my friend
In your voicemail this morning
no need to wait
you are with me
you have a place in my heart
which has many chambers
luckily
you live in the tiny one
hidden deep down inside me
shining with shimmer of gold

birthday table

seeking
a suitable tree stump
we wander along
the needle covered paths
of the woodland
you
my accomplice
and I
like robin’s outlaws
once did in sherwood forest
stop
the flat hand tells me
a perfect spot
for our secret birthday party
steel clad thermos cup
filled with tea
green tea still quietly steaming
four pieces of sponge cake with grated apple
arranged on square paper plates
a birthday table
for me

mountain peaks at sunset

like the rim of a soup plate
over which you
spilled freshly squeezed grapefruit juice
as though you quite accidentally
knocked the glass carafe
at the breakfast table
there they stand
a thousand years of stillness
unimpressed by the world and its problems
they shroud themselves
in the grapefruit clouds
like ithe covers
you pull tight under your chin
just before falling asleep
I feel exhausted
tired by the beauty
the world seems to exude
thinking of my bed
I take my hands from the railings
and steal barefoot over the slatted balcony boards
it is
as though I shut them out
the grapefruit clouds
which hang over the mountain peaks
as soon as I turn the brass clad door knob
into closed position
at least I offer them one thing
my last thoughts
as I pull the covers tight under my chin
just before falling asleep

running as flight (a haiku quartet)

bare feet accustom
to the burning -hot asphalt
metre by metre

a place to have drinks
nestles quietly in the spring
covered in foliage

bread crumbs are floating
on the mirrored lake-surface
a love song for ducks

following the path
the clouds I can see up above
are starting to lift

inseparable (with thanks to hermann hesse and to lola)

strange to walk with you in the fog
in the half-light of dawn
wading through milky soup
breathing creamy white frothy air
which weightlessly drives away retreating night shadows
out here in the park
whilst inside those drunk with sleep sluggishly
lick the sweet cappuccino beard
from their damp lips
behind the seductively yellow warm
shapes in the grey – dark house walls
strange to walk with you in the fog
in the half-light of dawn
when black branches feel
the pale grey heaven like the blind
and silently reach for us
when the fleeing ghosts of the night
come towards us with sombre looks
then the red strap offers security
as does that other thing
that invisible thing
born out of love and trust and time

strange to walk with you in the fog
in the half-light of dawn
your gaze dimmed with age
can’t see the shining eyes
of the lurking cat
your old-dog’s ears no longer startle
at the rustling of rats in the bushes
with your nose in the damp leaves
you breathe in the world
as if drunk on a strong smell of earth
with a touch of mustiness and urine
you stagger along beside me gently wagging your tail
strange to walk with you in the fog
in the half-light of dawn
each bush and stone is solitary
no tree sees the other
each is alone
only we two
we are inseparable
together

The fly fisherman

erect
like a tree
he stands in the cold March water
motionless
like a stake
to which you tether your boat
when it grows dark
when the black depths of the night
turn our hearts to lead

he casts wide
lets the rod swing over the water
in regular sweeps
around him
who is the centre
around him
who is the navel
round which life circles infinitely

erect
like a tree
he stands in the cold March water
only his hand moves
barely visible
in silent symphony

the peat brown river still wears
its misty white night clothes
at this early hour
blinking sleepily in the morning sun
with a smile to the waves
he enjoys this fragile moment
of intimacy
of oneness
of man and nature

balancing act

early in the morning
when the woods
are still empty
I balance along
a thin tree branch
which the winter storm
placed on the path
to set us a trap
once it gets warm
and we emerge from our holes

with wide outstretched arms
like a tightrope walker
I carefully
very carefully
place one foot in front of another
start to wobble
try to find balance
with wild twisting and turning
what a strange dance up there

fifteen centimetres above ground
I slide off
time and time again
it seems hopeless
until days later
I recognise
that everything is quite easy
if you don’t hesitate
but set off decidedly
speedily
looking at the tree tops as though it were the easiest thing in the world

sharing

my mobile sounds its usual tune
whilst I feel vibrations on my stomach
there’s a message
my girlfriend at the other end
there in prenzlau
sends me a sound file
a song as a present
for tonight
wrapped in the black cloak of the night sky
a moment
that we can share
without touching or exchanging looks

the constant knowledge
of being connected
is as tangible
as the floorboards my toes can feel

distance

greetings
via whatsapp
sent on your birthday
as the law says
we can’t be together
the law meant
to protect us from infection

the days will come again
no mask
no distancing
just wait a little
for closeness
an embrace under a blue sky
wait a little
for me

beyond fear

they are a little wobbly on their legs
both of them
the one still
the other again
they walk hand in hand
stop occasionally
grandmother and grandchild
secretly
together in the woods

what a peaceful moment of total happiness

grandmother and grandchild
hand in hand
the two of them
an ordinary scene
actually
now becoming
the defiant symbol
of a love
that conquers our fear of death

my ventilator

every day you send me a song
via
whatsapp
I sing with you
via whatsapp
sway my smartphone to the beat
we sing together against loneliness
the wasteland within me
we sing together against sadness
the black sea within me
we sing together against fear
of illness and death
every day you send me a song
offer wings to my lungs
are my ventilator
when I gradually run out of breath