Thursday, January 21, 2010

This it is...This is Now...Now This Is...This is It

Trampling over long lost leaves
crumbling felt; nothing heard
she came to the place where she stopped
she found no more a reason to continue
all hope was lost
gone in an instant
a minute past living

AS all around her the vision had unfolded
knowing that the energy cycle had expired
she had not want to continue
her dog was dead
all else was dying
left in a heap
a mass of inert

Time to recall when and how the universe quits
A culling time; a time to cull; return to harvest
the chaff from the grain
since all the seed has been eaten up
by ugly badgers
Honey Lonely admitting to herself
this dying thing
i abhor the most
she prayed for transformation
or transfiguration would be better
since her waist had thickened
allowing herself
the thing to come upon her
like a thief in the night
it stole the images from her sight
and the memories for her alabastar jar
where she had kept her face

all around the her the rose bowers bent over
saddened by fate
if only she had known
flowers felt such pain
she never would have pricked herself
by the garden gate
it was too late to cry
tears were dried up
soft sobs gave way to a silent era
of forgetfulness by the sea
when all of a sudden
there were no more
or feelings found
as if all life had been
but a dream

she was alone in her misery
too many broken cups and broken promises
silly sally collected herself
picked herself up
and became
one with the universe once again

as she took upon the unfolding
of her dirty laundry
she held her breath
when there was no need
witholding her breath
for even a moment
for time had run out
and what was left?

unused and compacted space bent around her
looking up at the epigee she saw bright lights
coming down from the tower
then a triumphant sound of trumpets (what else?)
from a brand new heaven
an new earth and possibly a new
Martwal (getting use to the new negative gamma world)
is there and you are there
just reversed like in some photographic negative
of years ago
black and white
not liked as much
as colour prints
since we can now live in HD
and 3D and beyond
just why can't you living hear me
when I shout?

jj 21 01 10


  1. Lots of misery in beautiful wording. Nice poem Thanks for visiting me. That house on my blog was in Holland. Are you from a dutch background as well or do you just happen to have dutch shoes
    have a nice weekend

  2. Dear Marja: Your blog is wonderful, and so nostalgic. I am dutch in spirit! My landlord was Amish, I lived on a farm and had my clogs which I called my dutch shoes. I love the Dutch they are a heart-felt people. Always wanted real wooden dutch shoes and also love travelling in Amish areas, like Holland Michigan etc. Have lots of Dutch friends. Father in law helped free Holland. And of course there is Vincent Van Gogh!

  3. Marja: I forgot to ad: if beauty comes from misery than it is refined in the fire of love, oh thanks for commenting on my've made my day...:)