On hostile grounds

Did my best to make it happen,

lost all the hours by being me.

Said Yes to all the shout-outs,

emptied my pockets, gave away the key.

Old friends just being grateful,

different leaves, but we're from the same tree.

No hurt, no pain, no suffer divides us,

on love, respect, and privacy we agree

Taking a gamble to look further,

beyond the roots of old friends.

Walking into a new orchard,

uncertain where freedom ends.

Being open, being bounteous,

trying to grow on new grounds.

Trying to hear the word friendship,

just not knowing how it sounds.

The old trees on the land,

move differently in the wind.

Cloudy, mystique messages,

spreading the feeling I have sinned.

Planted shallow into infertile soil,

reaching out to the sun.

Taking their shadow for granted,

grasping out to be part of their fun.

It takes a lifetime of learning,

finding a way to enjoy the fruits.

It takes a lot of swallowing pride,

before the first root shoots.

Old achievements don't count,

there's a new chain-gang blues to sing.

I will do all, and all for free,

but not for nothing.

*****

Left with the truth..

I left some footprints in my home town,

some gravity on our old school's wall.

I left some pocketknife cutting marks

at the old tree in front of city hall.

I Left my first kiss on the cheek

of a giggling girl in first grade.

I left my nuclear power protest sticker

next to the spot where my tag was sprayed

I left my childhood at the cemetery,

at the spot where we said my dad goodbye.

I left my boy scout uniform in a buried box,

the minute I realized most of life is a lie.

I left my grown-up dreams and goals,

rolled up in my graduation certificate.

I left my middle-class opportunities

becoming just a slave seemed inadequate.

I left home and found another,

a different country, a different life.

I left the foolish thoughts on success behind,

knowing breathing and love is all to survive.

I left all the falls politeness for just being that,

found the joy in mixing my wandering footsteps with dirt.

I left being scared of sarcasm and rebellion poetry acts,

knowing nothing, maybe some, knowing, knowing truth would hurt.

*****

I was here..

I don't think that much

I just feel the irony in being here

I don't deduct a lot of grieve

I just add the hours of light to be being me.

I don't create my surroundings

I just except the elusive dimensions that are

I don't beg for love and compassion

I just offer my heart-unlocking key.

I don't shout so loud

I just whisper convinced I'm not noticed anyway

I don't watch that far ahead

I just see my footsteps fading away in history.

*****

And she got scared

afraid to show her scarfs

And she got worried

reluctant to express her grieve

And she got angry

frustrated about the disbelieve

And she gave up

trying to be a hero

And she got silent

swallowing her pride

And she found shelter

a smiling face to hide

And she lived on

thickening her skin

And she kept moving

walking along the edge

And she tried forgetting

her heart divided with a wedge

And she just avoided them

all these painful encounters

And she thought she had left

the depressive days behind

But she just didn't make it

escaping from a troubled mind

*****

I am the childless son

of an only son who I never really got to know

because at the age of ten, I became the last.

What I wanted yesterday is forgotten.

What I want today is irrelevant.

Tomorrow I want something else anyway.

I am a free man

next to a righteous woman who I really know

because from that first moment we became one.

Gratefully living in the shining of her being.

Thinking behind the blinding curtains of my brain.

Surrounded by chaos in the darkness of my worried mind.

I am the prisoner

of my own pretended fear

for all undeserved bright moments and good feelings.

A stranger among strangers, a friend among friends.

The inspirator among young ones, a dreamer among the responsible old.

A good listener among the hurt, the sarcastic one among those complaining.

I fit in with the non-fittable ones, trying to fix the unfixable.

Turning with the windmills in my mind, fighting the battle with the future.

Aware of unseen dimensions, denying rational but unfair boundaries.

I am a part of all, a piece of the broken,

taken apart and being reassembled, lost hope and found it back.

A nightmare survivor.

A daydream believer.

I am responsible for all.

I am not responsible for all.

I am, deal with it.

*****

Silently on the banks of the Zêzere

just watching the water flow.

Passing towns, dams and bridges

from a far away Galicia into the river Tejo.

Water filled with tears of joy

rolled of an emotional bride's cheeks.

She's saying yes to married life,

dreams of sex while the priest still speaks.

The waves reflect the sound

of far gone music, dance, and laughter

For their love and their compassion

suffered a steep decline thereafter.

Hilltops became small islands

in a human-constructed lake.

The river gave a sailors funeral

to the village life that was at stake.

Down in the darkness of the valley

some pins still on a clothesline.

An ox plow buried under algae

the little roadside chapel became a shrine.

All memories are flushed to the sea

scattered by a high fall at the dam

for now, there's just a quiet surface

hiding a tragic historic scam.

Where roads stop at the waterfront

and boats are launched to float

an old woman is imagining herself

the times when she didn't have a vote.

Silently on the banks of the  Zêzere

just watching the water flow.

Passing towns, dams, and bridges

from a far away Galicia into the river Tejo.

*****

Day of All Saints

I can feel depressive columns coming up

Early darkness scaring away the brightness

I can feel the need for coffee and candlelight

Sweet dreams of summer replaced by nothingness

I can feel the drowning of positive views

Rats and mise nestling in the attic for the obvious

I can feel the energy leaving thru fingertips

Black thoughts before reality, it seems ridiculous

I can feel that yearly beginning of the winter war

Realizing the foolishness of my sadness

I can feel the evil in flames of burning wood

wandering around in a surreal wilderness

I can feel the need for writing it all down

A day of all Saints, without any holiness

I can feel that force to close the curtains

Back in that cocoon, maybe it’s just selfishness

I can feel the weakness of a worried mind

Nervous about the manipulated consciousness

I can feel the support and she’s very kind

Just can’t seem to handle all the tenderness

*****

So you thought blue skies were a bad sight

with clear views on the land and crops

sun-glass brightness and a moon at midnight

blooming life when the rain wet’s the rooftops

So you thought black clouds were depressing

with thunder, lightning and shivering storms

raincoats, boots, because you’re just guessing

about the intentions of the men in uniforms

So you thought green fields were a certainty

the toxic air you breathe just an imaginable scam

the scarce water wouldn’t make you thirsty

the rising of the sea just a tv program

So you thought orange would be the colour

being egoistic and rude will get you by

convinced about the religion of the Dollar

let me tell you again, again, it’s all a lie

I know my friends about the orange sky

the devastating greed of wind and fire

the flames that burn down all you love

by than blue or black sky’s is all you desire

*****

I’m not a pessimist, I just don’t see the light

I’m not depressed, I just ran out of pleasure

I’m not sidetracked, there’s just no horizon insight

I’m not poor, I just didn’t find that promised treasure.

I’m not the one, not the one they say I should be

I’m not hiding, just not that extravagant and colourful

I’m not silent, I’m not loud, although I mostly disagree

I’m not the one that’s being blind-sided and disrespectful

I’m not scared, not at all

I’m not angry, by no means

I’m not on a high horse, for sure I’d fall

I’m not down, only confused it seems.

*****

The highway of dreams disappeared overnight
new raised borders kept us from driving on
No rock or blues on the radio, not even soul
the pursuit of a youthful journey was gone

The waiting until we were old enough to go

was bearable because of our adventures dream

We would concur the world by driving the roads

as far as our wheels would take us as a team

But as we grew up the world changed a lot

horizons closed-up by religion and greed

The only road we could drive on without fear

was a roundabout so we couldn’t get up to speed

Daring junctions were taken by just a few of us

the team turned out to be a gathering of the scared

As lonely souls, we kept moving in circle’s

afraid of the unknown, completely unprepared

School turned out to be a total waste of time

a senseless drivers license so we wouldn’t cross the lines

Educated to shift, brake, stop and drive backward

to be an adult, responsibly and follow the signs

The highway of dreams disappeared overnight

new raised borders kept us from driving on

No rock or blues on the radio, not even soul

the pursuit of a youthful journey was gone

*****

While arms are raised straight

at a portrait, we thought had faded out

While evil men repeat speeches out of dark days

and frightening symbols are worn with proud

While the innocents are imprisoned

and sometimes even shot out of fear

While humanity becomes a luxury for the elite

and their evil power gaining plans become clear

This doorstep is still hidden from that ugly world,

but the front door will be open you hear...

I can't offer more than my compassion and love,

just know my friend your welcome to hide here....

While barbwire fences are marking the line

and walls are built high as the sky....

While shiny brushed boots are marching again

If you're running I won't ask you why.....

While the masses are believing the lies

and are repeating the final countdown

While narcissists and racists get in charge...

and Soldiers of Odin are hunting you down

While friendship is the only thing to hold on

and there's little to nothing left to loose

While respect and freedom are stolen

and survival is the only option to choose...

This doorstep is still hidden from that ugly world,

but the front door will be open you hear...

I can't offer more than my compassion and love,

just know my friend your welcome to hide here....

While barbwire fences are marking the line

and walls are built high as the sky....

While shiny brushed boots are marching again

If you're running I won't ask you why.....

While the world is divided by rich and poor

your home no longer warm and safe

While poison is replacing your food

and being born just a journey to the grave

While all good we've known turns into bad

and crossing borders becomes a privilege

While darkness brings back medieval times

and violence becomes the universal language

This doorstep is still hidden from that ugly world,

but the front door will be open you hear...

I can't offer more than my compassion and love,

just know my friend your welcome to hide here....

While barbwire fences are marking the line

and walls are built high as the sky....

While shiny brushed boots are marching again

If you're running I won't ask you why.....

As I was searching for something trivial.

I found a secret that shouldn’t have to be.

It felt like an embarrassing encounter,

with somebody else's fantasy.

Now the knowledge is stored in my brain,

but this wasn’t for my eyes to see.

I understand the need to pursue those moments,

as I do the same in an extended degree.

Life goes on, new conventions planted,

time fades away with tradition as a referee.

Feeling guilty although there’s nothing wrong,

accused of treason, just because I disagree.

The mind works, using dirty tricks,

simply forgetting is not a guarantee.

Memories stacked upon imagination,

the little secret is safely buried in me.

*****

Sunday morning blues...

First foot out,

touching reality.

Live underneath a blanket,

safeguarded confidentiality.

Second foot exposed,

strike two for the floor.

No hiding from the cold,

it’s not a poetic metaphor.

Slowly bending over,

first sock on.T

he second one,

an early morning phenomenon.

Twenty steps away from coffee,

the battle starts again.

No noise or swearing

got to act like a gentleman.

Kettle on the stove,

the weather forecast on TV.

Deliberately empty bottle,

Repsol is terrorizing me.

Decisions are to be made,

back to bed or be a man.

Changing the orange bottle,

or go back to where all began.

The sun is out,

it won’t be cold,

A one socked naked body,

embarrassment to unfold.

While manhood retracts,

carrying a heavy load.

Eyes starring from a window,

last bit of pride is swallowed.

Connected orange energy,

flames underneath a kettle.

The smell of brewing coffee,

worthwhile the early morning battle.

Brown gold poured,

seeing different dimensions,

back to the living,

with a cup full of good intentions.

*****

Sunday morning blues the 2nd...

When it feels like you’ve watched a sad movie the night before,

and cold rain is washing of those dried-up tears.

When you know the scripted killings didn’t happen for real,

but still, the images come back when the morning appears.

When it feels like the blankets were full of needles,

hunting you down in that scary and worrying dream.

When daylight lets you realize it was just a nightmare,

the one besides you shivers from that awakening scream.

When it feels like reality abandoned you for a while,

and daily routine takes over to camouflage depression.

With an early morning shot of nicotine and a taste of coffee,

that comforting smile is inviting you for an hounest confession.

When it feels like darkness becomes an unwanted companion,

nights are long, days get short and lights are low.

Sharing bed, blankets, breakfast, and an ashtray

is the ultimate lifebuoy to stay out of the cold shadow.

First day coming home.

Empty house under a dark sky.

Lack of conversation,

to remarks, there’s no reply.

The first of ninety-nine more.

Exclusive demolition of hope,

by the robbing bunch of elected evil.

I’m just counting days, keeping score,

seeking shelter behind a barricaded door

*****

Second day, an early morning sun.

A short night of facing demons,

washed away with black gold. 

Not challenged to leave, I won’t run,

solid walls between me and out there,

but even in here, it feels cold.

The second of ninety-eight more.

A need to make, creativity on hold,

The door is open, just three steps down,

a simple walk to distracting tools.

Tomorrow will be another day,

Playing the role as king of fools.

*****

Third day, early morning fog, 

still, ninety-seven left, 

on the calendar of being half.

A struggling sun, a sleeping dog,

3 strings on my knee,

social media is having a laugh.

Seeking for words to hold on,

but the Dutch I used to know,

is turned into sounds I don’t get.

The world that once was, foregone,

language a bastardization of expression,

their way of communicating feels like a threat.

Missing the one who understands,

the words we don’t express.

For all I know is the comfort of pain,

the uncomfortableness of compliments

and the love that makes them bearable.

*****

The fourth day, slow start to

whatever the intentions

of the world might be.

Ninety-six days of thoughtless surviving, 

untightened is something different,

then actually being free.

Could it be a crime,

fantasizing a different reality,

to kill the voices of despair.

Repercussions after holding

that gun single-handed,

randomly shooting bullets in the air.

For what is loyalty worthy of,

when it doesn’t feel like 

a difficult achievement.

Where does the glorification 

of pain come from, while there’s

no reason for punishment.

*****

The fifth day, getting used to being

all the exceptions to the rules.

Obviously under-equipped, 

when it comes to mental tools.

Ninety-five days of future ahead.

It seems the rain is a good companion,

when reading a note from far away.

No protection, getting undressed instead.

Seeking for a message in the northern wind,

and flying needles to be awake today.

For sure, I see the world is beautiful.

I even notice good intentions.

I’m hearing those comforting words and

relentless efforts to offer solace in understanding.

If ever the soundlessness of expressionless looking eyes,

would be silent enough to reflect my internal dissensions.

Maybe those eyes could just observe my curing 

without religious moralistic misapprehending.

*****

The sixth day, it will be a long one.

As the night was short due to misbehaving

of summer-related creatures.

Itching skin, blood-sucking devils,

fighting back but of course, they won.

Open wounds while shaving,

Scars as character murdering features.

Ninety-four days of overheating,

the worst season is to blame.

A solitary war against the shame,

prepared to take some serious beating.

How I adore the silence of the cold;

when laughter sounds so much more intense.

Embracing hot and buzzing summer nights

to me it makes absolutely no sense

*****