STAR OF LOVE
Dressed in heav'nly blue and yellow
A star came glittering to my eye,
A star in colours bright and shallow,
Fallen from an unknown sky.
I can hear, I can near her,
I could touch that little star,
But, like Job, I too must suffer,
For the distance is too far.
Little star, with pupils shining,
Satin skin and silken hair,
To you I bow, my head declining,
To your beeing, pure and fair.
Blinded by your blessed beauty,
I don't dare to raise my head,
For I'll never want to show ye
all the tears my love has shed.
MARIE - LOUÏSE
Give me a paper, give me a pen,
I want something to write
about the girl in the whoolly white dress,
With whom I danced last night.
She is small and vivacious, a little bit spacious,
Her biggest feature being her heart,
And beautiful, too, is her lovely long hair,
And her eyes catch your from the start.
Her name, Marie - Louïse, is dear to us all
who are fed up with spinsterly sisters,
Whose hair is as short as their noses are long,
And whose voices shout eardrums to blisters.
A woman she's truly a jewel to price,
Her love and her friendship have value,
I hope she will write to me now and again,
I'll answer in volumes, I tell you.
KAMAL
Walking trough the fields and valleys,
Staring at the scenes around,
I discovered, amidst trees and bushes
a little flower on the ground.
Little flower, O, so prescious,
Amomgst stones and grass and weeds,
You are, with your shiny colour,
The fulfiller of my needs.
With my hungry eyes I search your
straight-up stem and spotless leafs,
All that meets me is perfection.......
I am jealous, 'fraid of thieves.
I am anxious to see you blooming,
Sowing seeds and multiplied,
Then, some years there'll be a garden,
Flowers plenty, colours bright.
Little lotus, pretty flower,
Please don't take this poem bad,
--text missing--
*) Kamal is the name of an Indian girl. The meaning is "Lotus"
STAR OF LOVE
Dressed in heav'nly blue and yellow
A star came glittering to my eye,
A star in colours bright and shallow,
Fallen from an unknown sky.
I can hear, I can near her,
I could touch that little star,
But, like Job, I too must suffer,
For the distance is too far.
Little star, with pupils shining,
Satin skin and silken hair,
To you I bow, my head declining,
To your beeing, pure and fair.
Blinded by your blessed beauty,
I don't dare to raise my head,
For I'll never want to show ye
all the tears my love has shed.
DESERT
In the desert named Sahara
a man is walking without guide.
Thursty for wather, hungry for food,
but he has not even
an ass on which to ride.
In the desert called "lonely"
my mind is walking aimless round.
Thirsty for caresses, hungry for love.
But I have not even
a ring that keeps me bound.
NO ANSWER.....
They asked me how my children are,
I answered:
I do not have any.
They asked me, am I not married then ?
I answered:
I'm not.
They asked me, am I yet engaged ?
I answered,
No.
They asked me,do I have a girls love ?
And I kept silent.
What answer could I give ?
LOVELETTER
Do you know what it is, not be able to sleep ?
To lay continually awake, with a feeling that digs deep
into your mind ?
Have you ever thus sincerely passionately been enamoured
with a heart that seemed to burst and banging, boiling hammered
in every vein ?
No, this is not mere carnal desire, for that is easily to satisfie.
With open purse and closed mind one can fly
in bodily crazes.
No, the feeling that I cherish is the sure knowledge that penetrates
into every fibre of my brain, the love that not degenerates,
but lifts up a man.
The certainty, of having, after long search, met at last
the only creature who is worthy, that which I value most in th'past:
My freedom.
Yes, I'd gladly give that up to see that torturing but blessed vision
realised, and bound to me for life.
Without you I'd ever be a wanderer and it's my firm decision,
to do all possible to make of you my wife.
Of course you can deny me, you can refuse my plea.
Yet please, my dear, remember, that a happy life awaits you.
With me.
CHOOSE....
Would I have an absoluti NO
I'd know
to curse my self.
Would I have a positive YES
I'd bless
the girl I love.
But to doubt with reasonless hope,
to grope
my way to you.
Not being able to tell, not knowing
whether going
to heaven or to hell.
Is worse than I deserve, so choose
and loose
or gain my worthless name.
DRUNK
Tonight I had a lot to drink,
I conciously cuased my conscience to shrink.
Every thought I banished from my brain
in trying to erase my hertborne pain.
I listen to music, I watch and join the dance,
in order to forget an unanswered love.
My mind is diffused,
all reason abused,
I drink whisky, I drink beer.
But yet I cannot stop to wish
that SHE, my beloved where here.
Voices of the present are mingling
with cries of the past.
and though I am far gone I know it cannot last.
After a few hours I'll wake up with pain in my head.
But nothing can ever describe the unruly pain
which makes me so often get fed.
BITTERSWEET
How you have filled
my every thought,
all hours of the day.
How you have killed,
how you made sour,
my heart which once was gay.
You walk beside me in the street,
and even touch my head.
When I truly quietly to rest,
but stay awake in bed.
I see you sit, I see you stand,
I watch you all night long.
And I can't rest before my hand
creates another song.
I cannot stop to write your praise,
it's all that now is left me.
It's all that that softens craze,
for you, my love.
SCHÖNES LIEBEN
Die Liebe gibt mir Schmerzen,
nur Du bist in meinem Herzen.
Du hattest mich ganz erfült,
meine Liebe ist night gekült.
***
Mein ganzer Leib zittert,
er had gewittert
dein Wesen von nabei.
Mein Kopf ist zerstört,
er hört
nur Deine geliebten Töne.
Mein Herz zerbricht,
es spricht,
nur Dir kann ich gehören.
TALE OF A BOOKWORM
Last week I was chased from my home,
where I'd lived for at least twenty years.
'T was done with the purpose of cleaning,
for the place was full dust, dirt and smears.
All that time I had lived very quietly,
on a diet which was barely enough.
I had burried myself in pamphlets and books,
of which most was pure medical stuff.
Fot I've nothing to do with those people,
who devour only fictional trash.
Or who specialise in spoiling blanc paper,
'cause they know not to read point nor dash.
I have "hypertension"and "fevers",
I have crawled trough "ear, nose and throat".
I was carried away once with "surgery"
in a pocket of doctors' white coat.
I was working on a "textbook of medicine",
when the broom swept me clear out of space,
and landing on a copy of "The Lancet",
I got a very unpleasant surprise.
The books I had gone trough were years out of date,
all treatments were long since replaced.
Instead of on purges and clismas they are
on anti-biotics now based.
***
The books which I used now stand still in a row,
yet they stand, they are not thrown away.
While the trash of their age lies forlorn in a heap,
they are valuable, even today.
They are curious to look at, so strangely remote,
out of touch with what presently lives.
And since I think no one will touch them again,
I shall quietly go back in their leafs.
ARISE !
The day is waiting full of joy,
arisingwith a new-lit sun.
Come outside, children, girl and boy.
Come in the field and let's have fun.
Let's dance and let's enjoy Gods blessing,
so plentyfully spread for all.
Let's laugh, let's live, our soul undressing,
open to our Nature's call.
We shall not wait, we'll rise this instand,
for the day of life has little time.
We'll emerge in daylight like an infant,
without blemish, without crime.
We'll walk the fields of Gods creation.
We'll dance our way through life, and love.
For we are free, and so's the Nation,
of Man on earth, and God is above.
THE LITTLE GIRL IN THE SHOOTING TENT
Strolling through a little village
I was thoughtless, without heart
for I'd lost that to an image
which seemed hopeless from the start.
Suddenly my eyes were drawn
to a corner of the square.
Not 'ny longer I went as forlorn,
'cause a shooting tent stood there.
And in the shooting tent, quite lonely,
stood a lovely little maid
hand'ling rifles, counting money,
looking handsome, fresh and straight.
Needing a diversion badly
I walked up and shot some points.
And like wine that was too heady,
was the movement of her joints.
Though she only counted fourteen
her slim figure was complete,
my eyes her breasts and hips devouring,
I was filled with sexual greed.
But, alas, I could not have her,
against were moral, time and place.
And ere long I ceased to bother,
gave her up, and hit my face.
THE SHOOTING STAR
It's night and high upon a hill
I sit and look around.
The air is pure, all life lies still,
I sit, and hear no sound.
The silence, entering my head,
expells all noisy thoughts.
Exept the one it feeds instead,
of the love I long had sought.
With open eyes, awake, I dream,
I'm staring in the night.
But what I see as a lighting gleam
is a softly shining sight.
in the stars I see her brilliant eyes,
in a tree her silhouette.
The rushing wind brings me her voice,
from the moon her smile I get.
A rock, lying solid in the sands,
her inner strongness shows.
While not too far another stands,
with similar lines and flawes.
My gaze, first swerving idly in search,
to these grey rocks keeps bound.
O lord, on rocks you build your church,
let on these my house be founded.
A shooting star cuts through the speres
as I lay down to sleep.
The Lord up high has heard my prayers,
and thanking Him, I weep.