Enjoying nature and photography.
Hoch hinauf auf steilen Schrofen
schreite ich dem Schmerz davon
der sich einen Weg erschlich
ins Herz, ein scharfer Stich,
einwärts gekehrt quer ich
zum schmalem Pfad
zum scharfen Grat, bin frei, endlich.
Ein kleiner Stoß, ich fliege los
Gedanken brechen aus,
aus ihren Runden raus,
der Grat verschwunden, ungebunden
schweb ich hier in Dunkelheit –
es tut mir Leid.
And all is lost in a storm, of something sinister.
The Feeling of Losing Everything, Archive
They swarm in hundreds from below,
trudge through the meadows in a row,
to infiltrate the sacred realm,
to irritate, to overwhelm
the residents below the sky
who simply sigh and shy away –
their habitat is in decay
because of mankind's holiday.
Drawn to the void inside
alloyed by sweat and tears,
in search for heavy feet
and pure joy on repeat.
I only fear the laziness
while trying to escape the years
to find instead the emptiness
out there, wide landscapes all around,
a place where thoughts do have no doubt.
Two marmots twist
until one bails,
an Ibex roams
across the trails,
sweet memories
so long ago
do only grow.
A brief break
to take a breath,
a brake in life
to take a step
back, two steps
onwards,
as soon awaits the biting cold –
so, take your skates,
roll out and trust:
yourself,
and the ice shelf,
through faded sceneries
where bare trees house
jaded starlings
left alone
within the snow,
I am still watching, though,
behind the door,
while the world awaits outside.
Halb acht, die Nacht vorbei, der Tag erwacht, du bist dabei, die Dunkelheit wird weggefegt, Trübsal vergeht wenn man aufsteht mir dir, mein Kopf verdreht von dir, der Alltag lacht dank dir, schier unfassbare Lust zu lieben, leben, hier zu sein, Frust weicht, mir scheint mir gehts ganz gut, mir scheint dir auch – das tut ganz gut, just keine Zeit reicht aus mit dir im Haus, ich glaub durchaus da wird was draus.
Wind whistles harshly from afar, night settles gently, au revoir dear Portugal, dear distant star, each day filled up my memoir with fragments of divided beams, with rock-formations, quite bizarre, with ocean waves and short-lived streams of water flowing as in dreams, a never ending love, it seems, another round, the earth gets drowned, and in the distant is unbound a nightjar calling out his sound; sweet memories still float around.
A tempting shimmer, often bright and sometimes dimmer, tiny twinkles, shiny flickers, mighty seas of jolly glimmer, gently waving in the wind, often aligned, yet intertwined, thin blades on fire, in shades refined, ensnare the mind, tether the eyes, mankind inclined to stay right here, witness the rustling, bustling weeds, small beads pinned by the sun, a moment passes, all is gone.
A little island in the south, well-known by many, word of mouth does travel far. And bizarre houses out of glass are stuffed with greens, do grace the place – in midst the lake – en masse.
When lights are out night sounds appear and overlay the gloss of days, thoughts cross, until a warbler, without fear, sings out his doubt aloud.
Punkt im Dunkeln