Lichtgevende bronnen
Kolkende sterren


a molecule
a symphony
a dialogue
a dream
a composition
from sound to matter
the song turned flesh

river is the dreamsoul of the landscape

Iceflowers / ijsbloemen :


like iceflowers
the lonely demon of nature
cries into our windows
it wants to eat us alive
its most beatiful gift
the singing print of seduction

8 haikus :

rood van meloenen
gevangen in een planeet
van groene meren


op de tafel gekerfd
woorden van pot en koppen
ringen zingen beeld



onders ons gezegd
weet jij waar wij van komen
ster danst in het raam



dagboekfragmenten
vertellen iets over haar
verveling en droom



hoe leeg de dagen
gevuld met onzichtbare
lichtmelodieen



gedachtengangen
hier wandel ik ontelbaar
zaklamp vol woorden



dagen vol geluk
in het gesternte Vissen
regenboogschubben


vogel vliegt over
waterig oog dat opent
aan de rivierrand

I'm drawn by a telescope in the summerrain
towards the edge of the garden
where the hedges are sailing in the wind.

He wasn't a man
he was a boy
in the shape of a vagina .

Tired sun gliding down
the arcade
figurating figurine
shining eyes and dancing rays
untill the are covered in a
river of darkness
the dusty sea that
sinks inside their
sculptured heads.

We are all in love with one another at some point in time .

De diepte van de realiteit
in de oude stad bij nacht
spookachtige gezichten
die me in hun warme lach verstrikken.

Een plas regenwater
die de kasseien tot zeerotsen maakt.
Hoor hoe de maan zingt
in hun blinkende hoofden.

De staafkerk van uw gedachten
die als een denappel zich opent
mn neusvleugels dansen extatisch
met het aroma van ingeslapen woudgeesten.

Like a ghost that fell from a painting
her hands stroke her reality chin.
Arrow and bow the dancing muscles head till toe.
A prodigious child of ballet & witchcraft
with boylike thoughts.
Her devine touch spelled h-y-p-n-o-s-i-s
she moves in another world
slowmotion frame
the eye cannot contain that much beauty
Nature spirit swimming in her mime .
Next to the portrait on the wall
there is a plughole
where you can charge your nostalghia.

Last night i fell in love with your shoelaces .

Can you hear it ...
my soul is singing .

The fotosynthesis of the human soul on a sunny autumnday.

thoughts ... like weights
               ... like balloons.

Trough the poem we touch the soul of the universe .
A man needs a muse.

Un instant au pont je l'ai vu.
 Save elle etre née dans cette regard, qu'elle existe vraiement ?
The lips that pose a question
worldless transferring the invisible butterfly.
You could hear it's wings flapping in my heart for weeks now.
A curtain of rain drapped around an oval eye,
is it sorrow that makes a fertile ground?
Like Chagall singing in his kitchen
while his wife floats around the room
with burning lips.
The world has different layers
one of them is poetry.
The flesh might be gone
but the bone of love is strong
one day we're gonna grow ourselves
a new skin.