Tell them

.

Another black man died
by the force of a knee
George Floyd.
He was handcuffed,
on the ground,
4 policemen present,
who did nothing.
Someone filmed it
otherwise
The world wouldn’t have known.

.

.

Tell them

.

So you’ll tell your children
their father is a killer
a murderer
one who had plenty of time
to think and reconsider
one who forgot
that all men are equal
and colour doesn’t define
what kind of person you are
one who takes the breath
during covid time
when others risk their lives
to save other people
no colour involved
just the colour
of their protection robes

So you’ll tell your grandchildren
you had no empathy
no compassion
when a man
handcuffed
warned you he was dying
that you didn’t even
give him an equal fight
but you just killed
because you could

You’ll tell them
a life doesn’t matter?

You’ll tell them a life
doesn’t matter?

You’ll tell them
you would have killed them
if they had been black

You’ll tell them
they have the genes
of a murderer inside them

And you didn’t have the guts
to be your own judge.

.

.

©Syl2020

.

.

Derek Chauvin

Mr Chauvin had his knee on Mr Floyd’s neck for eight minutes and 46 seconds – almost three minutes of which was after Mr Floyd became non-responsive.
Hennepin County Prosecutor Mike Freeman: ‘Mr Chauvin was charged with third-degree murder and second-degree manslaughter.’

Featured post

Sing louder!

.

Sing louder!

.

Sing louder!!
I can’t hear you
but I feel the melody
it massages my soul
and makes me want to be me

Dance broader!!
I can hardly see
that you’re on stage
I can feel your urge
to touch the sky
but I don’t understand
why?

Jump higher!
I can’t see you pull gravity
as an elastic band
but I share your need
to escape this heavy world
into the realm of phantasy

come on
let’s both
be me

.

.
©Syl2020

.

.

Featured post

Rose’s Child?

.

Rose’s Child?

.

mamma,
didn’t you know
I was your child

did you think
I was Rose’s child?
a second hand baby?

Why did gram
find me
not breathing
in the crib
right beside you?

You hadn’t noticed it?
You hated gram.

Later you said
that you wished
I’d never been born

You used to hit me,
try to make me as small
as a grain of sand
You walked all over me

You did the same
with my children
and I went away

You never made me your child

And when dad died
you took away the promisses
and un-childed me
in all possible ways
you destroyed dad’s past,
his promisses,
and threw his ashes away

You took my childhood,
you took my mother,

but you never took my dreams

.

.
©Syl2020

.

.

Featured post

How can a nation

.

How can a nation

.

How can a nation
ever forget
to see their brothers
their sons, uncles and friends
leave for war

the kiss,
the hug,
the ‘say goodbye’
the turn
the first pace
and then the empty space
like air
had forgotten
to be breath

the waiting
the fear
the secret watching
down the street
if ever
he might come back

there might be a letter
a telegram
or someone knocking at the door

and some words on paper
his farewell
written with a young mind
expecting
a bright future
after war

Some did return
many did not

some suffered sudden death
and others suffered life
night after night
noise after noise
with their friends
marching before their eyes
unseen by others

It’s what we can’t see
which is not celebrated

it’s freedom
written on walls
and in generations

and yet
many
can’t see

.

.

©Syl2020

.

.

Featured post

Transparent wall

.

Transparent wall

.

empty space
no one

transparent wall

searching dates
where is a partner
grasping out
like a spider
no web

transparent wall
inside being
the child
oh the child
that child

transparent wall

some can’t look
through a transparent wall
all they see
is a wall

life is already there
but when
will the transparency
be overcome?

.

.

©Syl2020

.

.

Featured post

Remembrance Day 2020

.

Remembrance Day 2020

.

empty streets
empty square
the King and Queen,
and a few to assist them,
a girl reading a poem
she did well

…remembrance…
the last post
echoing over empty pavements
lingering in the air
as the last sounds
of a Lancaster
but lighter
the birds fly free

while people are hiding
behind their doors
for the first time
experiencing liberation
in another way

Maybe we’ll learn
from the war within

I still feel grateful
humble
remembering my gram
telling me
at the kitchen table
‘and then we were free,
but the true freedom was
when you dad came home
and embranced me.
Then I was free.’

I feel
like waiting
for my dad,
but he’ll never
arrive again.

.

.

©Syl2020

.

Featured post

Hiding

.

Comparison
between WW2 and Covid-19

.

Hiding

.

running
running
hiding

someone with a gun
is hunting me down

the attick
safety?
silence all day,
not a sigh
of the floorboards

No sock
touching
another toe

Don’t scratch your head
don’t sneeze,
don’t cough,
when they hear you
you’re dead

someone
demolishes the door
hurts you
your family

kills your mom
kills you

and you think
hiding for Covid,
reading,
gaming,
eating,
coughing and sneezing,
singing and dancing,

you think that’s the same??

.

.

©Syl2020

.

.

Featured post

Statistics

.

Statistics

.

They want to be free
do what they want
they want touch,
talking,
sitting and walking
where they see fit.
That’s it.

They don’t see
the opportunities,
the challenges,
the offer of life,
to stand still,
to learn who they are,
to understand themselves,
and the ability to care
to safe a life
or more.

They want to risk death
because they only know
a small part of life

They don’t understand
that a small part of statistics
might be one of them
or more.

.

.

©Syl2020

.

Featured post

Blossom 2020

.

Prompt:
A mom asked me to write
a very simple poem
to practice
reciting a poem
in english
for het little daughter

Blossom 2020

.

they will return
those petals
of flowers on a tree
of blossom
so beautiful
that I forget to see the clouds
or hear the birds sing.

This is arrival of spring

even return
and repeated return
means change
as the blossom
flowers different again
so beautiful
that I forget to see the clouds
or hear the birds sing.

This is arrival of spring.

.

.

©Syl2020

.

Featured post

His return

.

Prompt:
write a poem about
something that returns.
I made it:
someone who returns

.

His return

.

He arrived at the gate
by none seen
but heard by the dog
and the birds in the sky

His memories covering
the world in his bag
his pain, his fallen mates,
and then he placed his leg

just forward
to the future
like he could forget
the war he’d been

He looked like the person he was
but the other ‘him’ we’ve never seen.
His smile a bit smaller,
his eyes less deep
but vivid his own war
even in his sleep

He survived
and we’re glad so
but we’ve never seen
the skies, the fields,
where he has been.

.

.

©Syl2020

.

.

Day 30 – 2nd poem
http://www.napowrimo.net

Featured post

Dutch Kisses

.

Prompt:
write a poem about
something that returns.
Well, I made a lot of returns
in it.
For fun!!

.

Dutch Kisses

.

We Dutch we are famous for our kisses
one, two, three,
I kiss you and you kiss me

Then corona came to be
and now this mrs
missess kisses

not one, not two, but three
You can’t take it away with a cup of tea
not even with a day at sea

I don’t like the cheap fixes,
a whisle, an elbow, or smiling at me,
they are a lot less delicious

than the Dutch famous kisses
but nevertheless my wish is
to see you next year and we’ll be free

I wish you many days with lots of blisses
and I send you a real spree
of virtual Dutch kisses
to take with you, from me.

.

.

©Syl2020

.

.

Featured post

Bobby

.

Prompt
Write about a pet

.

Bobby

.

My gram’s Bobby
protected me
with a growl and a bark
he left a mark
on my mum’s ego
and had her go

He could whimper to inform her
even when she was behind the corner
that he knew what she did to me
and she’d better leave me be

This loving doggie became a bear
creating justice, was lawful fair,
and a nannie to this baby
he treated me like a real lady

So whatever happened in my life,
be it pain, hunger or unpleasant strife,
the safety he created in my person
never made my confidence worsen,
because he made me feel I was worth to be protected
and I was never truly neglected.

.

.

©Syl2020

.

.

Featured post

2 isolation rooms

.

Prompt:
Describe a bedroom
from your past

.

2 isolation rooms

.

The measles

.

White room
white blanket
white?

even the floor was white

the window
in the door
grey
small

part of a face
peeked through the haze
dad!!!

and gone
a white nothing

thermometer
it dropped
mercury
awesome to play with
moving drops
when bored
moved them under the table
it was white too

I still love silver

.

.

Rubella

.

woke up
from a black world
young doctor leaving
what did he do?

steel bed
in a white
box
*
4 steps,
4 steps,
2 steps,
table, bed,
bed, a halve step
repeat from *

imprisoned again
I’m a danger
in a children’s home

no thermometer
folding sheets
making windows in them
angry nurse

I feel a caged animal
contageous
none wants me

The sea is near
can’t hear it
can’t see the flash
of the lighhouse

just a flash
when I quickly open
my eyes in the bare light

even in the night
it flashes
so I don’t need the light

Aunty brings
plastic beads
simple small tubes
and a rope,
wooden beads
and beauty
are not allowed

a white world
is never
innocent

.

.

©Syl2020

.

.

Featured post

My cardiologist

.

Prompt:
write a poetic review
of something
or someone
that isn’t normally reviewed

.

My cardiologist

.

He smiles,
high fives
and listens well

His large paces through the hallway
compensate
for his small wrinkles
of
concentration
when the waves of the EKG
create a language
in his eyes

he reads me
by my heart

I love him
for tuning in
with my need
for brainless fun

he makes my heart beat

.

.

©Syl2020

.

.

Featured post

King’s Day 2020

.

Prompt:
write a poem
in the form of a review

.

King’s Day 2020

.

King’s Day,
a lonely national hymn
sounding from my kitchen door
all doors should be breathing
the same tune.

People on TV
celebrating
it’s not an alien world,
just the past

a tiny virus
more mighty
than our King’s Day
nothing magestic in that

Tradition
broken
is breaking news

.

©Syl2020

.

.

Featured post

A rose

.

Prompt:
fill out, in five minutes or less,
the “Almanac Questionnaire.”
Then, use your responses
as to basis for a poem

.

A rose

.

a breezy sun
one rose
houses close together
at the border

dolphins sing
parachute jumping
and the sun as a golden coin
soft touch of a true lover

the unknown
fighting against
or for
happiness

drawing a full circle
on the playground

the queen burdened by
a peeking neighbour
minks tested positive for corona
and the love you
manatee
like Tim and Tom
climb the mountain
maybe now welcome
the poverty of living in the past
and stare down from the bridge

walk on
walk on
nothing happening here

but a rose
in the breezy sun

.

.

©Syl2020

.

.

Featured post

No prompt

.

Prompt:
Todays prompt involved
poets reading their own work.
It’s like seeing a movie before reading the book.
I want a poet to take me into his world, make my phantasy fly, my creativity rumble like lava in a volnaco, before a magestic eruption.
Not that I consider my soulfluffs something special, let alone a magistic eruption. But I hope that once in a while someone is touched, made to think, or just takes a moment wo hear a bird whistle or watch a cloud pass by.

It’s when Max ridiculed me that I decided my poetry is nothing more than my expression. I won’t let others decide for me, guide me, tell me what’s right or wrong.
So many things in my life were the consequence of what is decent, kind, nice…. as I was supposed to be all that. One could substitute a robot for me.
It left me with a feeling of loneliness many poets would envy.

I’m not happy with my life… I know I can be more relaxed, happy, more myself.
It’s not my motivation that is lacking, nor my imagination, nor opportunity.
There’s has always been the lack of money. Not a lack of money, but THE lack of money, like a dominant feature in my life that keeps me pinned to my chair, hidden in my cluttered house and above all imprisoned in a way of life that after all these years still feels alien.

Max succumbed to life itself. Cancer has a way of taking over the process. And even though he always stood beside daily life in the city, he was a part of it, and became more part of it during the last years of his life.
He didn’t want me to witness it.

And now I’m stuck with all those images of him being different from others, trying to make me free.
I was shy, limited by what others wanted, bordered by my own expectations which were almost always outside myself.
I now see it as being pulled away, always being pulled away from what I needed, should do, deserved…
Only a bit of fluff blown away in the wind, dancing, free, just fading out of sight.

Not having the money to move to the UK, where I belong, no family members who leave me the inheritance of a small cottage, not even a job luring in a corner so I can use my talents…
It’s like I’ve been born to be small, be silent, be nothing.

And even though Corona hasn’t changed a lot in my daily life, – it’s always about caring for others, unseen, – I’m tired.

All I have is my imagination. Are my dreams of writing a book at a small table in a cottage garden, rumbling around, hearing the birds, and the waves of the sea. Walking through the sand, with maybe a beagle or another dog.

I don’t ask much…. just a bit of me….



Featured post

A lemon

.

Prompt:
to describe a fruit
as closely as possible

.

A lemon

.

In Italy
they were young
and happy
and sweet to eat

but more north
the skin wrinkled
like an old gnome
was holding it’s last hand
dangling on the tree

fallen and sliced
a mathematicians delight
triangles with rounded edges,
circles, circumferences
radius, diameter,
and in the centre
white…
and even that seems right

to squeeze is to drip,
to heat is smell,
and to eat
is like pulling
the ears to the teeth

I love the yellow drops
in cake and tea
so tell me
what I might be!

.

.

©Syl2020

.

.


Featured post

English skies

.

Prompt:
Fruit.
Not quite the way
I used it in this poem.
But it needed to be written,
So I am free to write
right on prompt
later this day.

.

English skies

.

Thinking of blueberries
makes me cry

I so long for my aunty
I’ll tell you why

When I was a little child
shy, and sometimes a bit wild,
My dad took me
to see the skies of England

Aunt Cathie
taught me to speek english
and showed me hot to cook
she made me sing old songs
and din’t forget
to make me look
to the skies of England

She made me taste vinegar and salt chips
and pickles with dips
cucumber sandwiches and
blueberry pies
and in between
we looked at the English skies

We smiled and we laughed
we had so much fun
she taught me jokes and an occassional pun
and when I came home,
all I talked about,
were her blueberry pies
and I missed the english skies

.

.

©Syl2020

.

.

Featured post

My letter K

.

Prompt:
Think about the shape of the letter(s),
and use that
as the take-off point for your poem

.

My letter K

.

small child
needing to hide
against oppression

surprised myself
by climbing up
to the level of all

I used to sit
quietly,
overlooking
confrontational
hesitant
and maybe
a bit afraid.

Now:
wanting to be a parachutist
and too old
to jump

all is left
is a slide down

Corona makes me hide
again
Go the whole sequence
again
and see what I have learned

.

.

©Syl2020

.

.


Featured post

The heart in water

.

Prompt:
find an idiomatic phrase
from a different language or culture,
and use it as the jumping-off point
for your poem.


The heart of the wise man
lies quiet like limpid water.
Cameroon proverb

The heart in water

.

The heart of the wise man
lies quiet like limpid water.
It rests and receives
and it judges not

the ripples move
to the shore
and land on one horizon

as the other stays clear
awaiting the sun

How do I tell
those people complaining
it’s life
telling them to stand still
and count their blessings
not their money

They don’t need water or rain
of warm or tempid water
they need to see
where the stream takes them
away

so stay
stay..

The heart of the wise man
lies quiet like limpid water.

.

.

©Syl2020

.

.

Featured post

Watoosha

.

Prompt:
We got a prompt
but I got inspired
by something else.

Watoosha


.

I’m not white buffalo woman
I’m not calfwoman
I’m woman of the wind,
of flying times,
and whispering dreams.

I can not stay
but I can touch your heart
invade your mind
and leave my children
to give a future to be

I’m the woman
with the two sided spear,
Watoosha.
I dwell in the skies
and the seas,
and bring you the message
that when the two merge
at the horizon
they will erase each other
and become one.

Use my sword
in peace

.

.

©Syl2020

.

.

Featured post

A home of clay

.

Prompt:
a poem about
a handmade or homemade gift
that you have received.

.

A home of clay

.

macaroni bracelets,
ashtrays
I don’t smoke,
a pot
that fell
on the gardenpath,
a pendant made of wool
the countless drawings
with uneven coloured eyes
two teeth,
I certainly had more

he made a house
like he understood
that with 6 kids
one needs a home

The teacher said:
too much clay,
He told her,
that’s what my mom deserves
so her house is even more
and she can be free
behind the smiles,
the windows made with a pen

The roof was covered in feathers
to make it light
and protect it from the sun.

and then time went by
his little swollen hands
changed
his voice broke

he found himself a home
and forgot the one
he created me
he was for me


found again
the house
the home it was for me

the dove in the garden
threw a feather at me

maybe because my garden
and the large tree
is a home for him
and a bit for me

or maybe for fun
because feathers like that
once
protected me from the sun

.

©Syl2020

.

.

Featured post

The batton



Prompt:
a poem based on
a “walking archive.”

.

The batton

.

It’s still empty
between incense

and flutes

the conductor’s batton
it’s still not there

Carlo Lemmens got it
and that was not right

My great grandfather
gave it to
my grandfather
after teaching
conducting
the family choir

then my father
children’s choir
ladies choir
byzantine choir

he died

and she
who called herself
my mother
but never was

broke the chain

and now it’s gone

I still have to conduct a choir
and I will
but
the batton
is gone

like someone
threw my hands away

.

©Syl2020

.

.

Featured post

Ode to the sigh

Prompt:
ode to
life’s small pleasures

Ode to the sigh

.

No moment deserved
the crown of the sun
above the hazey fields
more

after hours
in the twilight
of the dawn

waiting
to honor those
who liberated our world

you finally jumped


the parachute
didn’t open

then
just in time
it did

pfffffff

ode to the sigh
of relief
that once again
sounded free
as a bird
to the slowly
descending
parachutist

.

©Syl2020

Featured post

A secret moment

Prompt:
Ode to
life’s small pleasures

.

A secret moment

.

that secret small pleasure
of waking up
this saturday morning
with music on the radio

and music in my eyes

the dancing memories
visiting
even though you passed
and left

forever

gestures
laughing about the
dentures
of my aunt
the smell of your coat
bicycling the road
during a chilly night

singing on the bridge
one foot on the ridge
in an arabesque

walking in
exhausted
still dressed burlesque
with dolly face bright
that must have been a sight

a small pleasure of life
before
hitting
the cold floor

we
sandcorns
in space
you
my rock
in eternity
this
a
secret
moment
in
time

.

.

©Syl2020

.

Featured post

Thank you!!!

Thank you very much for featuring my ‘Soulfluff’ on NaPoWriMo.
Even though we’re going through a rough time, it made me see the balance in life again.
As long as we can write, we’ll have a place on this earth.

Keep safe!!!

Thank you all!




.
Featured post

The Typewriter

Prompt:
feature forgotten technology
.

.

The Typewriter

Break off the key,
he urged me,
he’ll still work
humanising
the animal
with bulging teeth

so I took
cleaned
brushed
opened up it’s voice
and oppressed the animal
to hesitant obedience
Then
the fingerpointing move
of olympic force
like a spear
shot
through empty air

one letter
one..

we used to have strong fingers
to play the paino
creating
texts
en forte

Journalism used to be sports

.

.

©Syl2020

.

.

Featured post

Of course you are

.

Prompt:
praise in the most
effusive way you can

.

Of course you are

Of course you are
the most intelligent person on earth
you’re a paradigm of IQ
as high none has ever heard
on top of Mount Everest
You’re a soprano of knowledge
or even higher
even the aliens can hear you shriek!

You are the peak
of peakest
in a week the weakest
so fast you are
that even a broken leg
doesn’t need a cast
you heal so fast
you catch one corona virus
between infection and recovery
you enable discovery
of the largest ego on earth.

You are so tall
in your own imagination
that your head
to my utter fascination
can reach to China,
where it on examination
has grown into a mountain
and higher, and higher
so you blurp like a fountain
a vulcano of exuberance
creating such a large distance
between you and me
that I finally feel free!!

.

.

©Syl2020

.

.

Featured post

There are times

.

Prompt:
a poem inspired
by your favorite kind of music

.

There are times

.

There are times I want to dance with you,
sit on the beach in faint moonlight,
and watch the ripples of the light
move endlessly on the waves.

There are times
I want to shop with you
See you making choices for others
and maybe sometimes even for yourself,
and carry those gifts home
with a faint smile on your face
because you are already gifting in your mind

There are times I want to sit with you
just hold your hand
and look together to the skies
because some things in life
just need some feelings without words

There are times I dream with you
of meeting up at Westminster in London,
and walking to Covent Garden
or simply sit on a bench
and watch the world pass by

There are times
I wish I could do more for you
smile to you
and say:
‘everything will be alright.’

.

.

©Syl2020

.

.

Featured post

Cling Clang

Prompt:
a poem inspired
by your favorite kind of music



I decided for a children’s song
after seeing a mom
walking with a toddler
who didn’t want
to go with her anymore
after seeing a fly

.

Cling clang

spiders have 48 knees
cling clang singelydang
but I hate them more than bees
cling clang singelydang
pong pong

I sing this song for you
cling clang singelydang
because I hate you too
cling clang singelydang
pong pong

And what about a centipede?
cling clang singelydang
it doesn’t have a 100 feet
cling clang singelydang
pong pong

I sing this song for you
cling clang singelydang
because I hate you too
cling clang singelydang
pong pong

I hate this virus
from top to toe,
so keep unseen,
or I’ll get you so
that you won’t see me anymore,
let’s sing this refrain once more:

I sing this song for you
cling clang singelydang
because I hate you too
cling clang singelydang
pong pong

.

.

©Syl2020

.

Featured post

The branch

Prompt:
to write a poem that deals with the poems,
poets, and other people
who inspired you to write poems. 

I was writing
before I started to read
The grande dames and gentlemen
of advanced poetry.
I wanted first to find my own way,
move away from children’s rhymes
and funny rhymes with a pun,
written with the december presents.
Later I met some interesting poets,
got a poetry writing-job,
and found Rabindranath Tagore
and Emily Dickinson.
But before later…

.

The branch

.

His sharp voice
igniting the whole school
to look
at the simple one
who drew real life lines
sketching towards the horizon

ridicule
from up high

he was the king of words
was he?
intermingling the not understandable
selftruth in
kandinsky-eske streaks
of waterminded inspiration
concocted with superfluisity
spiralling into a fruitious lallation

It made him happy
to conquer, to fight,
and win in front of the headshaking
fellow students.
He never asked who’d won,
assuming his ego always won.

I made my poetry
without looking up
to be understood.
With simple words
so students worried
they coulnd’t read between the lines,
where children put their hearts,
and older people cried.

And now he died,
leaving me leaning against the branch
that took his weight

I never walked a path much trodden,
but found in footsteps one by one
the way I am.

.

.

©Syl2020

.

Featured post

I stole…

.
Promt:
write a non-apology
for the things you’ve stolen

.

I stole

.

I stole your light
standing up
when you sat beside me
and reached
for my other shoulder

I know
you wanted
my head to rest

I stole your light
standing in front
of the small window

I saw the birds,
the balconies,
and far away,
the bridge
and a firm breeze
through the tree
near me

I turned and smiled

you didn’t need to see
but feel
listen

the little bird sang
as if it smiled to me
when you stole my light
in a kiss

.

.

©Syl2020

.

.

Featured post

I hear her sing

.

Prompt: a triolet
ABaAabAB

Line 1 rhyme scheme A
Line 2 rhyme scheme B
Line 3 rhymes with A
Line 4 repeats line 1
Line 5 rhymes with A
Line 6 rhymes with B
Line 7 repeats line 1
Line 8 repeats line 2

I hear her sing

.

It’s Easter, the world is silent
I can hear a little girl sing
in her own garden, she’s very compliant,
It’s Easter, the world is silent
I feel far away on an unknown island
and yet my soul enlarges and I feel spring
It’s Easter, the world is silent
in my soul I can hear the little girl sing

.

.

©Syl2020

.

Featured post

My triolet

.

Prompt:
a triolet
Scheme: ABaAabAB
And a few other rules

My triolet

.

They want me to write a triolet
binding me in rules like a corselet
the rhyme scheme and repeats are closely set
They want me to write a triolet
so as a nice girl I try
experience freedom, like I can fly
They want me to write a triolet
unbinding my mind like a corselet

.

.

©Syl2020

.

Featured post

Easter 2020

.

Easter

.

weeping for the stone
means to believe
he still is there

tears won’t move stones
I know
but they will light
a flare
of hope

exhaustion breaks
despair,
and utter need
so remember
crying at his feet

and when the stone
is turned
the grave left bare
you become
suddenly
with heart aware

death
can’t be understood
by men

the flame of life
burns deep inside
and sets the world
complete alight

life
can’t be understood
by men

.

.

©Syl2020

Featured post

The stem broke

.

 a poem in
which one or more flowers
take on specific meanings

after the loss
of a best friend
who shared my life
longer than anyone else

.

The stem broke

.

Life
a bond
petals of flower

then
one breaks
a flower gone.

.

.

©Syl2020

.

.

Featured post

Silence

.

Prompt:
A hay(na)ku). Created by the poet Eileen Tabios ,
the hay(na)ku is a variant on the haiku.
It consists of a three-line stanza,
where the first line has one word,
the second line has two words,
and the third line has three words. 

.

Silence

.

silence
with words
talk too much

silence
no words
a sparkling soul

.

.

©Syl2020

.

.

Day 10

Featured post

Corona

Prompt:
A hay(na)ku). Created by the poet Eileen Tabios ,
the hay(na)ku is a variant on the haiku.
It consists of a three-line stanza,
where the first line has one word,
the second line has two words,
and the third line has three words. 

.

.

Corona

Corona
creepy crawly
unseen the queen.

.

.

©Syl2020

.

.

.

Featured post

Good Friday

.

Prompt:
A hay(na)ku). Created by the poet Eileen Tabios ,
the hay(na)ku is a variant on the haiku.
It consists of a three-line stanza,
where the first line has one word,
the second line has two words,
and the third line has three words. 

I wrote this
after seeing
someone struggling
with being alone
in her religion

.

Good Friday

died
not forgotten
experience this alone

challenge
to pray
from your soul

religion
is not
following the group

but
empowering yourself
from your soul

independent
reaching out
to your God

Easter
He reaches
into your soul

.

.

©Syl2020

.

.

Featured post

…and hearts

A second one today.

Prompt:
Richard Siken bot
@sikenpoems

First line

…and hearts

I do believe his mouth is heaven,
his kisses falling over me like stars.

his hair touching my shoulders

but he faded away

left the hall empty of coat
and his footsteps
sounded like a far away echo

while my dreams
create him
love him
hate him

once he walked with heavy boots
in my heart
only to be lifted
by…

where is he now?
questions and longing
struggling
on a long winding path

I do believe his mouth was heaven
his kisses fall over me
as heavy pointed stars
my hair touches my shoulders

when times goes by
love fades
and hearts fall apart

©Syl2020

Featured post

Soldiers

Prompt:
a line from a poem.
I used
Dreamers by Siegfried Sassoon

Soldiers

Soldiers are citizens of death’s grey land,
where poppies grow
and birds hide, like the bodies in the sand,
they are the men, the boys,
from here and countries far away,
they scream and yell in the face of death,
or silently cry or pray.

They are the ones
that march through streets,
with bands and waving flags
they are the statues
long forgotten in the green,
with mold, dirt and almost hidden cracks.

Soldiers are heroes, so they say,
but they are brothers,
and the neighbours sons,
they fight for future not only of the land,
but of their own life too.

With grace, in freedom,
here I smile, towards the photo of a friend,
and take the rose, dark red, a tear,
when for the grave I bend,
at death’s grey land.

©Syl2020

Featured post

Fake them

A poem based on a weird news article.
Vet gives parot prosthetic wings

Fake them

You can break my wings
take them
fake them

but I will fly

as clouds become rain
find purpose

speak without words
listen without ears

you can break my wings
take them
fake them

but you’ll never
take my heart
so I will fly.

©Syl2020

Featured post

Hieronymous Bosch

from the point of view
of one person/animal/thing
from Hieronymous Bosch’s famous
(and famously bizarre)
triptych The Garden of Earthly Delights.
…perhaps you might write .
from the viewpoint of Bosch himself?

Hieronymous Bosch

It was not my intention
to live my life in the future
even though I had my own ideas.
Now I ‘ve become a visionary.

people
walking unprotected
on 2020’s streets
nudes
in the chaos of life

©Syl2020

Featured post

The Dragon

.

Off prompt.

.

The Dragon

.

He had a dragon once,
hidden under his pillow
but only when it was dark
so it was never seen.

When his mom wanted him to eat
he told her to wait, because he had to feed,
the monster of insecurity
so it would keep silent
when she told him to do this and do that,
eat his roast, and don’t put aside the fat.

Then came the day of a sweet girl
He called her soon ‘his pearl’
she danced, seeemed happy, and loved him dear,
until another boy came near
and acted like bad herbs,
It wouldn’t stop, not in a week,
until the dragon told him firm to seek
the sword of words.

And so he didn’t use his fists,
but impressed all with his wits,
and very swift he learned
to speak, until he overturned,
that bully of a boy
and knew: ‘I can destroy’

Strangely the dragon disappeared,
and he no longer feared,
his mom, the roast, but he never ate the fat,
and he smiled when his wife told him to do this and that,
thinking she’ll never be
a dragon to me.
.

.
©Syl2020

.

.

Featured post

You’re late

It’s at the
Jansbinnensingel
up the stairs
‘ring’
and brushing feet
at the coconut mat

so healthy coconut is
I have to tell you
But maybe not for feet
with shoes made in Italy
the holes carefully covered
by a real leather patch

Then
‘knock knock’
entering the brown room
with brown red curtains
moving in the draft
mixed with sigar smell.

Those days
when watching the head editor
makes you feel
the patch under your shoes
when his room-brown eyes
pierce through the clock.

‘You’re late’

©Syl2020

.

Featured post

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

Create your website at WordPress.com
Get started