At the Movies

 

Chamomile is my cup of tea

Old notes, the purple lilies of the field

The dusty, rigid, oak tree chairs

The spirit of the past, dim lights

And oldies music set the scene.

The sounds of life, a child’s energy

Blonde heads and quiet dreams

All captured in the room

In the entirety of its sea

Across the stage of hopes and screens

There is a writer

Creation and impression,

Spontaneous intention.

Last winter’s cold day, the coming of spring

There is a stranger caught in my string.

Timid glances and loud laughs

Our nervous moves on Milli Vanilli are delirious

Chamomile is my cup of tea!

His is syrup from the pine tree.

Have you ever been at the movies?

Daydreaming

 

A red lucky moving hand Japanese cat

Looks insistently at a Westerner with a hat

The street barbecue floats in fat

The teachers gave a talk to a random Matt

A handsome Korean on an Alvar Aalto chair sat

Another daydreaming session in a café

With my pet the rainbow bat

The letters of a faded, burnt postcard

Rotate with fervor in a mental hospital ward

Imaginary friends eat a bowlful of lard

The emperor’s castle collapsed and killed the bard

The foundations of this fantasy story are hard

Covered in milk the lamp seems a tart

I am stuck in a corner; I am Alice in love with a leopard

At the counter full of cakes there is a clown

The odd collection of teaspoons fell down

The construction worker, the nurse, the guard are all sound

But the sofas, the fluorescent walls, the plants are bound

Are chained to my notebook while they drown

In the room there is a single crown

The queen lost, the plot was written by my hound.

Becoming

 

He called me frivole!

Cold in the wind of winter

I saw the word as a binder,

Hot, bitter, sour in a mug

Frivolous!

He called me addicted!

Flinging and clinging with desperation

The word brought into mind frustration,

Illusion, delusion, necessity are sweet

Addictive!

He called me désolée!

A fading color leaf in autumn

I took the word as utterly forgotten,

In flight and dance of rouge created

Desolated!

 

Childhood

527751_392923544076003_1876454433_n

 

320199_417983854903305_1669753399_n

In the middle of the green fields

I was alone,

I was in reverie

Thinking, dancing, mumbling

Existence was soft

Was as easy as picking scented flowers

Nectar filled plants

Listening to bees

Tasting the grass

Hearing the wind whispering

My dreams of growing up

Got caught up in spider’s webs

And playing games

Was not for wining, was not for losing

Running around

Stealing fruits

The value of goods

Was in sharing

Children on the streets

Jumping in the rain

Building bridges in the mud

The sweet taste of childhood

Lies in its simplicity.