Greyhound days


Here is an old poem; from over a year ago, I think.

How distant I feel to the glossy «mummy-magazines», they make me queasy with their fake, pastel version of existence.

Burn the magazines and be real, with your child, your lover, your life.


Greyhound days

They slip away more every day

The open spaces within my mind


Room for roaming

My wild leopards

Bush fires

Jungle sweat


Occupied by

Child, man, needs

Thoughts taking flight crash and burn




5.30 alarm


I need more


Where are my night thoughts

The darkness

What took them

– just time, domestic


Gone, the watching of tree patterns on the sky

Endless moments

Soul sky high


I need more

So, in a hard voice I tell the boy

Go away

Instant regret of mother heart

(that wild thing in me)


The walls fall in on my forest clearings:

The childhood fairytale

of dancing elves

The existence of princes

Joyful fear,

knowing dragons are in the caves



School bullies

Stretching exercises of the soul

Finally, the boundaries are unseen


Oh yes, there has been

Fear, pain, boredom:

No lack of challenges


Racehorse days

Greyhound days

I try to catch even the shadow of my soul

Before sundown, exhaustion


Love is the jailor

Insane love, wild love

How fortunate I am

To be an invaded space



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