4 Gedichten
Het resultaat van een avond hard werken.
Confidential
Dear Unemployed Bohemian,
We have received reports on the growing
of various violets, roses and marihuana.
Although we can relate to your needs
for expressing your oppressed feelings,
desires and ideas, cliches and creative pollution
are a breach of the Geneva convention.
Therefore we ask of you to drain your drafts
of the overwhelming rhyming,
cease the sentiments and apologise
to those who have come into contact
with your creations.
Should you fail to comply we will be
forced to put you into literary rehab.
Kind regards,
The Department of Human Safety
And Environmental Preservation
Fryslân, the Netherlands
Living in one of van Ingen’s landscape
paintings, minus the windmill.
Milking the cows, before breakfast
and dinner. Pink milk of new moms,
the soft splatter of shit
crashing through the bars of the floor.
Calves frisky in their sun-bathing
igloos. Brown walls, my blue toes
and milk down my shirt;
the universal challenge for tag.
Living in one of van Ingen’s landscape-
Paintings, minus the windmill,
Plus a disgusting smell.
Unrequited love
Paper planes are
specked through the air
a challenging course
for every talented bird.
The Crow is late
for its appointment
with Destiny,
she doesn’t approve
of her tea getting cold.
He’s a naïve Casanova,
but it will take 3 days
And nights to tell him.
Halloween hangover
An empty skull makes it hard
to remember how to dance.
But the rhythm of a conga
is easy to catch,
especially downhill.
Bones on rotting flesh,
a dance macabre
sends maggots rattling down
a hollow chest,
adding a fresh beat.
The cock’s call brings the dawning
I somehow lost my grave.
But home is where the heart is
And that’s been gone for years.
Confidential
Dear Unemployed Bohemian,
We have received reports on the growing
of various violets, roses and marihuana.
Although we can relate to your needs
for expressing your oppressed feelings,
desires and ideas, cliches and creative pollution
are a breach of the Geneva convention.
Therefore we ask of you to drain your drafts
of the overwhelming rhyming,
cease the sentiments and apologise
to those who have come into contact
with your creations.
Should you fail to comply we will be
forced to put you into literary rehab.
Kind regards,
The Department of Human Safety
And Environmental Preservation
Fryslân, the Netherlands
Living in one of van Ingen’s landscape
paintings, minus the windmill.
Milking the cows, before breakfast
and dinner. Pink milk of new moms,
the soft splatter of shit
crashing through the bars of the floor.
Calves frisky in their sun-bathing
igloos. Brown walls, my blue toes
and milk down my shirt;
the universal challenge for tag.
Living in one of van Ingen’s landscape-
Paintings, minus the windmill,
Plus a disgusting smell.
Unrequited love
Paper planes are
specked through the air
a challenging course
for every talented bird.
The Crow is late
for its appointment
with Destiny,
she doesn’t approve
of her tea getting cold.
He’s a naïve Casanova,
but it will take 3 days
And nights to tell him.
Halloween hangover
An empty skull makes it hard
to remember how to dance.
But the rhythm of a conga
is easy to catch,
especially downhill.
Bones on rotting flesh,
a dance macabre
sends maggots rattling down
a hollow chest,
adding a fresh beat.
The cock’s call brings the dawning
I somehow lost my grave.
But home is where the heart is
And that’s been gone for years.
08 dec 2011
- meld ongepast verhaal
-
Dryad
donderdag 08 december 2011 13:38
die laatste leek op msn veel langer XD
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