The Peacock and the Stars

Blue and green feathers sparkle,
like silver or gold in the sun.
The delicacy of a young bird,
conceals the strength of bones,
that bend like moist twigs.

Black eyes stare at me.
I disappear into their abyss,
where the universe is recreated,
in the rebirth of stars and planets.
My wings carry me further than that,
and I inhale the sweet scent of love,
burning like fire in my heart.

Unbreakable in my fragility,
strength is always an illusion,
that bends in the stormy winds,
and breaks on sweet summer days –
the unpredictability of life,
is like tiny star explosions,
always leading to something new.

Merging together,
from two different worlds,
the peacock has to lose her feathers,
and the stars will have to forget,
their ability to break in silence.

It reminds me of growth

The scent of earth,
reminds me of growth.
Of breaking,
turning,
sweat on my brow.
Of digging,
of holes,
that need to be filled.
Of seeds,
and of life.
It reminds me,
of water,
now and again,
every other day,
or once a week.
Of pulling,
of weeds,
of earth,
underneath my nails.
It reminds me,
of waiting,
of time,
of patience,
and then,
the reward,
of all your hard work.
Of new life,
of birth,
of little by little,
every day a little more,
until all there is left,
is to bloom!

Hangover

Boats sail along the shore,

waiting for horizons,

to allow the sun to set.

Seagull screams break,

the ever-present silence,

and I wake up,

to the rain,

tapping against the window.

Red wine spilled,

on spotless white sheets,

conceal cake crumbs,

and empty tea cups in my bed.

The clock strikes twelve!

I find my shoes at the door,

but my heart still waits,

in the bed I slept in,

with you!

My old blue jeans

Under a blue sky,
a bird rises,
to fly away,
to the end of the earth,
where she finds,
the sun shining,
underneath  the feathers,
of her own black wings.

And here I walk,
with you,
in the pocket,
of my old blue jeans,
that have faded,
in the broken parts,
of yesterday.

Can I bring,
the sun back,
to that little corner,
of my place on earth?
Or do I fly away,
like that bird,
to somewhere,
where my old blue jeans,
can’t rupture?

Now I stand,
in my old blue jeans,
in the middle,
of a busy road,
where each car,
passes me by,
with the same question,
as I!

Bouldering

I carry rocks,
like a body builder,
showing off strength,
but in the shadows,
where the lens,
cannot see me,
I climb them,
instead.
Bouldering,
rock after rock,
until the muscles,
of my fragile heart,
have grown strong.
I keep on climbing,
knowing that,
the great Chinese wall,
was not build,
in one single day.
My soul alike,
cannot be build,
in a moment.
Strength takes time,
and as the clock ticks,
I concentrate,
merely on the next,
positions of my hands,
so my feet can follow,
where the rope leads,
to the top,
of my ability.  

Midwinter

A rose blooms in the snow,
gently caressed by the sun,
who softly strikes the petals with her fingers.
Below ground life prepares itself,
for new changes in the spring,
as the acorns are looking for their owners.
I cry like an eagle across the Grand Canyon,
searching for water between the deep cliffs,
but the light feeds me from the inside.
My wings dance in the sky,
where my feet make pirouettes on thin ice.
Faith is believing in the greatest outcome,
like a rose blooming in midwinter!

All poetry posted on this page is mine! Please ask before using!
Thank you!

The Art of True Living

The withered flowers,
can only arise from their ashes,
when I can give them back,
to the dark earth.
So, I burry them,
deep within the soil,
for them to rediscover,
the art of true living.

Born from the ashes,
the red rose blooms in the summer,
and from the thorns,
I bleed the same color red.

Overwhelmed

Shades of crimson red –
I stretch out my hand,
to be covered in blood.
Hues of gold intertwine,
with the branches of the vine,
where grapes spill juice,
that lands like dew on my face.
My moist lips taste like honey,
surprising me,
with the many sensations,
my mind has to process.
My arms embrace myself,
to give warmth to my heart,
confused with the aromas,
tickling my nostrils.
Dizzying is the information,
I receive in this short,
but powerful moment in time.
My eyes are unable to focus,
on the essential elements,
trying to seek my attention.
So, I close my eyes,
empty my mind,
and shut my ears,
to become one with silence,
where I hear you speak,
in the soft whisper,
in the silent breeze.
In order to find my way,
I must learn to trust,
that the right way,
will eventually,
find me!

The Change

Life changes in every season,
like the colors in autumn,
change from green to yellow,
until they let go and fall,
allowing the heart to be,
reborn in the spring.

It is an inescapable process,
all life on earth experiences,
during their existence,
where the heart changes,
and the mind finds a way,
between the fallen acorns.

Nerves, like fingers,
stretch out to the sky,
like the heart stretches herself,
out to the heart of God,
where she finds peace,
in the soft autumn breeze.

The yellow trees,
beside this forest road,
protect her with their arches,
during these rotating seasons,
as she learns to see the blessings,
in the changes of the leaves.

This photo and poem belongs to me: Gineke van Keulen. If you want to use it, ask first! Thank you!

Dancing in the rain

The rain has created pools of water,
for me to jump in with my yellow boots.
My red umbrella I hold high above my head,
as I move my feet through the mud,
jumping around as if I am making pirouettes.
The thick rain drops slowly land on my face,
as a smile curves my lips and erupts into laughter.
My heart is a child again if only for a minute,
growing younger by every passing second.
For that is what silliness does to the soul,
it turns around the aging process,
cleaning the mind of all negative thoughts,
as it begins to feel alive again –
a clean slate where all the dirt is washed away.
Born again like a butterfly from a cocoon,
is the metamorphosis that comes from laughter.
The laughter that springs from deep within the earth,
like a geyser that erupts his steam in full force.
If only we could let go of the adult inside of us,
forcing us to behave a different way than we feel,
only because this is asked of us in a cripple society.
I spread my arms as if I fly like the birds in the sky,
as I feel the wind brushing my hair in waves,
allowing me to feel free from all that is holding me,
all that is imprisoning my emotional state of mind.
To be a child again is a gift to the soul,
where we learn to let go of the adult inside,
to discover that it is not too late to feel alive.