Our first love

Our first love

The wonder of birth,
will never cease to amaze me.
With one gasp of air,
we become one with life –
the first of many choices,
we will ever make on earth.

We breathe,
because we love,
and because we love,
we breathe.

Love and life are connected,
more than we ever realize.
Without life we cannot love,
and without love,
we cannot live our life.

If love is so important,
so vital in our circle of life,
why then do we love so little?

We put ourselves first,
without considering,
that an empty world,
leaves us desolate.

When we are born,
we love our mother.
Without that love,
we die.
Why then do we believe,
we can live alone,
for the rest of our life?

A life without people,
is an empty life,
for only through people,
we can learn,
the most selfless love,
that has ever existed.

To learn the depths of love,
we must be willing,
to look beyond ourselves.
For in the beginning of life,
we did not love ourselves first,
NO,
our first love,
belonged to our mother.

For most of my life, I was bullied, emotionally abused, rejected, and I had/have so little friends that I believed that I was better off alone. This year nearly took my life, not by COVID-19 but by loneliness. When one is rejected and alone for so long, one can get the idea that life alone is the only option. That is why I always said to myself, “It is me and God against the world”, believing there was nobody out there for me. But during the pandemic, I have learned that this is a lie. Humans are created to live together in whatever shape or size that is. The walls are slowly coming down around me and even though I am still finding my place in this life, the growth I have experienced was necessary and so important. That was the sole reason for this poem. Nobody is supposed to live a life alone! No one! And yet, there are so many, like me, who face this struggle every day. I am so blessed with my immediate family but there are those who have no one! Let us take the coming holiday season to look out for those who are alone! Give them something to look forward to. Give them love, a place at your table, a place in your life. You have no idea what it will mean to them! xox Gineke.

Creative Minds

Creative minds

I walk the temple grounds,
in my jungle colored harem pants,
declaring the state of my heart,
to a summer blue sky.

Parrots repeat my prayers,
like an echo across the mountains.
My mountains,
that I have climbed,
millions of times.

If only I could fly,
holding onto the lianas,
like that fictive man from the jungle,
I would let my heart sing,
screams of joy across the world.

But maybe I was born,
for this meditative state of my mind,
creating her own jungle,
in her own fictive mind.

Sometimes the greatest reality,
is the one that captures you,
and holds you tight.
Where a firm grip on your heart,
tells you that this jungle you created
isn’t so fictive after all.

Believing in your own reality,
creates a connection,
to a supernatural God,
who created you,
in his own imaginative mind.

Sometimes the greatest reality,
is the one that you create yourself,
in your own creative mind,
where faith makes the impossible,
your greatest possibility,
in a sometimes fictive world.

This photo is made by me. So, if you want to use it, that is absolutely fine, as long as you give me credit! Thank you!

The Birdcage

The Birdcage

An empty birdcage made of gold,
fills an empty space in a luxurious house.
Velvet sofas of red and green,
create an old fashioned yet classic décor,
where pearls would roll across the floor,
in an overflow of wealth.
The silent emptiness is overwhelming,
and a sadness roams the halls,
in a search for that one missing thing.
Echoes cry in the darkness,
on the ever-present cry of the wind.
Love cannot be bought,
or found in the materialistic items we own.
Only when a house is filled with people,
can we truly life our wildest dreams.
Life was not meant to live alone,
why then do we focus on those things,
that can never bring us joy?
A heart needs a heart to live in,
otherwise it withers away and dies.
An empty birdcage made of gold,
is forcing me to open a window,
where nature is calling the heart,
to spread her wings and fly away,
to that one heart she needs,
to feel alive once again.

Still life

Still life

Silent waves draw me in,
until every inch of me,
is filled with your beauty.

Out of your emptiness,
something new is born,
in the wakening of a bird.

I love to hold you,
in every sense of my being,
I see everything,
in your nothingness.

Silent membranes,
create sound waves,
only the purest soul can hear.

There is nothing,
and yet,
there is everything.

In this still life,
a creation is born,
in the utmost silence.

Roots

Roots

Roots dig deep,
at the rivershore,
laying a firm foundation,
for the old cottage.
The water rises,
the wind blows through the trees,
bowing and breaking the branches,
but the roots do not give in.
As the sun sets behind the horizon,
the country roads become dark,
and the foxes come out of their holes to play,
still the roots protect the house,
for whatever is built on love,
will never fall,
and whoever relies,
on this firm foundation,
will find goodness,
for the rest of his life.

Belonging

Belonging

The world fades,
as pink roses bloom.
The bell rings,
and in the distance,
sounds the whistle,
of an old black steam train,
awakening the nostalgia,
like the perfume of roses,
awakens my soul,
in the heart of friendship.
I chime the tower clock,
while the organ plays,
our favorite symphony,
as white doves fly away,
on the warm summer breeze,
that my heart releases,
at the beginning of winter.
The open fire crackles,
wrapping its warmth around me,
like a warm blanket,
on a cozy Sunday afternoon.
The tea in my hands,
smells like cinnamon and apples,
while the hot carrot cake,
lays untouched on my plate.
And as the first snowflakes fall,
I curl up in your arms,
where belonging is the same,
as being home on a cold winter day!

Photo made by: Gineke van Keulen. (Do not use without permission! Thank you!)

The Freedom to fly

The Freedom to fly

A little feather,
with a million silky hairs,
lays desolated on the ground.
Blown away by the wind,
it catches my heart,
and captures my soul.
A gift on a bed of grass,
glimmering in the sun,
it shines like the stars.
The stories it could tell me,
reach beyond the farthest galaxy,
where Heaven meets earth,
in the palm of God’s hand.
And as suddenly as it came,
the Spirit takes it away from me,
leaving me with an imprint,
of an unknown future,
where my feelings will find,
the freedom to fly.

Photo taken by me: Gineke van Keulen. (Do not use without permission! Thank you!)

Perception

Perception

Eyes only see,
the things they want to see.
Dead and desolate places,
alternate with magical kingdoms,
where angels and butterflies,
fly through colorful mists.

Perception is the essence,
for our identity to be,
the purest form of the self.
For hiding behind a mask,
will give only a temporary relief,
of not being seen.

Visibility is the key,
to the door of fulfillment,
but only when you block,
the murmur of judgmental voices,
and stay true,
to the truest form of yourself.

Eyes only see,
the things they want to see.
And in the sight of selflove,
and childlike positivity,
can we lift ourselves to infinite heights,
where we are more,
than we could ever think of,
and take our life,
further than it could ever be.

A life well loved!

A life well loved!

A life lived without love,
would kill the strongest flower,
but surrounded by love,
even the smallest flower shall bloom.
In order to give our love,
we need to receive it as well.
It is a vicious circle,
that we desperately need to survive.
We find love through companionship,
through a gentle touch,
or a simple conversation.
In order to really love in life,
we need to look around,
and love each other.

Just like flower petals,
wrapping themselves around one another,
that is how I need you,
to wrap your arms around me.
For my emotions to be unlocked,
I need your love to fill me up.
Overwhelm me with your presence,
however small or fragile it may be,
and I will smile again,
breathe again,
and live again!

chrysanthemum yellow red

Turn the tide

Turn the tide

Blue oceans are full,
without spilling a single drop.
When the rain falls,
hail sets in,
a storm rushes past,
the dam breaks,
and the water floods,
I am swimming against the tide.

If only the tide could be controlled,
ice bergs would not melt,
a storm be non-existent,
maybe then we would survive.
But we only drown in low water,
on a blue summer day.

Where poor help the poor,
the rich prevent the rain,
to fall on their own roofs.
But mountains do not move,
if we do not ask them too.

The oceans in your eyes,
flood my soul until it breaks,
and in the water-reflections,
I want to turn the tide.