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North of Nowhere

swirls around the cool evening air
as a pickup truck passes me
on the lonely dirt road.

The driver waves
and smiles;
his dark glasses reflecting the setting sun.

I greet back – lips tugging upward -
and pat my dog.
Life is good today.

Somewhere in the distance
I hear coyotes
hollering their pack together
for the cover of night.

The scent of fresh-cut grass
fills the air and I thank god
 - for mosquito spray -
as I am nearing the outskirts
of the forest.

As I turn back towards the ranch,
I can see the horses
peacefully grazing in the pasture;
the proud colors of the stallion
shimmer between lush green trees.

The setting sun illuminates everything
in a soft, red light.
Even the mosquitos
look magical today.

I raise my hand to greet
yet another truck driver rushing by
and my eyes follow his dust trail
into the west.

My lips are still smiling.

Some people might feel lost out here
- but I think I’ve just found my way back home…


Writings in the sky

Writing on an airplane
lines shaken by turbulence
words of running away, 
             and fairytales

The cabin crew serves 
yet another drink
and the pen pushes on
over page after page
building castles
                in the sky

Writing on an airplane
high above the ground
chasing clouds,
head first
                into the sunset

and the pen pushes on
the past, the present

10.000 miles from home



The autumn sun turns everything golden.
The changing leaves on the trees,
the cornfields, softly swaying in the breeze –
even the street signs have a golden shimmer today.

lush green hills fly by
outside the car window.
Here and there,
they are separated by
a river; the valleys are crowded
with cattle
or horses.

Somebody said “this is the last of the wild west”
and, as we drive further up north,
I couldn’t agree more.

Here and there,
lonely houses pop up:
a corn farm, a trailer, some estates
with trimmed lawns and fancy gates.

But for the most part,
it’s only fields and streams;
farm animals and wildlife.

As we cross yet another river,
a pack of wild geese takes off
into the sunset.
I close my eyes, turn my head west,
feel the warmth of the sun on my face
 -and smile.

 Life is good today


On writing

There’s a piece of my heart
on blank paper.
Words with blood stains
exposed to the outside world.

There’s a piece of my mind
on blank paper.
Letters, saying things that
usually only echo inside my head

There’s a piece of my soul
on blank paper.
Black ink describing
inner longings to outer listeners

There’s a piece of my heart
on blank paper,
bringing it to life;
giving it a soul and a mind
of its own.


Christmas Sentimentalities

In the end
it’s the feeling you get
when you look into your mother’s eyes
bedded in wrinkles.
Her smile lighting up her face
her arms
stretched out in a greeting.

It’s the implication
not in the words of your father
but in his embrace.
His strong hands holding you tight
pressing you against his chest,
saying so much more than words ever could.

The unexpected affection
in one simple,
spontaneous hug.
When you look down
and see your niece
wrapped around your leg,
happily showing off her tiny teeth.

And then you remember.
Even if you’ve spent the summer of your live
in the land of your dreams,
wanting to stay there forever –
It’s good to be back.

- Merry christmas everybody - 


The sound of a broken heart

I see him standing in front of me. I see his lips move and his hands are flying through the air. His image is clouded, fuzzy somehow. He’s coming closer, his eyes seem huge at this proximity. The white of his eyes seems to glow in the darkened room.

The sun has already gone down and dusk creeps over the land. The nights are quite chilly this time of year. I feel the cold beginning to seep through the windows, the doors. I shiver inwardly. I wonder if we are gonna have the first frost tonight. It’s too early, actually, but the weather is crazy these days…

He’s still gesticulating wildly. His eyes now shimmer from the streetlight shining in. They seem wet somehow, glittery. He’s standing right in front of me now. I can see his torso moving up and down with heavy breaths. His lips stopped moving. They are still parted, like it’s hard to breathe for him; Like he’s waiting for something, waiting for me.

I feel my own breath, flat and irregular. When had it become so erratic? My hands are shaking. I notice it for the first time. They feel cold, too. It’s really cold in here. Maybe I’m freezing. Maybe that’s why my heart beats so frantically. Maybe I was fighting death. My eyes sting. Probably from the cold. I should probably close them; or at least blink. Stop staring at him for just a second…

I blink. He’s still there when I open my eyes again. His lips are moving – again. It’s almost as if  he’s trying to tell me something. I wonder what he’s doing. 

I feel heat on my cheeks. And wetness. Cool wetness spreading over my face. The burning sensation in my eyes is almost unbearable now.

His image is still fuzzy. Like when you’re looking through thick glass – only it’s not glass. It’s water… mixed with salt. And it’s coming from me. I’m crying. MY hands are shaking and I’m crying. I finally hear a sound. It’s the sound of my own erratic sobs, the pulsation of my racing heartbeat in my ears. The sound of a broken heart…

 thanks to Sugarland and their amazing song Keep you for the inspiration



are pouring out of my pen
on to the empty pages of the notebook
filling them
with people,

the more I read
the more it pours
like a river
through a valley of paper
leaving blue ink stains

the pictures change quickly,
landscapes race by
days pass
or even months
and I’m crashing
from one emotion into the next
riding the tide
like a lonely cork
always on top
yet never really part of the river myself

Fellow Poets

I know you
                even though we just met
I know how you think,
how you feel
- because I’ve been there

I know you
                though I’ve only just learned your name
your soul mirrors mine
your thoughts resonate in my mind
                - because I’ve been there

I know you
even if we’ve never talked before
your words speak to my heart
and I find myself in your ideas
                - because I’ve been there

I know you
I’ve lived your struggles
I’ve fought your wars
I’ve celebrated your victories
                - because I’ve never really been there myself