Some old poetry and poetic short prose of mine. I don’t really like rhymes.
For reading my newer poems and poetic short prose you can just click https://starfishskies.wordpress.com/category/poetry-and-short-prose/ (or find the category at the bottom of the right column menu).
~ So my dreams decided to run along this starfish crusade, praying for a thunderstorm. ~
Take me to the sea
Take me to the sea and I’ll be happy. Sunshine and wind, running along the line of dancing waves, water in the shoes and seashells in hand. Remembering childhood, anticipating future, and the sea the constant all the time, a life born by the coast.
I’m a bird, the city is my cage, not only one cage but like rooms in a house one cage leads to the next one, ever tempting, ever promising freedom just a few steps away. Between the grey bars of buildings there is always a glimpse of blue sky, some lonely stars, and small green areas mocking real nature. I’m a songbird, and yet mostly unheard among all the other birds in the cages around, and I’m not even looked at as an beautiful bird of paradise, as I was caught from the woods.
The Glorious Days Of Fall
(2011, written in Kenya – their cold rainy season reminded me of continental European autumn)
Golden dust powdered on grass and stones
The morning breeze went back to sleep
Ancient dreams of rivers and woods
Alive in the smell beckoning you to stray
Far, far, fogs tearing like veils of pearls
The fen lends its qualities to fields of harvested gold
It wants you to spread your roots, to stay
Let this moment surround you like ivy old castles
Mist seeping into your pores, your lungs
And it’s cold sun you breathe out
Set on fire by the reflections of red grapevines
Water like glass, rippled by idle dragonflies
You feel like your soul is stretching out
Touch the past, touch eternity
Life condensed into leather, clay and wind
Old symbolisms, a feather, wooden music
Let’s call it the time of ancestors, spirits, myths
Carved into stones, exhaled with a whisper
The grass is spreading its seeds like stories
And we dance as we live our future hopes.
Is it the rain …
Is it the rain again?
It’s been rainy for what felt like weeks. This ought to be summer. But it’s just rain and cold and sweltering and moist and rain again. Today the sun woke me up. The warmth felt so good when I finally went out, walking down to the post office.
Is it the rain again?
It’s late in the evening, the world outside my window was dark already and the curtain still drawn back. Suddenly the darkness was literally pierced by a flash of lightning, so bright it seemed to happen in the backyard. A single bolt. Now just faint grumbling. A slight trembling of my floor, the sound of wind and rain hitting stones real hard. A single siren announcing another flouded basement.
Is it the rain again?
It feels like the world is shaking, so much rain, so much rain. I can’t see it, but it is so present, it makes the air vibrate, fills the darkness with angry noise. It’s not a warm and gentle shower, not a warm thunderstorm making summer complete. Just cold and angry. So cold and so little sunshine these weeks that the flowers outside my window didn’t start to blossom at all.
Is it the rain again?
It is. The city of rain, the capital of ripped umbrellas. It is the rain again, drowning what ought to be summer. Another rainy night.
(May 2011, staring out of the window at university during a lecture)
Floating on oceans of dandelions in a boat of early hay, I watch the clouds mirroring my summerday journey, wandering slowly, like dreams, across lagoon blue paper skies. Passing islands of sun painted buttercups and their clover reefs, the hay stirrs up dirt-white corals, releasing honey-suckle scented bubbles. I watch them rising towards the surface, the blurry line marking the distant horizon, where trees drink from the clear waters of the sky, from leaves cupped like the hands of a thirsty wanderer.
I drift on the warm surface between twin oceans, earth-green and bird-home blue. With eyes half closed I can’t tell bees from airplanes and butterflies from sails, I mistake zeppelins for submarines as the sun turns seperate colours into veils billowing above my eyes, like spray water from newborn waterfalls awakened by the songs of distant thunder fading into the flapping of seed-stealing crow-wings.
Waves of dry warm air, rippled by the touch of smooth stones’ hands, are carrying my grass perfumed dreams along the banks of spring turning into summer. I hear the dust singing out between pine forest borders, calling for the release of raindrops heavy as marbles.
Cautious not to sink the boat into the depths of forgotten days I touch the ground of now, the sand of today is making contact with my bare soles, like caterpillars exploring the feet of a tree trunk giant. Bumblebees disguised as lazy hot-air balloons are drifting by, swaying in the breeze of my hands dancing with the sun rays formed to dots and sparkles by the canopy of leaves and reflections on forget-me-not lakes.
I dance, I hope for summer rain and thunder happiness, I drift between still cold water and the hay of early summer days.
Tonight we paint the sky …
(January 2011, the most beautiful new years eve/night I ever had)
Tonight we paint the sky
With the colours of our dreams
Comet-like we cover the stars with ashes
And replace them with our burning hearts
Bright like children’s eyes as we stand and watch
While the crystal surface of snowy fields
Reflects a thousand colours
Of our hope-filled dreams scratching their names
Into the black wintersky
(December 2010, for Darling)
Deeper and deeper
The love for you is etched into my skin
Rubbing away the acid traces left by all the years before
Forming smooth patterns that will last, deep within
Drop by drop
This emotion enters my bloodstream
Cleaning out the clogged lumps of old dreams
Giving my body back the ability to absorb the oxygen-like qualities of life
More and more
The thoughts are linking cells of brain and heart
Dreams and fears and hopes and failures
Painting the whole picture of life, neuron by neuron
Little by little
The “you and me” replaces the cancerous DNA of “I am lonely”
With each day making it a more natural feeling to be close to you
A growing connection, becoming a vital part of what I am
While getting to know more and more of your heart and soul
I’m still falling deeper in love with you.
Tomorrow will come too soon
Tomorrow is sneaking up
Like some weird shadow-born creature
It’s seeping into the foldings of my brain
Making me lose my balance
Like a mysterious elixier from ancient times
Mixed for making each day spin
Tomorrow is crawling into my room
Flattening itself to fit underneath the door
Trickling from the ceiling
Dripping into my coffee
Making me run around until I bump into the postman
Like a capricious medicine
Any moment it might turn to paralysing me
Tomorrow yesterday tomorrow
Do you hear its footsteps?
It’s sneaking up
It’s oozing trough every crack in this world
Sipping from the cup of time
To grow and take over
Until it will become the present
It’s sneaking up, tomorrow is unstoppable
So better be prepared
Write down your letters
Lay ready your words
Too soon today will be over
Go to a field and pick some answers to tomorrows questions
Watch a blossom closing for the night
Write on it the memories of today
Like a dewy spider’s web glowing with the morning sun
Like a dry leaf carried on wind’s hands
Like the first blossom of a tree in spring
Like a young dragon fly
Like soap bubbles dancing towards sky
Like frozen drops on a twig
Like the touch of a butterfly
Like a child’s heart
Like me and you
Like this world
(October 2009, my first autumn in a bit city)
Such a crisp morning
Autumn’s earthy colours
Awakened by the sun
It’s neither warm nor freezing
Just life, just breathing
The mood reminds me
Of a picture I once drew
A strange, poetic, yet harsh town
Enchanted with an autumn sky
So tell me
– how to bottle these days?
In the forest of wonders
(October 2009, memories of my gap year)
it is the place where creation is breathing pure life and being,
the forest of wonders is where you think about your heart.
Capture the moment, loosen your grip and let it fly,
in the forest of wonders you are a child again,
marvelling at ephemeral wonders which seem eternal,
for as a child you are an inhabitant of the eternal sphere and can give everything a touch of it.
Why do they say growing up and becoming more knowing excludes the perception a child can have?
Step back and take a broader look at the world around, marvel again at what you believe to understand.
A child can be wise and an old man a fool,
it’s the world inside your heart which makes you rich or poor.
It’s in the forest of wonders where you can’t escape yourself by living the broadcasted life.
To welcome the Day
(August 2009, visiting my childhood village with my sister and my father, our journey started before sunrise)
Open your windows
Breathe the calm clear morning that touches your cheeks and your lips
Open your eyes
Watch the timid colours appearing behind the misty veil
Open your heart
Let the beautiful idea of soon sunrise warm it
Open your soul
Touch the refreshing simplicity of stillness
Open your mind
Allow the vivid intensity of openness to resound in you its inspiration
Lift your face, spread your arms
Stand and be overwhelmed
By the new day.
Then dance to welcome it.
I wanna show you wonders …
(no date, I just know wrote this for a really weird StarTrek:TNG fanfic many years ago …)
Can you hear that silent song
The stars are singing along
Through the darkness a light
Beautiful and bright
No place to hide
The open space so wide
I think it could be eternity
Just share your dreams with me
On http://www.kayanya.deviantart.com you’ll find some older poetry-like stuff I still like a lot for the pictures I drew back then with my words, but I won’t repost it because it is about past loves, so it feels just wrong. The line about the “starfish crusade” is from such a poem (“skin of thunder and ink”), I included at least this line here because I believe it’s the first time I included starfish in my writing.