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Poems

 

Aus dem Geschichtenkorb 

 

Swing of stars

 

 Locked in the yard,

 I cut myself night after night

 a piece from the cloud and

 drink to the stars,

 until their swaying is a signal to me.

 I ride on a cloud strand

 to the star swing.

 

                            ***

 

Golden Beach

 

No softer carpet – than the sand in the Mediterranean Sea,

that the light splits in honeycombs,

on which I look while wading through crystal clear water.

No fish, no crab meet me,

the dark spots of the mountain splinters I avoid.

In the bay with the church of the apostle on the rock -

a landmark for castaways,

I swim in Poseidon’s four-poster bed.

 

Here, where cape Apostolos Andreas

like a spearhead stings to Latakia into the sea,

which rests like a dish in the shell of the earth

and promises never again to devour a rubber boat.

 

(From the cycle „On Caravan Roads“)

                                                                     

                                                                                                

 

 

 

 

Vorfrühling im Park

Schneeglöckchen und Märzenbecher

und im Quellteich rufen schon

die Frösche ihre Liebeserklärung.

Die Linde, vom Efeu umrankt,

Moos an der Wurzel,

bewahrt in ihrem Stamm die Jugendringe

wie auch das Mädchen in mir nicht mehr altert.