Day 1987, pride.

Daily picture, Poetry

There is a small part of you that I like

I don’t think you have ever seen it

it’s your pride

Day 1986, questions.

Daily picture

Just before

she lets it all go

she looked to reach

~

I don’t know if it was for the wind

to take her along

~

or in search for the edge

to fall off

~

or maybe climb on

Day 1985, still life.

Daily picture, Poetry

The sunset reflected on the wall

something prevented me

from looking to the end of the day

~

It was this seed

waiting fully grown

maybe for me

Day 1984, our web.

Daily picture, Poetry

Do we stand on our past?

With little effort, it supports us.

~

Or do we hang on it?

And feel it slowly slip away.

Day 1983, inside.

Daily picture, Poetry

I see you on the TV

in pieces

because he up there

seems to hate you

I always thought that we humans share our delight for emptiness and silence. Seeing a landscape while you drive trough the day, your mind goes silent and the noise of the engine disappears. I thought we share these moments, no matter who you are. So why is it that most people can’t bare the silence, and nothingness, that life is? Why does the silence and fastness, where you walk alone inside, be filled with structures, signs where to go, and not? Why don’t we appreciate the silence, and each other’s empty landscape?

Day 1982, who is the boss?

Daily picture

Day 1981, awareness.

Daily picture, Poetry

I see this grey man, looking at me in the morning, when I look up and my eyes open from a deep sleep. I’ve seen this a thousand times through a thousand facets and an awareness, like you have, driving too nowhere. Maybe I take that drive today and let the hair I once had, hang free, in the wind.

Day 1980, stuck.

Daily picture, Poetry

When I drifted away, many years ago, I got the feeling that I got stuck, maybe halve way. I don’t know why I thought that, knowing that I was going, without aim. I guess everything makes you feel stuck if you go to nowhere.

Day 1979, sail.

Daily picture, Poetry

It looks, that what I hold in front of me, is a shield. But I can tell you, that it works like a sail, a sail that helps me to smoothen the passage over rough tidying’s. leaning against time and its companions makes you stiff and will, at the end, break you, like the tree that never learned to give.