#173 (darkness pierces every corner)

the ones you lost

have now been found

riding like mad

a merry-go-round

the one to hell

and back, my dear

don’t fear the reaper

for she’s near

the gift of life

the prize of dying

we grind and toil

and keep on trying

three wishes granted

if you dare

mischievous fairies

they don’t care

beyond the place

of broken bones

of broken dreams

and thunderdomes

the abyss-born is rising fast

from oceans wide and mountains vast

she wields her scythe

she tears apart

each fiber of our beating hearts

our darkest lady has arrived

her voice cuts deeper than a knife

inside the ashen halls of fate

where gods and demons were betrayed

she’s sipping from the holy grail

black dress, silk mask, a flowing trail

wide eyes so bright

red lips so lush

she rules the night

be still now, hush

as everything falls into place

and darkness pierces every corner

you might turn mad touched by her grace

and everybody left a mourner


20th July 2017




#156 (the physician)

a crunching sound

too close to home

on rotting ground

a pale, old dome

once held the mind

of one, now lost

whose feelings, thoughts

had turned to dust

a physician once said to me

there was no loss of energy

So dark-red zinnias

growing out

the shallow grave

might have been doubts

to flee a fate

already doomed

in moss and grass

his fears now loom

no stone unturned

no cash unburned

still gazing into

pools of clay

the thread is thin

yet still he tries

to capture secrets

deep within

below the brim

of knowledge’s keep

the soil holds all

forever deep

23rd June 2017




#135 (within the cup of quiet grace)

the night was old

all stories told

as chastity

had long been sold

the mirrored passion

in her gaze

entranced him

in a scarlet haze

he drank it all

the tears and sweat

his restless fears, doubt

and regret

within the cup of quiet grace

he glimpsed

a single solemn face

the queen of hearts

had lost her smile

was wandering lost

for quite some while

between the good

and mostly bad

her hopes and dreams

were turning mad

her faded glamour

seeping through

the veils of night

soon ripped by spring

the morning light

most cruel thing

and early dawn

the lethal sting

24th April 2017

#106 (there is a whole in the world)

photo credit: Matthias Geh

a husk

that used to be

mother, grandmother, sister

disguised under paper and frill

the face of death is not pretty

so we build masks

out of chores

and rituals

trying to fill them with meaning

though they only distract us

from feeling the pain

there is a whole in the world

whenever someone crosses

their hands behind their backs

the turkish fairy tales

you used to read me

until I could read them myself

never standing still

always buzzing around

defying frail bones

and a weak heart

for eighty-eight years

until you’ve used up

all the time

and your thread is being

tied elsewhere

*6th January 2017

#91 (three tales about grief)

photo credit: Matthias Geh


he was reading

some books about stars

on the steps

how his heart started bleeding

when he thought about Beth

realizing how she

had been taken

by Death



I was circling

some words

in a text about birds

as it hit like a rock

while the doves kept

on staring

never would I be able

to sit next beside

my dear grandmother

once  a clay cottage



she was brushing

her hair

when some strains

circled down

memory hit her


of a delicate clown

who had brought

her to tears then

but right now

it was clear that

his life had been lost

joking one hour too long

in a sudden, grim frost

*18th December 2016

#90 (on top throned a petal)

photo credit: Matthias Geh


was stretching its

pale claws

made of smoke

and exhaustion

I’ve seen

my lover die

under a big, flat tire

cuz’ he tripped on some sleet

his feet caught in a wire

and his head hit the street

how my tears

have grown cold

throughout wanderin’

the valleys of sorrow

how my palms

lost their touch

when I reached for the handle

and relief filled me up

as I crashed

and I shattered

like a cracked, dusty cup

nothing else really mattered

only pain did


broken bones

kept on mending

while the moon

travelled on

no more silly pretending

he was lost

he was gone

watched the snow

paint some flowers

with a brush made of cold

and my sister

came by

and her eyes looked so old


she  had brought me

a biscuit

and on top throned a petal

from a yellow-red rose

 my tongue still  tasted metal

but sweetness touched my nose

oh the smile that was spreading

when my teeth

broke the dough

and just then I was letting

all the misery go

*18th December 2016

#81 (fragile tiny flutterlings)

photo credit: Matthias Geh

silver threads

fell out his face

his eyes

were red


wild horses

rode along his spine

sly beetles bit

his heart


to the dark embrace

of heavy dreams

he lied

in slumber’s swamp

and resting

on his chest

there was

a cup of finest



in some dreamish glories

his feet were twitching idly

and in between

two shallow breaths

a butterfly so lightly

like early morning’s finest ray

it flew into the white

within that finest

smooth embrace

it fluttered and

then died


threw his rosy veil

and soon

said hero’s eyes awoke

the dusty cup it fell

and broke

within the dust

some trace of gold

two silken wings

the story told

of queens and kings

and fragile

tiny flutterlings

9th December 2016