Latest Submissions

Everywhere there is complaining, but it is a healthy thing: if you complain, you see what's wrong and get yourself detached from it, thus making clear your distance from the unacceptable, corrupted, sick, unsound and evil. Only if you let yourself become affected and involved in rottenness, you are yourself in danger, if you allow yourself to get depressed and downcast and upset emotionally, instead of soundly countering, opposing and making your position clear against ...

I can hear her footsteps on the stairs, in the kitchen, in the garden, in her bureau; I can listen to her, a hummingbird, strict with the kids, their father, and the pets; I can smell her, a melange of food, continental and local, her signature trace, and that of Christian Dior, Angel of Thierry Mugler, Hugo Boss; If I try hard enough, I could even figure her sitting beside me, talking to me, overlooking ...

I tried to let my yesterday go, it followed me like a shadow, a redundant tail attached to me, as if it were a delinquent monkey; I had it tagged a day ago, I have it today, for sure I'll have it tomorrow; its pains and pleasures, deadly treasures it engages me every day beyond measures, as if there wasn’t a today unless it died, as yesterday. I fail, I fall, I feel so low, ...

Is that what makes love irresistibly attractive with that mysterious force that ever is renewed and always challenges and pulls you up again to never let you down and never let you rest, the fact that true love is so unattainable, so that you always reach for what you cannot reach and search forever for what never can be found? The perfect absolute ideal exists, and that's why everybody always chase it, but the problem ...

Another lost and leaden hour drags itself along, sighing at the length of an ageing day. Wearying hands crawl imperceptibly around the hours, as the clock ticks relentlessly on. Resigned: my gaze confirms yet another day, when I am forgotten, left behind the glass looking on. Looking out. And I long to cry please… Take me with you ...

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An old one I dug up ...

How many pages left to turn, and words… how many await the reading. Time runs low as the ink in the pen runs dry. Soon the well too shall fail, perhaps a last drop…waiting in a  forgotten bottle, that once fell to the detritus of years, may yet glisten once more upon the nib ...

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unique lives and friendships - each to be appreciated and nurtured ...

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the miracle of life's singularity ...

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what if pots and pans were  ifs and ands? ...