It's Time 4 dAn

Passing to the 12

2011-12-31T04:56:00.000-08:00

Thetimes of sun turn longer on one

halfof the earth

but shorter

on the other

There is no way to tell up

anddown in this turning and spinning

Ebb flood and flow follow

the circling pale’s narration

some of earth's heavytremblings

and the winds' fiercest persuasions

Bluewhitelight's living grace

floatingsoft in wide and open

endlessspace

blessedby a light and its attraction

Comesa year anew

markof human view

thegaze turned from stars’ wide open

endlessdaze above

tothe tick tack tock of the pressure clock

righton the low pulse of rigid counting

thechange into a new number

ofexaggerated overvaluation

Offeringa change from death to life anew

timeto reflect on the self and the whole

overfireworks and celebrations

incantations

Overheadgalactic bends

yawn

Underfeetthe earth crusts

in silence

all vibesin-between

blessings of being

In other words: Happy New Year, concentration, unconditional love, many smiles and all the best for twothousandandtwelve!

Hacktivism

2011-09-30T08:54:00.000-07:00

[after reading Jillian C. York's Opinion "Hacktivism for Syria" and "Syria's electronic army" on the English Aljazeera web page]

"As living beings spending that much time on the line and entangled in the web,

how could we love and live without taking protest with us?"

myself on fb

And then you realize

you arenot alone

but with the many

who as you
far in your room

in front of blue-screens

despair

are not alone

cause thoseanonymous

have typed

your mind and heart

You catch yourself reading

half open-mouthed full

"To the Syrian people: The worldstands with you against the brutal regime of Bashar al-Assad. Knowthat time and history are on your side - tyrants use violence becausethey have nothing else, and the more violent they are, the morefragile they become. We salute your determination to be non-violentin the face of the regime's brutality, and admire your willingness topursue justice, not mere revenge. All tyrants will fall, and thanksto your bravery Bashar Al-Assad is next.

To the Syrian military: You areresponsible for protecting the Syrian people, and anyone who ordersyou to kill women, children, and the elderly deserves to be tried fortreason. No outside enemy could do as much damage to Syria as BasharAl-Assad has done. Defend your country - rise up against the regime!- Anonymous." [video]

And you watch and

you read a second

time cause you can't

believe

that your thoughts

I salute your determination to be non-violent

have found ways

into theopening

All tirants will fall

and reflect

back to yourself

from your far close screen

and suddenly you feel Yes!

everything'sgonna be alright

have no more doubt

Mare e monti: Between Mühltal & Istanbul

2011-09-05T14:48:00.000-07:00

In the meantime the dinosaur has found the wide awoken eye of the narrator and tries to hunt it down.

Finally, as we start watching, he traps it on the seaside. The mountainous beach turns red.

Side by side they weep until darkness collapses around the last real blink of sunlight.... ight... ght... t... .

Under bridges over calmed waters
between continents and seaways

we eat the fruits of the wet
and yes we are
thankful greatful
and soon also bellyful

A blessing it is to be here
A blessing it is to fly here
A great lesson it is to be

The sun agrees and sends some
beams and wind with it
illuminating the house of death
showing peace and patience

Every little thing is changing
and yes we are with it
in it
for and in
so many dimensions

ever changing ever grinning ever spinning
in this wheel of foreign fortunes

wheeling with the gulls
in between somewhere nowhere everywhere
always deciding if the sun should rise
or if the clouds in tides
should crisscross the sky

with bridges and calmed waters
underneath

& when imagination strands
in a shipwreck

without island

it is seaweed
or a fleeting sandbank
that will do
water games
write funny names
into currents
and water jets

every drop
rhythm
information
and {the possibility of} a
rainbow

...

Even the smallest
and most meaningless
matter
is light

image and part of the whole
written down

to go up

SouthTyrol / Istanbul summer 2011

Freedom of Speech

2011-07-19T05:39:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow I will read/perform in Munich with wonderful writers and artists: freisprechanlage. staging opinion (as already commented extensively on my German blog). Our common topic is freedom of speech. Obviously one can always say too much and do too little for it. That is why only some lines will follow. And the invitation to check it out!

To speak or not to speak that is the bullet
to raise your hand in proprotest
to raise your voice
your hearts
and souls
is that
free
dom
??
!
.
.
...
or do
you need
quite some
more reflection
research and insight
some cover-up perfection
instead of direct emotions
manipulated by headlines and pictures
by politricks and propaganda strictures
without counter arguments nor space to think?

to think out and speak up - that is the sensible way

Have a most wonderful day and surf!
d

Reading for the Dirty Wall Project: Munich

2011-05-09T02:31:00.000-07:00

On Friday in a little cozy book shop in a Southern German city called Munich, usually known for its sausages, football team and beer festival: An evening for international solidarity on a one to one basis.

There will be art and talk and machines:
- Portrait Pictures taken by Kane Ryan in India during one of his many visits of solidarity and work. Kane is a one man NGO, the dirty wall project (DWP). Together with local sources he helps were he can, for example by building a school in a so-called slum. He will talk himself (via skype) of his current projects.
- The presentation of the DWP racing bike by Sammy Kama that will be auctioned @ ebay
- A poetry reading by Daniel Graziadei
- Furthermore there are T-Shirts of DWP available
- The book shop and editor KUTV as always offers good drinks and literature in a cozy atmosphere

Come and have a good different start into your weekend: Friday 13th May 20h Ligsalzstr. 13 Munich Westend.

SUN IS SHUT

O U T

OF MY ROOM

PLEASE WEAR

LUCIDITY

...
Sun comes up from the depth of a dark eye
Universes suddenly set alight and shining bright
Sharing a circle and a laugh we are sitting here and now
dining on a spoon of rise and a cup of quite clouded water
underneath the starry blinking of another night outside alright
Night becomes a counter day cuddling us into silent peacefulness

1128090511 MUC

Humble mumble from somewhere

2011-04-25T06:21:00.003-07:00

Easter Sunday (ups, now it became Monday) - some will try their luck today (again): bunny hop. No, not on a bike but on a boat, not a small obstacle but the Mediterranean. A miracle so to speak. Overload and too little wood or plastic to surf the open sea, too little horse power to ride against the waves. A nutshell, out on a pond. Ascension may come but how deep is the fall before and how to revive? The slow descend into another element, life bringing substance that brings death. Too salty and too much of it. How much can you take before engulfing it all, becoming sea, never to be pulled ashore?

A day like this, when the story of the pain of a human is brought to her first triumphant climax, when the white and red lights are cast upon earth after the storm has passed and the material temple has been scarred, on a day like this not only the new arrivants are present in their hopefull bunny hop. Many ancient, old, new and untold stories of deceit, imprisonment, torture, struggle for survival, staring gazes and loud cheering to one's death are present as well. Two of them searched a voice and found a humble vase of words stuck to the silk of this digital web. Here they are.

Number one pushed to be written a month ago in Venice and published today online. It is the well-known ordeal of a woman of the tribe of San, brought to England by a cunning doctor, portrayed, exposed, commented and written about, laughed at, used and abused both in England and in France by the supposedly most learned and fortunate men of the Empires. It is no other but the woman that was named The Hottentot Venus. There are disputes if Saartjie Baartman is her real name or merely the first one to be imposed by a European. For those who don't want to read: The Cyrcles Edge offers image and sound followed about a rant.

In any case: there exist two literary translations of her and her story. The South African poet Diana Ferrus wrote a "A poem for Sarah Baartman" that may have influenced the French minister of research and law makers to return the long displayed remains to South Africa in 2002. Secondly, a play has been written and produced by Suzan-Lori Parks titled "The Hottentot Venus". They are both better researched and probably written with more premeditation. Probably they could defend themselves better against the criticism of writing about things "they don't really know about". I confess that my lines are written by a sudden shiver in the spinal cord whilst hearing for the first time about this woman-in-constant-exposition.

Fi nameless 'uman on display

1029180311 Ca' Foscari

You standing in a cage they put around

you are moved into the lights of Empire

as a shadow under scrutiny

by pale darkness with gloomy eyes

and spit drooling from open mouths

You sitting in your cage whilst

the latest buyer fucks your great

anatomy right from behind

are running the savannah

behind tearing eyes

are lying on a beach

beneath your burning skin

where the marks of insecure

short dicked bullies write

H U M I L I A T I O N

on your ample body's lush widths

where herds of eyes graze upon

eating the light and reflection of your

nameless beauty of Otherness

May your parts fully rest in peace

and may the eyes now close shut tight

May the show be over and done

May the show be over and out

May the show be gone

Rest in peace and respect

Number two has to do with a similar exposition of bodies. But this time in ancient times and in a bloodier way. Gladiators in the Collisseum. Not the way the Hollywood movie portrays it. Not entirely at least.

glad? later.

maybe one is glad later

but as a gladiator

I is just another slave

on the way to work myself

to death

The games are promised

to thrive

for 101 days...

The Roman plebs is hungry

and blood must run

and entertainment come

If no good show this Caesar must run

Senate might even return

He don't want no run

Thus blood

from enslaved people

out of the cages into the arena

from the underground

to the spot of some thousand eyes

to this roar and this stomping

I had never heard before

Like an over-sized elephant herd

fleeing bush fire

Maybe one is glad later

but how should I survive

if summoned on inauguration day

with another hundred days to go

Luck

and a fingertip of earth powers

and a fingertip of star dust

and a fingertip of water from the Tiber

might prove to be enough

if spent wisely

But now out come

the hungry lions

and maybe I am glad later

but now I got to fight

or fall victim to sharp teeth

whilst the masses cheer and laugh

at my bloody death

Due to recent developments and discussions

2010-10-23T20:06:00.000-07:00

I will not be tempted to write two lines in rhymes and go to bed. Happy to have done something. Said something. Maybe touched a reader's heart in a near or far off future. I will not be tempted by that kind of rhyme. Politricks howl and whine.

When a dear friend sent me the link to democracy now!'s report on Germany's far right propaganda in the eager fangs of the so called people's parties in the so called centre of the political stage, followed by an interview with Slavoj Zizek, I was amazed. Obviously their perspective from the outside was not able to see all the people in this country that do not want to "tolerate" foreigners, migrants and asylum seekers but are happy to live in the pulsing streams of translation and encounters where everyone can be as much foreignized as 'naturalized'. To tolerate would mean to look down on someone. Mutual respect and a caring attitude is what we live instead. Good old 'love thy neighbour' - conviviality at it's best.

During an anti atom energy protest in Munich, Germany

Nevertheless Zizek is right. The voice has got to go back to the streets. Good, strong, positive inspirations have to break the insane barking of the media hunting dogs and the ever winding Newspeak of governments and multinationals. Yes, there are people who project their abstract fears and very lively disappointments onto the Other. There always were and always will be. What has to come back is a confident, measured, unagitated way of discussing the problems of living together, of sharing this little island, our planet. Positive vibrations, respect for every form and way of life would be the Propa Propaganda just the way Benjamin Zephaniah rhymes it. But you may ask yourself: What has that got to do with me?

Nothing and everything.

Generation in-between

We live between different myths of different nations
our passports carry a question mark
and we surf the currents of entangled migrations

We live between the margins and the centres
our homes are many - our spirit our bones
We invent new lives and become self inventors

We live in the live streams, uploads and digital dreams
our profiles share many tongues and more locations
We are constant translation, movement and beams

of light into the heart of darkness
right there in Central Europe
where some want to care less

We meet sisters and brothers in settledness
those who greet, laugh and bond with us to bless
a handshake that shatters rigid walls of separation

No space without some forms of migration
ever changing process - unstable translation
Let's have ovations for flotation in negotiation relation

and show some love for the fearful ones full of temptation
Shadows of separation, distortion, might, extortion and foul power
Send them love and bless their light in fragmentation

but tell them of a world in movement
tell them not to be afraid

New 2 Naples and before 2 Procida

2010-09-29T14:23:00.000-07:00

Once again we meet on this blinking screen. Once again I brought some Italian poetry. Well, globalEnglish poetry written in Italy, Southern Italy that is. Neapolis, the new Greek polis and Procida, that which lies forth in the maritime logic of ancient archipelagic times give some rhymes. Down there, late Summer was still beaming with yellow light. I stored a lot of it. May some reach you by reading this.

Reasoning Language

What we say and how we pronounce it
might just change the way
we perceive it
and decide
if we believe it or if
we despise or regret it

Walking Naples

When walking Naples
stereotypes crumble like some
of the old palaces and I realize
that what others despise and
criticize, ridicule and vaporize
(verbally, mentally or even actually like 1943-45)
is sometimes (and more than often)
what I love and what I cherish
because it's life and live and full
of energy

Love is life and life is love
if you don't try to be above
but right in the middle
of things going on
Things not to come or gone
but in your breath
Neither blind nor dead
but feeling
with every string of this temple
-your body –
and this light
– your soul –
walking Naples

2 holy trinity (partial version)

Going back from Procida to Munich on September 19th 2010

a Sunday that liquefies San Gennaro's blood in sunny Naples

every word underlines

the distance

but still we advance

cause if we don't

believe in the impossible

what could ever be

our hopeful stance

Venice 09. dark poetry.

2009-11-14T15:38:00.000-08:00

Floating body over sunken city

[Variation on an old stereotype: Venice the dark lady.]

dAn november 09 Venice

Venice is going down

but I only hear her

silence and the slightly

nauseating smell of dark waters

& confused behind masks

the last tolls of a hundred

bells are maybe just cries

of millions of seagulls fighting

over

the dead floating body

surrounded by blinking garbage

and soft weeds

& confused behind masks

there is no air there is no

space

and a floating body might

just be another dark hole

to see the star spotted night

of one's inner retina

& confused behind masks

one cannot see the

seagull-bell and her closing

floating in dark smelly waters

were last blurbs shatter

the moving surface

& there is no air

Words out of heart's ache

2008-12-29T16:45:00.000-08:00

dAn 0133301208 @home

Whenever I see the news

flashes and whenever I hear the latest death

tolls I hear this war War WAR! deep in my ears

And whenever I hear our white collar red and blue

tie kind of guys talking about not talking but bombing

some so-called terrorists back into stone ages I think of Hitler

and that faked attack by German special troops in some Polish

costumes. And again I hear war War WAR! deep in my bloody head

So when twin towers crumble and red busses explode and morning trains

and subways and hotels and warships and cars and persons and discoteques blow to pieces...

I hear this haunting refrain

and it's rhythm doesn't fit

to the cycle of my blood pumping

one love, ONE LOVE, 1 LUV

And now that the bombs fall

again and the mortars and the missiles kill

again and now that the industry of armament is grinning

its big big biz and winner's smile again

Now that the kids are screaming

with the jets and bombs

Now that the kids are bleeding

with the city, land and scape

Now that the hate is pressure rising

again and every one has his opinion and her side

a flag, a song, a demonstration

Now I hear the screams of ancient furies

on news flashes and roof tops everywhere on every tide

But I do not surrender my pulse

And I will not surrender my rhythm

And I do not surrender one love

And I will keep and tender white dove

And I do not take sides

And I will never deal hides

And I do not

And I kill not

stop

Actually

I should silence myself

Better it would be and easy and free

(no friends I would lose on both sides of this bloodied river and its ready-to-throw silt)

I should silence myself - some say -

due to historical reasons and guilt

(Colonialism, Nazism and all that killing spree)

I could silence myself

but alas, what a silencer that would be on my poetical head

I could silence myself

but my ass, what a headshot that would be on my poetical dread

So speak I must

So write I must

hitting dust

between frontiers

impaled

on that forbidden wall

that Banksy coloured (the way I would too)

so let's end this rhyme 'n' stand silent, stand tall

You

who have the tanks and the jets and the might and the right

friends overseas and this everglooming historical plight

from Egyptian times to this very night

you could read your scriptures:

One I for an I

You

who have scorn and have zeal and have spittle

just to drown the other side and an ideal of world union

How about a little peace on your own side

instead of all that cutting and whittle

Hostages of splinters and fractions

you could read your scriptures:

You were not created to bombing die

You

both of you!

Unconditional love for the same land

unconditional love for the same God

how come you learned to hate your brethren?

You

both of you!

Cutting your men the same way

cutting your meat the same way

how come you learned to butcher your sistren?

You, both of you!

Shame on your war-mongers

your weapon traders

your killers

Shame on you

for not caring enough

for your children to raise

lambs instead of an army

For not trying hard and tough

to share that land that you love

in peace and harmony

Shame on you

for oh easily falling

for such bloody bait

as fury and

hate

You will say

I am an infidel

both of you

You will say

I am an ignorant

both of you

You will say

and you will sway

and find excuses

But all over the world

word has it

that your conflict

might just be

the ultimate key

to peace

So don't

tell me

not to

care

(don't

tell me

not to

dare)

We have already overcome

2008-11-04T15:36:00.000-08:00

Instead of sleeping
waiting
instead of dreaming
reading
instead of rest
foreign politricks at it's best

And I am not waiting for the call
as the hope instilled
and the chain undone
is all I longed for

I cannot vote and
the fate of
this inter
national
change
is like warplanes
screeching
over my dreads

I cannot hide
and I cannot
help

But nonetheless
this hope instilled
I bless

We have already overcome

"Vienna Night Walk"

dAn 0156051108 MUC

Island spotting on my mind

2008-08-20T08:43:00.000-07:00

Rain is falling and
a swift breeze rises
German summer seems
over and my heart goes out
to the Caribbean
and the places I touched
a year ago
Soft sand between eager toe
and the coral blue reflecting
in my glistering eyes
whilst behind my uplifted dreads
the green green jungle
roars waiting for the first
smoke to rise
So he can come
down on
me

Grey clouds are stalling and
a cold wind surprises
German summer deems
to be over and my voice goes out
whilst dreaming the Caribbean
and the islands watched
on that mindmap aglow
Soft sand will change for snow
and the coral blue expecting
is just a shadow in my eyes
whilst in everchanging beds
I quench my haunting thirst
for the hummingbird's cries
So I n I pray come
down on
me

dAn 1742200808 Forstenried

No Poem [for three voices]

2008-05-06T13:00:00.000-07:00

dAn 1548050508 Forstenried

I should write about Sex

but I think its rhymes make me flex

I should write about Drugs

but all is drinks and mugs and hugs

I should write quite right

but the wind of change blows a different kite

Ssht! Hide!

A, a-a, a-a-a, ey! What you tink you mumblin?

No poem to cheat

No poem for sheep

No poem in cheap

No poem to weep

A, a-a, a-a-a-a, ey!

Under plastic palms white whales do lie

under blueblue sky lonely gull no cry

This is not the magic island of thy dreams

this is not holy earth under sun's beams

this is just a stone in a sea of rocks

this is just one broad back of bloody flocks

A, a-a, speak up, come, say!

This ain't all bright and nice

hehe mister music give out some spice

This is to fight up twice

hey mister government take me advice

This is bad street and mice

stand up mister lazar shake off those lice

This ain't all right six dice

hehe mister gambler tell me your price

A, a-a, na-na-na-na, stop!

Thrice seems suffice

Under plastic palms I stare at bigbig bills

under blueblue sky not a cloud on the hills

This is not the magic island of my dreams

this is not the only earth under glory's beams

It is about one hole in the blue

but it is just a story for you

Get down knave, kneel pray!

No verse sound sleep

No poem short sleep

No poem dreams deep

No poem to peep

A, a-a, a-a-a, ey!

I know I should rant about Sex

but I think its rhymes make me flex

I grow I should rant about Drugs

but all is drinks and puke and jugs

But man, believe! I DO rant

and a little seed I will plant

A, a-a, a-a-a, ey!

Plant it deep

let water weep

let nature feed

plant it deep

Under plastic palms lies big economy

whilst under blueblue sky this ecolony

is not the magic island of thy dreams

but a nightmare of ¡oh so cruel! extremes

Ey!

One poem in deep

One poem to keep

One poem to repeat

One poem to read

out aloud and sing and shout

but only full of hope

Only full of hope

Hey, tell it, man, finally tell it!

Better than a plastic Eden

and longlong legs from Sweden

is the sweetsweet kiss of brutal reality

on this planetary island in rural universe and duality

Yey!

Thank you Mister Right Wing

2008-03-13T08:00:00.000-07:00

Your Iraq spells Vietnam

and all the books of history

yes all your films and veterans

in vain

The cry of sanity and peace

in blue wide grinning sky

when spring 2003 killed hope

‘cause April blossom carried arms

and bombs and devastation

Quiet!

Your Iraq smells Vietnam

no luck no peace no victory

but fresh hot oil in cheaper cans

In pains

the beast howls off the leash

Killed in vain

so many thousands have gone by

bullets, bombs, starvation, rope

and desert air is shrill alarms

All wrong and war’s dictation

Silence!

Your Iraq bells Vietnam

one sound so far from glory

that creeping through all media runs

in shame

and takes what it can seize

Grilled in vain

on shiny reason’s tight knit tie

high on proper propaganda dope

and monger’s warring charms

What helpless desperation

Listen!

Your Iraq tells Vietnam

A tale so dark and hoary

that overspills all borders and all clans

in chains

of unknown brutal Western breeze

Milled their reign

in bloody sands that’ll never dry

but crackling creep from slope to slope

No oasis lives without grieved harms

and protest and resistance eat frustration

Mind!

Your Iraq hells Vietnam

Hush, hush!

Lago Atitlán

2007-10-17T02:19:00.000-07:00

Lago Atitlán

evening 100807 at the lakeside

Clouds are painting in the sky

and down on earth

little waves wash swash slash onto shores

a slight little breeze comes to greet

with the beat of the lake

„Hello stranger

I am Atitlán

and my real name will not be

told. Sunken am I

from heights unseen

by human eye

Yes, I touched the deepest sky

once, when I was high

but sunken have I

and instead of dry desolation

I took water's life and consolation

Now all the peaks around me

are humble

as they saw and know that

they can fall and stumble

just like me

and be

a lake

Book of life

2007-07-07T09:54:00.000-07:00

Book of falling pages I will have to leave you soon

Book of fewest rages I will have to shut you soon

Book of many stages life is on my moon

book of many ages there is always room

for yet another story yet another time

yet another glory and another rhyme

No place to worry one place to chime

with no other hurry than the body of mine

gives me takes me leaves me is and is to be

yes wanna be and gonna be free to see

what there is and what there might just be

between here, there and me

traveling right through the middle and the place to be

is here and on sea sides where turtle slides

back into shallow water and on mountain peaks where the Rasta resides

and the maroon once again hides

as life is a circle and me just in it a bicycle rides.

Please go out and sing it. Yes do trim it.

Sing it just the way it is. Bring it to the stage of your choice

don’t you lower your voice,

it is beautiful to hear on this open and clear beach,

this high mountain peak and some other places in reach.

Bleach your so called civilization,

it is just a bad imagination

and lifetimes of propaganda in full frustration.

This is one occasion to change to another radio station

and tune in with softer spots, big green dots of life.

Strive to be with the powers that made you.

Don’t sniff the big cities glue

just get another hue

of green bless and do

nature, the earth do caress!

dAn1725060707 Ocho Rios, JAM

unHOLY WARs

2007-03-11T18:59:00.000-07:00

[inspired by Kingdom of Heaven and jaded by everyday's news]

dAn0257120307

Dust and sand and wind

but no water

Dust and sand and wind

but no green

Dust and sand and wind

but no flower

when the war started.

When eager to cross swords

both spat insulting words

the dust did not stop

to cover every inch

the sand did not move

but made them flinch

the wind never died down

the earth lay bare and brown.

And no water arose from the rocks

and no green covered the hills

and no flower blossomed

when all was smeared

with red disgrace.

When all was smeared

- hand, hair and face -

with the red of fratricide

the red of a killing case

red unwise

in-colour

off-colour

palliation

for

repeating

dissolution

Same ol' bitch-mess wrong

2006-12-14T06:19:00.000-08:00

Right on.

Give me that bitch-mess shit.

Yes, the whole choking bit.

I tried to hide.

I tried to get by, slide.

But now I'm standing right here

But now I'm standing right there.

In the middle of Babylon.

In the heart of Buyingdom.

In the middle of little shacks

golden shimmering stacks

loud singing packs

Little angels with horrifying cheeks

staring happily for weeks n weeks.

What a mess. Ou bitch!

suddenly I am part of a heaven gone kitsch

or is it crazy paranoia of some old witch?

Am I sharing the navel of a world gone rich?

Ou bitch!

Of a world in a hurry in a flurry?

with too lil spice and too lil curry?

Ou mess!

A world rather sweetened

a world overseasoned?

Ou bitch!
It is always the same short quicky

at the end of yet another year

gone tricky

gone on the fast lane?

Yes, it is all the waiting who's to blame.

Ou bitch! Ou mess!

Could you please pass some time?

I shout it out!

Could you please pass some time?

Next to me: a wonderful dark angel

is freezing is waiting is thoughtful is looking

and I try to imagine how waiting would feel like

Waiting for her in the double sense of meaning

waiting in any case

waiting instead of living

waiting as substance and base

waiting and giving

giving in

to bitch-mess time.

But alas!

All humanity seems to be waiting no matter from where

no matter if you care

no matter when

big clock Big Ben

It is I who stands here yet there

and while asking why thoughts are going by

people keep strolling and memories floating

byebye bye!

Black stained ink is waiting to dry

for eyes to fly

for a dove to spy

for a child to cry

without any reason

in this

blessed best rest crest ever season.

But rewind and cum again!

Could you please pass some time?

Together – alone – forever??!

Ou bitch! Ou mess!

What a wrong!

Ou bitch! Ou mess!

Tribute to Miss Lou

2006-12-12T03:04:00.000-08:00

Island of laughter

[Tribute to Miss Lou^¹ 1919-2006]

dAn1533081206

I heard that once there was an island

full of hope, good people and laughter

they worked hard, sweat, smiled and sang.

Poverty and bad politricks kept people down

but you gave them all superiority and highness they needed.

Yes, they say you were the unquestioned queen of that island

showing them the dignity of their doing with a smile and a joke and a laughter.

They say you laughed and cheered in good mood till the end.

From the forties to the new millennium

your rhymez worked its magic

whenever an audience was present

and your voice was allowed to speak out.

How would I love to hear and see you perform!

But no, I am too late.

Yes, too late.

I noticed you too late.

The hint I got is (c)old.

Only a grave I can visit

only a flower I can send

wrapped in cheap paper

and some lines scribbled on it.

And the lines go like this:

All a dem poets

all a dem singer

all a dem rasta

all a dem tella

tell a dem story

bout you

All a dem poems

all a dem songs

all a dem chants

all a dem rants

tell of you glory

Miss Lou

All a dem uman

all a dem man

all a dem children

sing in praise

hands all raise

chants of grace

riddim an pace

to you

All a dem people

all a dem tellies

all a dem stations

all a dem nations

still in praise

of you

Miss Lou

And with a likkle dancehallstyle

and a likkle ranting time

I say hello and goodbye to you

queen of the Island, Miss Lou.

1 Louise Bennet-Coverly was the first Jamaican poet performing and writing in patois and thereby giving rise to the fecund oral poetry from Jamaica to Black Britain, Canada and many other places where a Caribbean community has found new roots.

Please read the instruction leaflet

2006-12-03T07:46:00.000-08:00

Modern world's stupidity [date of expiry: 0000]

dAn1305031206
(yet another shit-house idea)

This poem is HOT
do shake it NOT
please do HANDLE WITH CARE
do NOT use as underwear
do NOT reheat in a microwave
do NOT cut or shave
do NOT try to white-wash
do NOT hurry and rush
do NOT drink it fast
please do LET IT LAST
please do give it breathing SPACE
please do bow in GRACE
please do give it LIGHT
do NOT paint it white
please do LISTEN CAREFULLY
do NOT gasp and stare dully
please do PAY ATTENTION
please do FUCK CONVENTION
do NOT try to criminalize it
do NOT mute or materialize it
please TAKE PRECAUTIONS
do NOT clean with baby lotions
This poem might just CHANGE your life
please do SHOUT it out, perform it LIVE
please do give ACCESS to your inner sanctum
do NOT use to clean your Highness' rectum
as this poem is that HOT
so I repeat do NOT
do NOT consume it lightly
do NOT smoke it highly
do NOT abuse it
please do USE it
as this poem is too HOT
for stupidity, is it NOT?!

Riddim n Rhyme

2006-11-12T04:37:00.000-08:00

What a Time
when Riddim n Rhyme
fuse to confuse
use to abuse
alladem shoes
n let em dance
right into trance

No visitors

2006-11-10T11:53:00.000-08:00

I watched yesterday
n di nite b4
I clicked like a rabbit
n it bcame a nasty habit
but no chance
no change
no dance
no range
there was all alone
written on a page of stone
di same ol ZEEERROOOOOO
tellin U fi sure
that no soul spoilt or pure
came 2 read me words...
So I n I decided it is time fi swords.
I jus put down a few of dem key words
of search n destroy,
smoke out of holes
n torture in unknown jails
2 mek sure unwanted visitors come
n rejoice in finding nothing
but a lil white rasta
eating vegan pasta

;)

It's time 4 pictures

2006-11-07T06:43:00.000-08:00

Pictures

from the last performance
in Ravensburg(GER)

dAn on the left with Marius Putenquark speaking.

dAn reading some prose to the audience in Ravensburg.

Starting from the bottomline

2006-11-07T05:27:00.000-08:00

It is time
fi some rhyme!?

Hello and welcome to 'It's time 4 dAn'!

Please feel nice and comfi, leave your shoes outside and your surfgear too, come in and be @ home. I am starting this blog for a few reasons:

U know, it's time 4 dAn
I will be in Latin America @ the beginning of 2007 and be a tourist with typewriter
Poetry needs to be on the net

Yep, these R the reasons. And... if U C it as a coincidence that I start this blog on a special day, think again, or send Ur virus to the next ballot machine.

But now is no time for politricks.
Time 4 dAn
Nice 3 poetry
Time 2 start
Time 1 time

Man
can
.

Woman
U can
.

Together
way better
.

Nice sunny weather
write a peaceful letter
.

Time for some
Time for one
.

Love
...