New content available elsewhere!

I kindly invite you to check out

my blog: Space4dAn2blog

my website danielgraziadei.de

for new poems, PicturePoemz, Videos and other stuff with poetry in it.

Berlin still calling

clean streets

of gentrified blocks

with high rents and

good access to public transport

connecting you more efficiently to work

while erasing the pleasure of the unexpected

tend to fund your inner fascism

please you with commercialized entertainment

and let you march in the columns of mass egocentrism

aka consumer's individualism




 

but thank the walls and the paint and the holy inspiration

there still blooms the decapitation mode of art

in the streets of Berlin

Schnipp, schnapp, Rübe ab...
citation from an oral past
and off goes the head
citation from Erich Fried
whoever wants the world to stay as it is
does not want her to remain

but grandpa and grandma relax
and the walls and the watchtowers and even the grimmest building
turns story
turns pamphlet
turns cry
turns x/pression

please life/live [trademark of Anarchy]
&
save our earth [get human]

still there but in new use
as blooming tourist venue 
the wall of shame
the wall of death
the wall of se pa ra tion
turns earth
turns world
turns message
get human
become a proud warrior of dreams of peace and survival
support the blue sheep of your dreamscape

 

even if houses hang deer
&
float astronauts

 






are you

sure

you

know

where

you

are

and what

this

is

?

!

Never underestimate the impact of 

wit

on your imagiNation

no matter if there hurts a heart in your head
or the seduction of hope
play!

and you might just find back to your liberty
of using your fantasy
to see
the (w)hole in the wall
and obviously most certainly and vividly
more than one grim reality

Say is this a picture
a photo
a painting
a girl
or a building
and don't forget to go home
says the poster
to you?

this is not a sign

this is an owl
this is publicity
these are three pyramids and their two moons
these are a catfish and a mutilated commedia dell'arte
this is yet another wall full of bricks
twice & double

::::::::BUT FULL STOP:::::::::

BUS STOP

Simon-Dach-Straße

This is a cool hat, Simon
this is a cool roof, Simon

There are pokes on your street

& there rises a calm voice of reassurance
& rastaman speaks up in the blind angle of CCTV

the cages of your inner correction center turn dusty

turn stupid

if you leave them

can you see them as a web yet?

you were the spider
and you were the prey
grey
and no shades of sex in it
just fascism
dumb inner fascism
that blindfolded you hostage
of your desire to function

but
never forget the fist
that rises from your calm waters
on every odd sunny day
full of inspiration

even if the winter hits your protest and
you stare at bubbles in the ice
like diamonds
like planets
like hopes
and eyes

can you feel the music
can you hear the caress
of an instrument
to your soul
?

can you feel them giving?
Bringing your mind to its hammock
giving your sense a play of waves
and golden sand

Can you feel your heart singing?
Even in the depths of this concrete jungle
when the hailstorm of function and consumption
is countered by a tag and a moment

 

Well,





never underestimate the role of your surrounding
and its colors
to your self
and other

but at the same time
in the same place
never underestimate the layers of paint
and nostalgia
that cover and capitalize
on old games of war
on old slogans of freedom
be sure to use them wisely
be sure to defend them rightly
and avoid the clippclapp trap
of a tight embrace
without head

is this a building or is this a trap?

is this a blog or is this a gap?


yes.

From foggy darkness into the light

There burrs cold wet desolation
over the beaches of poverty's landings
 
and there roams silence in the fog
like citations from famous ghosts

 over sand and empty beaches like empty streets
memories alone don't make no single noise no more
What remains is just a blinking of ads without meaning
in this wet cold darkness
of a postcapitalist
drama
and a
drain

But then when all have lost their voices
their wallets and their greedy needs
and stand naked in their hopes

suddenly:

Out of the darkness there rises a sun

and a heart starts to sing while walking
the line up
the ramp out
into the light

There shines a reflection of hope
on the surfaces of cobbled streets
a caress of peace
in that blindness
a hit of warmth
on sure faces
that lived underneath
waiting for this moment

when there shall be light
in ourselves as well as in our loneliness
a bit of warmth and a bit of a bless

Yes there is hope and there are tales
as old as the sun and its son
so do yourself a favor
relax from your labor
give light to your hearts
give warmth to your loves
and celebrate the turning of
that cold wet hard foggy tide
into a sea of warm bright shining light of future
now

Have a wonderful
                                  turn into light!

Stone of Hamlet

down by the riverside

swans await their sunday special

cold wind * warming winter sun + cold blue water

 
canards throw a flight show into windy skies

racing too fast too close over my camera eyes

    slow fingers turn to stone...

Once upon a time

there was a land by the great waters

where the Stones lived a peaceful and quiet life 

 

but there was strive on the horizons and the winds whispered of a discontent

that soon should fly by not to amend but to break the plain field of harmony

Up on the tower in game play with gravity the observing eye of peacefulness

was the first to observe signs and lights of deep distress 

reflecting on the river

first shiver

It summoned walls against the anger and the fear

to clear the field and soothe the vision

second shiver

A ring of force was created

and a wave of peace ran through a sea of stones

preparing the field and setting the stage

for an old story of lust greed and rage

a story about power and the shifting of thrones

Meet Prince Hamlet 

in a stony and untrue translation of Shakespeare's invention

There he stands without a knave 

in the setting of a sun next to his father's grave

There is hope in despair burning on his pale face

because peace is amiss and all hatred has no grace

when you're up against your self and your very own place

But the shoulder of the tower renewed his confidence

and he staged a cunning play for all men to see 

themselves in a mirror of stones

asking questions throwing bones

 How often are you the king in lust and greed?

How often are you the queen in the same need?

How often are you Hamlet obeying his father's ghostly pleads?

And when do you turn into another Hamlet freeing souls playing beats?

& now imagine 

that Hamlet 

is no role and no stone

is nothing but your mind and your voice

rising high and clear in peaceful opposition

against the abasement of all blessed ones by greed and pressure

& you will counter with forgiveness and a caress

for those who torture themselves and all others 

when spreading the same pains they suffered

& you will simply show them that

we do not have to live on exploitation 

of the Self and of that Other your brother

we may prosper in exaltation

of the humble ways

& then you may smile in revelation