The Storm brings me back to easy life - ghosts howl around the walls of Valletta

Time for an EXIT right out of the beginning of a winter's tale

into
the fully grown wind of an island in the middle

an island in the cross
ways
of
desires
trades
and
swords

in Our Sea of carcasses and broken dreams

were the walls still tell of old feuds and riches and might and fears

restored with the help of our communion
Some seems to be recurrent
on repeat
instead of hold rewind and cumagain
The same waves as always during autumn and strong volleys of wind blow ashore

and a full moon plays hide and seek, light and dark, now you see me now you don't

on top of an exagerated yet humble human-made lightshow

were strange vessels

compete with each other and a bicicle that noone can ride but art

And even though it might be cold and windy for the Maltese

it feels like an exit into freedom for some
who come
from the North from the main from that land behind the mountains who are white already
as well as for some
who come
from the North from the island of motherly colonisation
But they are few right now
and they fall with night
the wind sweeps the streets
leaving few
enclosing many

-

So let those ghosts howl
at the walls of their unaccepted ends
and may they find their way into a better light
with the full moon
a spoon of liquor
and a grain of salt
like an incantation on an old horn
like a prayer on a broken lip

Valletta 18.11.13

autumn lights

 

 

 

 

Some protest while the masses are shopping

A lead gray sky thrones
over the Bavarian capital
on a Saturday in October

While the masses were paying tribute
to their temples of consumption
some were protesting

against those most audacious highpriests
preaching the cult of greed
selling their malicious modifications

of plants our crops our food our body
under the guise of benefits merits gains
and a solution to malnutrition
 

But no, even if their scientists get Nobels and wings
some say no to GMO
Some are not to be fooled

The merry few -- from farmer to housewife to musician to student and punk --
were clear to see, easy to hear and eager to explain
to the steady flood of saturday afternoon shoppers

and fast food consumers from the chain right opposed
that this was World Food Day 
and that there were urgencies to oppose without delay

"Genetically modified food makes us sick" sports one
the other cites "Behold, I have given you every herb bearing seed..."
and on the mobile stage a Rastaman sings oh no, no, no, no gmo.

 

The massive stream of shoppers and strollers 
is not to be stopped merely slowed 
by a petition for a UN-law to stop the Ecocide, by songs and leaflets 

The clouds were in retreat for some time and the sun warmed faces hearts and the square
Then the sky turns apocalyptic 
and the beautiful victim from tomorrow gives us and our times a last nostalgic glance

 




 

 

irony and cows

Two pictures and a question 

 

update on the spiders:

... 

but twentyfour hours later

much has changed already

new nets have been woven

and a new prey has been killed

and then wrapped

time for an extensive

feast 

in tranquility

 

spider in the garden

On a rainy sunday afternoon

drops are falling

silently

slowly 

thinly spread 

but constantly

and in the garden 

next to flowers

on top of herbs

in all shades of green

there wait 

two spiders

for easy prey

for changing times

and maybe just like me

they wait for yet

another warm and sunny

early autum's day

one sits 

on broken lines

of his net 

that once was fine

but now is gone

beyond repair

another hangs all quiet

in the center of his kingdom

of his formidable trap

and all I can do is stare 

let the camera snap

and wait and see how drops 

bring further beauty but no crops

to symmetries

pearls and steps 

to my sunday reveries

instead of crossing the alps: giving up to climb higher

I wanted to walk from door to door. From Munich to Meran. Me and Myself into the central European adventure.

 

 

I wanted to cross the Alps and walk against the streaming of rivers

 

 through woods and valleys of bliss and beauty

But in the lowlands


one night and two days after the beginning
I had to give in
already
to excessive heat
to excessive weight
to excessive miles
to excessive want
on a long straight road where
once upon a time in a dark brown yesterday
people were stumbling out of a Lager into uncertain freedom
full of hunger and hopes
I gave up where they walked on

just to find myself on mountaintops
of prayers

 

 in the deep embrace of the woods and heights surrounding my hometown with the Dolomites fuming in the distance

sporting their advertising smile

 between clouds and sunshine

 

mirrors of silent beauty

and the depth of our selves

 

 

where twinkling details abound

and give you silence as a present/presence

 

 

ánd the over-saturated meadows of massive farming could so easily be forgotten

and the roaring of the motorbikes on alpine roads could be simply overheard

 

in exchange for a hug and a smile
and the deep conviction: not all is right but you may walk into that direction
 one step after the other
one breath after the other
now