Pater noster…

Holocaust gold teeth 2

Stabbed, with wounds as wide
as sentences awaiting to be read,
almost eternal gods on trial
for emotions never their own.

Darts flying all over boards
looking back and forth every arm
eying high towers of fake mahogany…

Dabbers have long dried out
from above every inch of tainted prayers,
sent images of cast gold
stolen always before sunrise,
pulled from behind lips
never finishing modeh ani…

To you meine liebe,
I will sing o tannenbaum in Yiddish
on David’s stolen harp.

Hail Miriam a.k.a. Mary,
the lord is with thee,
after he left your Joseph lost in awe,
and wandering disgrace…

Damaged goods…

Shadowless candle MbY

My mother,
pulled the trigger over my head,
leaving deep patterns of blue,
motionless artefacts,
resembling fountains of lost youths…

Amber, left cold,
around pavement stones,
imagined every night by owls
guarding flickering souls,
hiding behind shadowless candles.

Darren, open the window, my son,
and let us dance,
like none of us has ever danced, before
legions of merchants might have lost
every heart of Venice…

Damaged goods,
need no re-packaging before midnight;
lazy mail deliverers
might be chasing toothless cogs
around clocks,
never showing northern lights.

On each and every envelope,
our DNA tells the true story
behind the empty meaning
of printed feelings…

Defiant hopelessness…

Never Forget Never Forgive

Nobody’s making attempts anymore
to stir a peace of roses.
Individual daffodils and bunches of sage
challenge shields of rage
hidden under profaned altars
of compromised innocence;
piled mountains of drowned chariots
awaiting another exodus to chase…

I nearly fell for you Delilah,
but I am blind you see,
incapable of discerning
between a hairdresser and barbers.

Nights of shattered crystals
call for vengeance,
and Picasso crying
shards of broken Guernicas
over forgotten mind fields…

It’s always midnight
on the side of treason;
either too early,
or too late
to find another door…

Don’t ever leave your clothes outside
when told to take a shower…

In nomine patris…

massada

An angel once told me,
that castles of sand never die;
each grain’s being washed ashore
other isles,
carrying whispers of hands
having caressed breasts of lovers
long gone…
You king’s lusting lips cannot
condemn you Esther…
His tongue’s still tasting
sweet nectars, drops of gold,
diamonds of your passion’s
unforbidden fruit…
One day, when hidden monsters
shall arise of bottomless horizons,
and northern lights
shall cover eyes of fallen saints,
kings of old and others,
will have forgotten every pain,
each scream of maiden mothers
refused by never fathered christs…

The leaving angel left behind himself,
the sandless  abys,
and passed the key to starving,
restless human minds…

Barley fields…

800px-BURNING_THE_STRAW_CLEARS_THE_FIELD_IN_25_MINUTES,_AND_ENABLES_THE_FARMER_TO_PLANT_ANOTHER_CROP._THIS_METHOD_IS..._-_NARA_-_548853

There will be times,
when mothers shall kill their children,
for breakfast,
with long statements
about short shelf-life dairy products,
aged in old casks soaked
of cheap bourbon…
My mother did just that
one selfish morning,
with wings wide open of bats
long dried under suns
never known unto the sons of men…
My father,
the very next one,
took the bait
and left himself standing alone,
on the other side of strange fields
of barley moons…
 

Towels never dry
in kitchens burning incense
to foreign gods…

Ribbons, blue…

800px-Abstract_blue_background7

So many times,
the roads to downtown nowhere
collide at each and every corner,
with blue,
ribbon-like rivers of solitude;
statements of facts about
state of the art,
lost or found pieces
of a hard won peace
of mindless thought lives.
 

Ta-ra-ra-bum-tara,
ta-ra-ra bum-tara…
 

Marching bands of nonsense,
we are.
Each and every one of us,
god-likes…

Ecce homo…

HolocaustChild

Trespassers,
that’s what we are
on god’s minefields…