To my fans

I am writing letters to my fans
groupies gathered at the electric fence –
it has been a while
I have missed you Kyle,
on the streets the life is tough
luckily I’ve found a cheap ass pub
fifteen pints for my last pounds,
hey Dolores dance a round
even if there is no tune
I will sing with you tonight
clothes and bother falling down,
and the poetry I wrote
is for the girls I almost loved
all I’ve felt and never told
put on plate to dine upon;
take the books before the burn
chapters noted must be read
pages folded shall be left
in this world there is no end,
cutting skin to look inside
hands are gloved, the spirit cold
I have yet to touch a heart
beating faster than the sun,
and the wall that goes forever
keeps it hidden from the rest
If I ever say those words
hope they trust to carry gold…

Gone bad

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One taste,
one step,
doors locked, lights off…
turn off the beast!
I took it in my hand
the whirlwind dance of sin;
open up
perform
cloths fall when you fly high…
Lips are acid
sweat is sugar,
baby is staying young
the darkness is my cougar –
push hard
pull close,
candlelight too bright
love’s on a leash,
kneel and kiss
don’t yell to break the spell,
sink to the bottom
drink once more,
cold water
fresh beer
hot honey,
I put heart not money…

True love

love

Friday night, half light
drinking wine and playing indie tunes
stories come and dreamers go
I close my eyes and let the true love flow,
the dog makes traces running in the snow
and kids throw echos in the fort they sleep –
and I found Alice…

Half asleep, my angel crying
no one takes me to the Moulin Rouge,
my friends work decent jobs that pay
and in the rush of celebration build a home
to put candles and the fame on Christmas trees,
I beg them to believe
true love needs no sparkling fees…

Starry night, half dark, half bright
my hands run highways in her eyes
I embrace the life of Stephan Angst
and pour rivers to oceans from my soul,
the sinners are forgiven
with paper airplanes never reaching dawn,
Alice called the priest for both…

Armistice

M.C. Escher - Drawing hands

We sailed together in the hour of our youth
a boat we boarded sharing paddles to the final truth,
the river is narrow but it never ends,
on a bench for two strangers turned into best friends
but the fate is cruel and calls brothers to the war,
in the second that it’s left we must decide
will you love me as I do and will I love you too?

The day has come to part our troubled ways
we dream, we cry, yet everyone shall celebrate,
years behind are words on paper in the rain
and memories will start to fade making place for love,
darling we are stories in the sand, don’t look back;
start walking and pretend the life has joyful ends
and on this day eat cake and forget the face of hate –

It is written in the stars for paths to sometimes cross
if hearts once loved they’re never strangers in the dark
and no library of thoughts contains the mystery you held
but could you understand that stairways often fall
it’s about the people that rules are always meant to break,
write me wishes on a card and burn it in the night
and sail the river south once each year for all my life…

Friday in the oven

Hey you fool,
what yea doing with that rope?
is it love turned bad,
or is it a simpler way to cope,
dare you not have a stroke…

You can’t can air more than drinking love,
we’re built on blood
and one day each week, I sleep,
in the deep with a whip –
It is how I know I breathe…

A red brick builds a wall
for the gardens south of now,
and there is music,
it paints the colors in white,
on the sky,
in the image of ’89…

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Riverside

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One Friday morning chasing cold away,
slightly raining, fast to walk
I had everything I’ve ever dreamed,
love awakes me for my team
soldier for a good cause,
I got a firm handshake as foretold…

Hunting moments on a bed of clouds
lips paint warm hues in the mind,
garden of the kings, waiting for the Queen
we wrote stories dancing on vinyls,
and waiting for a while and hoping wishes
a second train ran her to the south…

Riccardo

Étant toujours à Milan, hier soir j’ai fait une rencontre complètement inattendue. Je n’avais pas vu Riccardo depuis quelques années. Pour être plus exact, depuis son départ de Cochin en avril 2016. J’étais en train d’acheter, un mot en anglais, un mot en italien, de la mozzarella di Bufala dans un marché loin du centre, et cela m’a fait souvenir un des voyages de Riccardo quand, en rentrant à Paris, il nous a amené de la véritable Bufala. C’était un délice culinaire !

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Milan

La vida es… un carnaval! Prima melodie ce îmi vine în gând avea versurile puțin diferite. Era o idee mai tristă, nu zic, utilă uneori, dar realist vorbind, depresivă.

Sunt la Milano. Am ajuns astăzi la prânz. E vorba de bilete cumpărate de multă vreme, pentru o escapadă inițial prevăzută în doi. Well, shit happens! Cât pe ce să nu vin. E întotdeauna primul instinct – să îmi iau jucăriile și să plec. Ei bine, nu și de data asta. Am mai pierdut concedii pe motive similare. Dar totul are o finalitate. I got the tickets so why not? Ei da, cu riscul de a trimite o undă de supărare pe meleaguri cunoscute… am evadat la Milano!!!

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Ophelia

Așa cum stai,
Dreaptă,
Cu brațele moi
Pe pântecul plin,
Pari o veche soție de voievod
Ținându-și ctitoria.

Și parcă-aud un glas
Venind de dincolo
De dispariția materiei:

‘Noi, Ion și Ioana,
Cu puterile noastre
Am durat acest sfânt
Copil,
Întru veșnica pomenire
A acestui soare
Și-a acestui pământ’.

Ctitorie – Marin Sorescu

The long way home

Is the stereo broken?
we have swimmers dreaming in the ocean,
in the color of our open wings
may it shine forever stolen bliss…

My poor warm beating heart
there are children playing on its grounds,
one story written for a good cause
has shaken me and made me thrive…

And I learn to slowly dance
wear a bow-tie and take a stand,
I’ll join my brothers in war
building fire better sooner than too late…

Is that on the radio
an old song that brings me childish joy,
I’ll be home on Sunday noon
range a silver shiny spoon….