I'm sick of bluebirds and their lies,

Dismissing all my pain. 

I hate their cheerful little songs,

So full of mockery and disdain.


I'm sick of bluebirds, and of skies,

Their well-intended words of blame.

If happiness was within reach,

I'd have already reached the same. 


I'm sick of bluebirds - they can fly,

While I'm tied to some mountain trail. 

They cheer me down, instead of up

With their untuneful toxic scale.



Each day I pull myself up from the bottom.

My fingers find their way through the dark earth.

Each time I panic, for I've quite forgotten

My lungs will fill themselves again, for all it's worth.


Each day I push the soft walls of my tomb,

And when I hit a rock I dare not cry.

I hide the blood, the dirt, the bruises and resume

To rise, defiantly, till I run out of sky.


I wake up in the dark again each day,

Without the recollection of my fall.

My hands are tired, yet they dig away

What 20 horses cannot hope to haul.


I know it's useless, yet I try to rise.

There's too many hopeful eyes fixed on the skies.


Hope Machine

How long do you think the the spell will last?

‘Cause I’m down to my last few pills and prayers.

And every day's just another day

That you just can't keep away,

And a new one's already been forecast.


Who stopped feeding the hope machine?

Who stopped feeding the hope machine?

I don't really care, I just want the grey sky blue again

And the desert green

Who stopped feeding the hope machine?


Why has the world lost all its shine,

And died when it should have been in bloom?

All that's left is the perfume,

Of sorrow and of doom,

And I don't recommend the line.


Who stopped feeding the hope machine?

Who stopped feeding the hope machine?

I don't really care,

I just want the grey sky blue again

And the desert green.

Who stopped feeding the hope machine?


Can someone please tell me what the morning may bring?

Whether all these clouds will ever disappear?

Can someone please tell me why I am here

If I'm laid low by all this fear?

Someone please tell me


Who stopped feeding the hope machine?

Who stopped feeding the hope machine?

I don't really care, I just want the grey sky blue again and the desert green

Who stopped feeding the hope machine?


I Dreamt There Was A War

I dreamt there was a war. Guerrillas camped 
out at my house, my things stopped being mine,
My world felt cramped.

My world felt cramped, a crowd of hostile signs
Attacked my waking hours, broke my soul,
Made me align -

Made me align, but none defined what role
I was to play within their secret game,
I knew no goal.

I knew no goal, and wasn't told my name.
(I had a new name now it seemed, but why?)
I did feel shame.

I did feel shame, I couldn't help but cry
I was confused, and angry, without hope,
Without ally.



Why do you keep us in cages?

Why do you not let us fly free?

Why do we have to keep singing?

Where have you buried the key?


With wings that were meant to be broken,

On branches that aren't rent-free,

We shiver and wilt in the night air -

Lone, Longing-chained detainees.


I've no way to map the terrain

Of the country that you oversee,

Wearing flowers like jewellery, like medals.

Without us you'd be nobody.


The Lake

I looked out at the lake
You drowned in, and I ached.
They left you no way out.
All vipers; all were snakes -
The friends you had were fake,
Especially the devout.

"The king is mad!"- their shout
Would bring your fall about.
Dear Ludwig, I could hear -
No shadow of a doubt -
Your mirrored room cry out
To me - I felt your fear.

Your words, 'though desperate, weren't quite clear.
I stood, all shaking, felt you near,
Requesting I keep safe and take
Some precious thing that you hold dear.
Fairy tale king, I was sincere -
But, like the lake - all is opaque.


Always just your silhouette
You offered me to lean on
- I loved you in 3d,
with my technicolour core.

Cheap paper cut outs, statuettes
I've seen them all before -
And yet I let your silhouette
Draw close, reset, drift back ashore.

I don't know why I love you still
Or if you're even real -
In a world of silhouettes
To feel is an ordeal.

How does one even switch it off?
Or shift its focus elsewhere?
How does one become a silhouette, too, 
And not have to send constantly
One's heart in for repair?


Marie Antoinette's Trialsome Journey of Undoing

Outside the window of her carriage sceneries shift.
With every week the journey loses lustre.
Antoine's cheek leans, inert, against the glass,
The listless smile pinned to her face is fading.
The cheering crowds all want to see the childbride -
The human offering of peace sent to Versailles.

She doesn't know if they will like her at Versailles,
And whether the court's prejudice will shift
In favour of the foreign, artless childbride;
If, once her native culture's shed, her lustre
Will be lost, or, like her name, be fading
Into a muted thing like frosted glass.

She's just a piece - her face against the glass,
She thinks - on her Ma's chessboard, and Versailles
Will make a Queen of her, prevent the fading
Of her family's name. She fails to shift
The misery back to duty's sullen lustre, 
Yet, raised a princess, can't bat for the childbride.

"It's such a funny word," she thinks, "is childbride" -
She's fourteen, silk-adorned, heart delicate as glass,
The secrets of the boudoir lack lustre.
Her teeth were straightened for the stranger at Versailles.
People, places, things held dear must shift
Away - to cross this threshold seals their fading.

No one to lift her over, courage fading.
The Dauphin's Royal envoy meets the childbride,
She's trained to not once let her steeled mien shift,
Yet feels her insides shatter just like glass.
And all the promised splendor of Versailles
Can't penetrate her grief, it's rhinestone lustre.

The 'ceremony of remise' has genuine lustre:
The entourage, like voyeurs, watch her fading,
Submitting to the laws of strict Versailles.
Stripped down to almost skin, the tearful childbride
Stands shivering, before eyes like cold, cold glass.
French gowns, but first she has to drop her Austrian shift.

With only her own lustre left, the childbride
Has to walk, un-fading, across broken glass.
Versailles can never change her, only shift.


Memory Palace

I draw pictures in the dust on every surface.
I leave footprints I know time will wipe away.
I lose my way in all of the dark hallways,
Stare at walls, and stare at things I cannot say.

Ice flowers blooming on the windows, 
a ghost is waiting behind every door...
I shiver, cold, immobile, merely decor, 
Uneasy witness to each thing I've seen before.

My dust drawings are my only guidance 
in this maze of corridors and dread - 
Line by line I live and move ahead,
Leaving nothing but a transient thread.

My fingers trail 'cross wood and marble,
'Cross stone, 'cross plaster and debris,
I summon such things I pretend  may save me,
A scent, a smile, a sound, the sea.

I draw pictures in the dust on every surface,
Yet time erases everything I drew.
I hope, as I repeat the lines anew,
it won't erase the ones I drew of you.


Lady Locked In A Lighthouse

Tell me how I'd be someone guiding others…   
moonless, sunless, sightless myself, no seer,
Just a soul that's lost in confusion, landscapes,
Pages of poetry.

Tell me how to move, to break free, get out from
Under all this heavy brocade; be mending,
Warp-yarned, tears in everyone's hearts - a weft needle
Snow-stitching ashes.

Tell, pray tell, how - towering too high, and lacking
Laws of terra firma to keep me harmfree -
How to be the lepidoptera lamp, that
Everyone's needing?


When the Madonna Died

All lights went out, and the Madonna died.

For one brief moment time stood still,

And in the choke hold of an eerie silence

My frangipani soul fell ill.


The trees, the car, the grown-ups had stopped moving,

Eternity just stared at me; un-realing the real.

I saw the Devil shuffle his old deck of cards,

I watched the angels deal.


I wet my pants, forgot my breathing -

It took some effort to unsee all the blood-

It braided loss deep, deep into my bones

And grief; my lilac heart froze in it's bud.


Inside the ambulance I saw my mother's face, smashed up.

But ‘Indians’ they always said don't cry…

So, shouldering the weight of war paint and of pain,


I didn't bat an eye lid

When all the lights and the Madonna died.


Hospital Home

I want to turn the lights back on.
It's dark, and I feel small.
I've grown up, but I'm seven still,
All curled up in a ball.

Back then, when shock and disarray
Held hands with me; my bed
A lifeboat sailing, almost sunk;
In hospital, like lead -

I didn't cry. I do cry now.
This is my home, where walls
And nurses help me sleep. My books
Will break each of my falls.

I used to sing to my bare room,
And make up my own words. 
And now I'm asked to sing again
To other cage mate birds.

I want to turn the lights back on,
But nothing looks the same.
And "home" has never been again
More than a memory's name.



Sometimes I come up for air,

remembering the world is waiting 

for my transactions.


I trade my tail,

take those painful steps 

towards the shore,

careful to hide

the trail of blood

my feet will leave

when walking.

I taught my lips to move

in ways you understand,

and, voiceless, I expose

my teeth

as if smiling.


But inside me the cities are burning.

The villagers are burying their dead.

The rich are throwing parties

in the mansions of my eyes,

while underneath my skin

the starving masses

are preparing riots.

I throw them a bone, occasionally some crumbs

I find in the empty pockets of my army coat,

and I promise to come back with more

if only they keep quiet.


I'm sure by now you've caught a glimpse

of scales,

of seaweed,

or a drop of blood

clinging so stubbornly to my toes -

but still you motion me to wheel and deal

as if I knew

how to play the game.


Words trail through my being

like swaying caravans,

and my panic subsided, my breath 

steady again,

as I watch them disappear in the distance.

They're not gone. Just out of sight, 

somewhere in the deep, dark recesses of my soul.

They'll be back

with whatever trash or treasure

they will find along the way

to trade.


Sometimes I'd pay any baksheesh

not to have them back.

Other times I lie in the dry desert sand,

crying in despair

because they left.



Der Tag atmet schwer über dem Hügel,
Im Scheinwerfernebel versprüht er sein Licht.
Er spricht nicht mit mir, der einsamen Flamme,
Mein zerbrochenes Lächeln beachtet er nicht.

Er ist zu beschäftigt, für meine Lieder,
Er trinkt keine Worte, wie ich, in der Nacht.
Er verachtet das Mondlicht, in dem ich schlafe,
Und weiss nicht, dass er mich traurig macht.

Vielleicht sieht er mich nicht, sieht nur die Soldaten,
Die um mich herum ihre Gräben aufbau'n;
Vielleicht kennt er meine KassandraGedanken,
Hat Angst mir in die Augen zu schau'n.

Im Strahle der silbernen Milchmondstrahlen
Seh ich ihn sterben - er sieht mich nicht an.
Ich brauche den Tag nicht, habe selbst Licht...
Doch niemand für den ich hier leuchten kann.




Die Krokodile umlagern mich in Scharen,
Die Wogen sind wohl auch nicht eben glatt;
Und wenn auch keiner an mich glaubt, und an das Wahre -
Ich geb' mich noch lange nicht schachmatt.

Hab' ich gegen alle Regeln hier verstoßen,
Dann nur weil ich nichts anderes gekannt.
Und in einem Sarg hisst' ich mein Segel -
Trieb flussabwärts; hab mich selbst verbannt.

Das Zauberelexir hab ich gefunden -
Es war nicht das Blümlein unbekannt.
Es war das Brot mit den bitteren Tränen;
Wollt's nicht essen, bin lang weg gerannt.

Ich Lauf den Weg zurück mit brennender Kehle,
Und hab ich auch verspielt was ich so hat' -
Ich hab sie immer noch, die Flammenseele!
Du, ich bin...
Ich bin noch lange nicht schachmatt.


Knock knock.... Who's there?

(Christmas Joke Collage, inspired by diverse sources of literature)

Ten arms
Ten hands
Dancing in the dark

Tanna hussa
Dancing in the dark

Heave ho
Heave ho
Swaying like a drunk

Panting, sweating
Pushing, pushing
Smelling like a skunk

To the beat 
Of the drum
Wires getting crossed

Jingle bells
Jingle bells
Oh Väterchen, oh Frost

Forwards March
Batman's dead bird
Lion and Roi Rob

Dead or deaf bird
Fly away
Don't sleep on the job

Engine running
Major Tom
Do not lose ground control

Leg in boot
Shine you moon
Let's make alcohol

Forwards march
Forwards march
Keep parting my red sea

Keep your eyes
On the road
Keep your eyes on me

You are Tarzan
I am Jane
I am getting crossed

Dunya dunya
Listen listen
No, please don't get lost

Shake the apples
Off the tree
Dance with gravity

Take a leaf
Off the lime
Move in perfect time

Seven drummers
Now we've got it
Engine turning fast

Dunya Donna
Sweating, aching
Your leg needs a cast

Plough those fields
Hail the sun king
Open your legs wide

Burning, arching
Almost breaking
Slowly to the right

Can't keep walking
Any faster
I am getting cross

Die Waage bricht,
Und jetzt breche ich

Ring a ling
Ding a ling
Flamme, bin ich sicherlich

I know I'm tripping,
Must be tripping
Tripping on your tale

Sea of tears
And we're drowning
whitings and the snails

Crack the whip
Whip the crack
Is how they make us come

They oil the gearsticks
with our tears
Christmas cracker fun

I don't want to
But you make me
Boy you make me come

Five go camping
Five go roaming
Waltzing day and night

Back of the horse
Is nodding off now
Left can't see the right

Funny funny
Haha haha
Push the mountains, push

My hat
It has three corners
Three horners has my hat

Push that thing
Across that board
Let's make your child fat

Pawns please die
And lift the crows
Curtains almost fall

Knocked out for ten
In that pit
By the wrecking ball

Up again, up again
Higgedly, piggedly
We must get older, Jessica ...or Jane?

I love you
From the bottom up
But I forget your name

Un pocito cantas
Un pocito bailas
Welcome to the club

Cog against cog
Groaning moaning
Rubba dub all dub

Pleasure rising
Pressure rising
My heart's gonna give out

My heart keeps turning
Gears drive yearning
Get the hammers out

Kick me kick me
Shush me shush me
Come on now twist and shout

Make it stop
Make it stop
My tell-tale heart will break

The raven laughs
We collapse unto the floor

Can't keep going
Can't keep breathing
Commute is almost done

Hava nagila
Hava nagila
Benny bunny benny bunny run

Keep on panting
Keep on sweating
Keep your eyes on me

Step in time
Gleichschritt Marsch
Ashere ashere ve-nimishe

Nuts and bolts
For Cinderella
The juggling balls don't rhyme

One last step
To the right
Petty pace of time

Please hang on
Almost there
Please don't break a string

Leilo la 
Leila la
And your bird can sing

Tanna hussa
We are almost there...

Fucking hell!
What is this?
Back again already?

Turn around?
To the left?
And never miss a step?

Without a break?
Please let me go

Up that hill, yo
Run run run
But no, don't you let go

Hold on tight, son
To my tail
Run run Forrest run

Maybe this time
Maybe tomorrow
Tomorrow and tomorrow and blasted tomorrow

Butt of your joke
You're a knock up joke

Manana manana
Maybe never
Come un canario

Maybe this time
Bear the brunt
Happy pan to mime to you


Uncertainty wants to be friends,
It didn't tell me why.
It rings me day and night to talk;
I don't want to comply.

It's like a mafia boss- it acts
A friend, but wants your cash -
I'm not so sure it will protect,
This vicious lurid lash.

Uncertainty is courting me,
So I try not to care
Bout anything or anyone -
As if this was warfare.



I am the crazy one, who walked away 
For reasons that I did not understand;
The one whose soul had been in disarray,
Whose heart was but a desolate wasteland.

I am the guilty one, who fell from grace, 
Who felt that you somehow kept her confined;
The one who knew she had to be someplace,
Who couldn't quench the fire in her mind.

I am the stubborn one, who wouldn't smile
When there were only sorrow thistles growing;
The stupid one, who didn't know of guile,
Who couldn't see which way the wind was blowing.

I know myself by my tell-tale tattoo -
But who in heaven or in hell are you?


Is It Just me?

Things used to have no meanings,
They would just be -
Be what I saw,  be what I felt.
Things wouldn't bend, things wouldn't bow,
They would be free -
Be what I heard, be what I smelt.

A rose was free to be a rose
No need to think;
Colour was all, fragrance and scent.
The thorns would prick, the petals float -
Never to sink!
No judgement, no questions what it all meant.

Now things have changed dramatically -
Or is it me?
Things must be clear, have to make sense...
All things are fraught with other people's
Thoughts and esprit;
Symbols, not things - full of pretence.

The End of the Tunnel

At the end of the tunnel 
May not be much light,
But less darkness -
I'm not one of those well-meaning people who'd lie.

Don't believe what they say,
It won't lead out of the night...
Just to sadness.
But don't doubt that less darkness will do to fly by.