Lost and Found

Last night you swam freely in the ocean
Rode alongside the dolphins
Unafraid of the jelly fish
I wanted to join you to venture into the deep
My body was reality bound
A child longed for freedom through the aquarium glass

This morning I strolled along the beach
Looked for the remnant of the past
No sign of dolphains, nor jelly fish
Only a sail boat on the edge of the horizon
I wondered if you caught my message bottle


I know I am not special.
If I were,
I would have read a poem
that you wrote especially for me
on my birthday
because you are a poet
and a damn great one.

I know I am not special.
If I were,
I would have heard you ask me
“What can I do to make your loss feel
more bearable?”
because you do
have a compassionate heart.

I know I am not special.
If I were,
I would have seen
the action after hearing
“I am sorry.”
because action speaks
far louder than words.

I know I am not special
despite how many ‘I love you’s
and justifiable reasons.
I don’t buy it!
Because my heart
feels like an insignificant speck of dust
floating on the ultra unrealistic
social media platform.

11 August 2020

A malnourished heart bled in broken melody
Would you still hear her devotion
A songbird choked on poison berries
Would you fight to nurse her back to health

I guess
most of us watched in horror
frozen in action
became busy licking our own wounds

It is inevitable that
the heart stopped
the bird died

27 July 2020

I set this date as the timeline
to have a plan in place:
a plan in unplannable tomorrows
a fickle evidence of our love
although it sounds ridiculous
so does the safe feeling
in a lover’s arms


I asked the bartender for a refreshing, citrusy and green drink.
He brought me a Southside garnished with a cute mint leaf.
I almost heard you say in that American midwest accent,
“It is originated from the south side of /ˌɪləˈnɔɪ/  and /ʃɪˈkɑːɡəʊ/.”



our home
is neat and cosy
my internal chaos
your slowly boiling anxiety
there is no escape
into each other
for healing
we swim
in our own heads
side by side
to create stories
for our children
to read


smiling business kids with daily planners at home
Photo by Gustavo Fring on Pexels.com

A Woman Can Dream

I don’t want to be awake
from a field of yearning tulips
under the indigo violet sky

I want to stay dreaming of
a future of you and me
in earnest paint brush strokes
waterfalls of poetry


Sorrow’s Whisper

The Living Poetry Prompt – Lament

My fingers tapping lines into your anxious heart.
They send music notes for the wren to sing by your front porch.
Little birdy what story are you trying to tell me?
You are slightly amused by its uninvited company.
If the wren could ever speak a human dialect,
it would surely whisper on your shoulder,
A lover’s lament across the great dividing oceans.

An Artist by Default

You said
you wanted to be a painter
from a young age
Then you gave up on that
after a few attempts
and a reality check

you spit out phrases
to shut off
the squirming words
inside your sore head
You are not sure
if they are just noises
or music notes

As a reader
I see paintings
in a vast array of
pigments and colours
when reading your words

No matter how much
you think you may fail
you are an artist
by default

– dedicated to Mike Ennenbach Mike’s Manic Word Depot