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Poems

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Someone once told me that poetry is like the scent of the soul.

I quite liked that.

So sometimes I like to write.

Some thoughts, words, notes & poems.

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The Weight of Your World

The weight of your thoughts in your world are determined by how much attention and strength you yourself give them.

The weight of your thoughts, in turn and in sum, determine yourself.

The weight of yourself, in sum and in turn, is the weight of the world.

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This Space

This space is moments in time, captured fractions, a still life in a moving time of minds.

Passing and passed thoughts.

Actions and (re-)active emotions,

A dance on strings, artistically intertwined.

It’s an expanding web that is part of a universe within a universe, within in a multiverse.

In some dimension, that has ten dimensions.  

Thats pretty damn cool, my mind.

Dive in and dance further, capture fractions and make sure to enjoy your time. 

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Let the Merry go Round

Thinking twice on the carousel of life.

Passion and compassion are not to compare,

Our senseless brains stare at the fun fair.

Absolute conditions restrict man’s permissions,

Swallow the pills, have some thrills while you’re there.

A sugar coated dream, where the lights lie & hide what is real.

Blinded by the lights, while you feel, you’re on the best ride ever, on the best that you’ve ever been. 

You’ll never know who makes the sugar and owns the fair. 

Here they come and there we go, around around the merry go round. 

While the absolute restrictions worsen our position,

Like a seat-belt for a danger that was never there.  

Our senseless brains stare at the fun fair.

Just put it on, just in case. Just in case all this fun’s a waste.

Our senseless brains stare all the same. 

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The Cat and the Space-Time Flaw 

The flaw. The chase. The rat race.

An inherent part of the human race.

A place inside, an empty space.

Never filled, never full. 

Having everything, then not wanting it anymore. 

More and more. 

A problem of change, created by time. 

Or a problem with time, that created perpetual change?

For better or for worse. 

Shrödingers cat, in one place but longing to be in the other.

An other, another. 

Another place, an other face, an other this, a other that.

A ‘better’ life. 

A dream to chase. More sleep to waste. More lives to taste. 

Erase, replace. Replace the erased.

Wants and needs,

By needs and wants. 

Copy, paste. Delete and then repeat. 

Places to be, people to see, agree to disagree. 

That the cat who is me, wants to be ‘you’, but not me.

The flaw. The chase.

Shrödingers cat, in just one place. 

Caught up in a rat race. 

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Diagnosis

A blessing or a curse.

These emotions running through my veins.

In vain, they’re swimming towards nowhere.

Pumping, circular, recycling.

Good into bad, bad into good. And then return.

From boiling red to the coldest of blues.

Grab me firmly, let me go, left alone for just a while.

But forever within their grasp. 

This pulsing, enticing, anxious excitement.

Arousing, from lousy to drowsy, from loud to just noisy. 

These clumsy emotions, running through my brain.

A spectacle, just for me that no-one else can see.

The intimacy hurts.

This pumping, circular, recycling.

A spectacular, ridiculous circus.

Locked inside a rib cage. 

The intimacy aches.

A blessing and a curse.

Diagnosis: “human on earth”.    

 

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One Mind, Two Eyes, One Face

The eyes that are hardest to gaze into are ones that carry a deep sense of knowing. 

A stare with depth, a glaring test, an uncomfortable unrest follows when such eyes are met. 

The eyes that are simplest to bare are ones that shift away from yours when you challenge and dare.

A fake glance, given at first chance to still the hunger of a curious mind.

But a true curious hunger is never stilled, even discomfort will not retreat such a mind from seeing and feeling what is embedded in its kind.    

Because lies have many faces but the truth carries only one. Lies have changing eyes that can’t face what is true, and is at one. 

Face the eyes that can hold yours still for more than a moment, the uncomfortable unrest when such eyes are met should be one that you have chosen.     

Later, upon a glance into your own minds gaze, a truth might be revealed that you are your own minds eye and that you own only this one face, that you can never disguise.

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Home

It is all we know, yet know so little about. 

Blue it hangs. Alone, in a unfathomable void of black. 

Blue it turns. In circles for endless lifetimes. 

Small and round. Around around.

A spaceship. Traveling. Destination unknown.

One system. Operating. We operate on it.

Prognosis postponed. 

A living thing. Alive, as we are. Fragile, as we are.

Alone, as we are. Alone, but with us. A silent companion. 

Nurturer of all. Keeper of futures and our time.  

A small wobble, 23.5 degrees. The mother of billions.

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My Lighthouse 

Delicate and refined, humble but intelligent by design. Drawing ever so close to divine nature. The divine dwelling behind the eyes.

Little lambent sparks that light up, if one cares to see. They are here and right there. Just dare to be, yourself. To see. 

To see a beacon of light in a sometimes fog filled world. A miles long pier stretching out to a misty still sea. 

At its end carrying a heavy red lighthouse to guide any lost ships towards home.

 

I watch as I stand, safely at shore. Reflections of light on the purple-blue surface. 

Take a leap of faith, through an open door. Wordless. And enter the unknown waters. 

That light is the best company one can have. A companion to gaze with at a distant star.

To wander and to wonder, what that light may be and what these nights at sea may mean. 

 

I look closely and pay attention, i’m trying hard to stretch my imagination. These reflections are a part of me.

Suddenly alive, and suddenly clear. That star may very well already be, right here next and very near to me. 

Shining its light and calming the minds waves. Guiding my hands when I am the young swain. Lost at sea. 


Organic Orgasm

A slow but pertinent awakening.

A graceful shedding of skins created through seasonal deaths.

It is the rewriting of an ancient but familiar melody, from cold slumbers and lifeless tones, to the blooming of nodes, into the song of a bird.

Complex and elegant, yet simple and nearly effortless. 

To the observer these movements are motionless and still, but they are ever-present, a portamento driven only by natures will. 

The unseen forces that govern these rhythms are inert and distant, but nurture this process like a mother its infant.

Slowly, the composition unfolds in a crescendo of pigment. The notes playing louder to underscore with a forte the coming of the vital climax.

An organic orgasm.

The finale a sensational biotic ejaculation.

With it an announcement. A soft and slow diminuendo has started.

Gently in a lento, the pellets and leaves form damp blankets and announce the return to the yearly slumber.


Trails

Leave a little magic, every step you take, further away.

All these vapour trails coming from your breath, 

are made to leave a little magic. The vapour may leave but the magic is here to stay.

Leave a little magic, before we all go away. 

Forever, away. Forever is maybe today. 

Leave a little magic, to hide tragic times that need special days. 

Even if it’s manic, spawned from a panic, or just a little taste. 

Leave a little magic, before it’s too late. 

Just leave a little magic while I am still awake. 


Information of the Ages

City after city I see,

Crowds gather, crowds agree.

Gathered crowds, crowds that see.

In places, filled. All traces filmed.

On tiny screens.

A connected evolution.

A information revolution,

Whats happening to me?

All is for all to see.

What is happening to you?

An evolutionary fusion.

What is happening to us?

A technological confusion.

Or an intruding of solutions.

You and me.

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A Plant Indoors

While the cloud in your coffee smiled, before it disappeared. 

All the trains long left the station, and just left you here. 

In a place so familiar, but its all changed and you know, 

It’ll never be the same, as those past days that you see in the mirror.

Now behind a glass window, as lonely as a plant indoors, you’re painting pictures in your mind of what you once called home.   

You have tales of a lifetime, but no ears to share them with.

You’ve made a whole wardrobe, for anyone, even if they don’t exist. 

Because memories shade, when a lifetime turned stale.

The memories fade, when a lifetime turns grey. 

Now behind a glass window, as lonely as a plant indoors, you’re waiting for some mail from people that you don’t even know. 

That smile in that cloud was pretty good company, before it disappeared and went away,

Together, with those past days that you see in the mirror.

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About me

I like a lot of things. Different things of all kinds and sorts, shapes and forms.

I like doing things. Things get done, but sometimes they don’t and it leaves me undone.

I make mistakes and those mistakes shape me. It all somehow works for me because I work on me.

I try new things, and sometimes I change old things to mold them into new things.

I like the truth, even if it hurts.

I also like lessons, even when learnt the hard way, because I prefer growing through learning over ignorance and ignoring.

I am pretty ok at a lot of things, but I am far from perfect at any of them. I like imperfect things and I probably like you.

I hope you like me, as long as you know, that I am imperfect too.

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False Judgment

Blast your fury,

Fast and sturdy.

Judge the bad ones, you’re the jury.

Name the shamed,

and shame their names.

Judge the bad ones, they’re all the same.

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Cons & Trolls 

 

Mastery of control, control over mastery. 

 

Control of nature, mans greatest feature. 

Preaching while leeching on what isn’t really his. 

 

Control of language, one of mans greatest assets.

To preach for the leeching, to go on and on.

 

Control of matter, does that even matter? Just like money?

Distorting shapes and forms to build, but change, his only home.

 

Control of science, science asks.

Science is pure, pure for control. 

 

Control of freedom, for the free need control.

Control of their needs, control over deeds.

 

Control of thought, it isn’t what you thought.

Knowing is not knowing, you are but controlled thoughts.

 

Mastery of control, control over mastery. 

Checks and balances, further the imbalances. 

For as long as you know, you need control, control for your soul. 

The Cons & Trolls, own everything you know. 

Everything but, the motion of emotions, those are yours, and out of control.  

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Snap Snap 

 

Hold the device, steady, aim it towards yourself. Snap snap it goes.

Expose to the world what you are made of, the particles of your face, your features and your race. 

It does not matter, day or night, devices do not care, they do not fight.

It’s always there, it comes with you everywhere, so you can show me what I should see in you.

 

“There are so many who care to see, don’t you care to see what you should see in me?” you say. 

 

A forced question for which an answer is provided. 

You swish by on a tiny screen, I see what I should see, mere reflections of a mind divided.

Divided from what is real, retired from what it feels, now expired so that it already needs, new beliefs for what it should be, new versions of what I should see. 

 

Because what I see is what you want to be.

A new you, for the old me. It’s all so easy on a news feed. 

For it does not matter, sunshine or rain, for the device its all the same. 

 

Show the world and say to me; hey you! look at me! Wouldn’t you like to be part of this reflection on a screen? 

Its so nice and I am so free, so free to be whatever I want, on this screen. 

Snap snap it goes, you show me what you want to be.

 

Show the world and say to me; hey you! please believe in what you see, this is me, the real me! 

I’m just stuck inside this little screen! 

 

Snap snap it goes.

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The Directors Chair

Do you know how it sometimes feels as if it’s the end of the world?

Instead it just turns and turns, encircles the circles of your thoughts.

Obsess about being obsessed, regret to forget, a repetitive movie set, inside your head.

  

Where is the director to shout cut, edit and then reset?

 

But the name written on his chair is yours,

So you go and buy yourself a new face at the corner store.

The side of the corner that’s called Hopes Release, with its shadowed wall, named Captured Doubt,

The side that leads, to a frozen break-out.

 A fade-out- blurred-out, hang out.

Do you know how it sometimes feels as if the world just began?

Dug you head out of ice cold sand.

Now, hand in hand with melting ice,

You can enter a world that is anything you desire.

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Lost in Translation

Sing a skillful riddle when you’re stuck in the middle, 

make a cheerful sniffle which leads to a snuggle. 

Your feet start to shuffle while your starting to stumble,

It’s all a sterile struggle with visual vocals. 

Try to talk to the locals, but they don’t do it in oral. 

Get shivers and babblers which leads to more shambles. 

Make a move to recover but you settle to scramble.

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No-thing

 

I’m going to do my best to tell you.

I’m going to do the best I can. 

 

I’m dying to get to know you better.

I’m dying to let you know. 

 

That what is left is nothing,

but all thats left is living time. 

 

That is all, that is mine. 

 

Nothing else, is really mine. 

Nothing is, this time of mine.