For MR (who goes to work by kayak)

No longer locked in shiny spheres
that rumble-role in soothing speed
too closely packed on lazy tar
like beads confined upon a string

I feel the water freely flow
My paddle tips reach for the sky
The land two ribbons by my side
No roaring engine leads the way

The water-flow starts at my door
It drifts away through the lagoon
One day I'll join it to the bay
and out beyond the Golden Gate

October 1 2009, April 14 2010


Dit gedicht is geschreven voor een collega op het hoofdkantoor van EFI in Foster City, een stadje gebouwd op schorren en slikken in de San Francisco Bay. Foster City heeft een heuse dijk en kanalen voor waterafvoer en -berging. Het natte hart van de stad is de lagoon.

This poem is written for a colleague, who works at the EFI headquarters in Foster City, a town built on higher ground in the San Francisco Bay. Foster City has a dyke and canals to manage the water flow. The wet city heart is the lagoon.

New House

Construction workers did their job
Their voices and their tools are gone
They left the smell of concrete dust
They left the smell of new

We smell an almost home sweet home
Our whispers bounce from wall to wall
The doorpost needs a coat of paint
The carpet seeks a place to rest

Still we are strangers, we are guests
We do not know which floorboard squeaks
The smells of day, the sounds of night
have not yet settled in our minds

One day this house will be our friend
No longer will we call it new
The table, chairs, the lazy couch
lie comfy in its warm embrace

August 26 2008


Toen LinkedIn in 2004 begon met groepen, besloot ik uit pure balorigheid de groep Poets op te richten. De groep heeft inmiddels bijna 12 duizend leden.
Voor deze internationale groep heb ik ook een paar Engelse gedichten geschreven waaronder deze.
Het is een mooie ervaring: de klank is anders dan Nederlands. Uiteindelijk schrijf ik toch liever in mijn eigen taal.

When LinkedIn started groups in 2004, I founded the group Poets, just for fun. Now the group has almost 12,000 members.
For this international group I wrote some English poems, like this one.
It is a nice experience; the sound is different from Dutch. In the end, I prefer writing in my own language.

Magpie Tale 308, My Words

The words I wrote are part of me.
The words I wrote are mine.
They tell the story of my life
in each and every line.

I wrote these words for you last night.
I took no time to sleep.
I give them now away to you
to cherish and to keep.

But now I am afraid you’ll laugh
at what I have to say,
afraid you will not understand
and throw my words away.

This is the point of no return.
I know not what to do.
I want to keep my words with me,
I want to share with you.

This is Magpie Tale 308
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Magpie Tale 274: YOU

image by Sarolta Ban

You call me near, you call me far
Your words sow seeds, the seeds of hope
Your laughter makes them shoot and bloom

You are the daisies in the grass
You are the hole in every cloud
Your voice brings life into my life


This is Magpie Tale 274
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Magpie Tale 250: Morning

Morning

They walk the early city hours,
their faces greyer than the skies.
We know their presence, see them not.
We see each other with closed eyes.

They ride the early boulevards
in streams of steaming metalware.
We hear their presence, smell them not.
We only smell each other’s air.

We float the shining morning blue.
There’s no one else, just me and you.


This is Magpie Tale 250
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Magpie Tale 196: Angel or Raven?

Angel or Raven?

Is she the angel I carry in my heart?
Is she the raven I carry on my shoulder?

Is she the angel whispering wise words?
Is she the raven repeating my humbug?

Is she the angel of love and comfort?
Is she the raven sharing my loneliness?

She is my angel, she is my raven.
One day she will fly away.
I will follow for better and for worse.


This is Magpie Tale 196
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Magpie Tale 147: Mother Earth

Earth map tattoo

I touch the skin of Mother Earth
It welcomes me to Asia
to Europe and America

It shares the warmth of Africa
the coldness of Antarctica
I feel the skin of Mother Earth

I travel on, she leads the way
I travel on the skin
of Mother Earth


This is Magpie Tale 147
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Magpie Tale 139: Midnight Snack

Midnight Snack, 1984, by Curtis Wilson Cost

The quiet night is full of sounds.
The cricket chirps. The howling wolf
longs for the moon.

My rumbling stomach tells me tales
of diets I will never keep,
my darkest hour.

My sleep is gone, has crept away
into the cold. The bed is warm,
it holds me tight.

Bare feet uncertain move along.
Past squeaky doors and cracking floors
they find their way.

The fridge door is the hurdle left,
my finish line. The floodlight
brightens up my night.


This is Magpie Tale 139
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Magpie Tale 138: Sick woman

Sick Woman, 1665, by Jan Steen

An apple a day
was never my style.
A doctor a day,
that is what I want,
to hold me and feel me,
to comfort and heal me.

The candle is out,
the coals do not heat,
my heart feels so cold.
The doctor’s warm hand
now holds me en feels me,
now comforts and heals me.

Quite soon he will say:
“I fear for your heart”.
Then, when he sits down
and looks in my eyes,
I’ll hold him and feel him,
I’ll comfort and heal him.


Inspired by this link

This is Magpie Tale 138
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Magpie Tale 135: Venus and the sailor

Venus and The Sailor, 1925, by Salvador Dali

The loveless sea takes me away.
The skies and waters hide my home.
I think all night, I think all day:
Why must I on this ocean roam?

On the horizon clouds do form.
The sea turns white, the skies turns black.
The gentle breeze becomes a storm.
The noble ship becomes a wreck.

You hold me up, you calm the sea.
you take my fear, you dance with me.

This is Magpie Tale 135
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Magpie Tale 132: Big room

Big Room, 1948, by Andrew Wyeth

No matter how hard he tries,
the sun will rise no higher
in the skies of winter.

No matter how cold the house,
no fire fills the empty grate,
grand entrance for Old Kriss.

No matter how deep the winter
the apples will blush
like schoolgirls in spring.

No matter how big the room,
the rays of light will tickle
the darkest corner,
revealing more than meets the eye.

NOTE: Andrew Wyeth father would dress up as Santa Claus, who they called Old Kriss.

This is Magpie Tale 132
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Magpie Tale 105: Ride

image: epic mahoney

I have been out riding all night and all day
from East Coast to West Coast. I’m more than half way.
I’m tired and I’m looking for somewhere to stay.

I have been out riding with all of my might.
The schedule alas was a little too tight.
I long for a meal and a bed for the night.

I have been out riding past bears and through sleet,
but weather and wildlife and bicycle seat
will all be forgotten when we two shall meet.

I have been out riding all night and all day
from East Coast to West Coast. I’m more than half way.
So darling, please pick up the phone if you may.

This is Magpie Tale 105
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Magpie Tale 94: Ribbon

Lunch, George Tooker, 1964, Columbus Museum of Art

I see no others face to face.
I see them through the looking glass,
where left and right are turned around.
I see them in a twisted world.

We nibble from our spongy bread,
take long brown sips from lukewarm cups.
We smell the fragrance of routine.
The floodlight makes us all alike.

You have a ribbon in your hair,
which makes you different from the rest.
You sip and nibble just like us.
Your ribbon makes our heartbeat go.

One day we’ll eat by candle light
and see each other face to face.

This is Magpie Tale 94
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Magpie Tale 91: Musical chairs

The leprechauns left you a fortnight ago.
A year long they dwelled by your musical chairs.
You ran round and round and you never sat down.

The leprechauns left you a fortnight ago,
They went with their fiddles, their flutes and their bagpipes.
The music still plays round and round in your head.

The leprechauns left you a fortnight ago.
Don’t look at the past for it will not return.
The future is cloudy around and around.

The leprechauns left you a fortnight ago.
The leprechauns left you,
A fortnight ago.


This is Magpie Tale 91
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Magpie Tale 88: Country Boy

A country boy am I. I ride
through canyons made of bricks and glass
with one eye on the road ahead
and one eye in the mirror where
I see the road that runs back home.

A country boy am I. I met
the sweetest girl you ever saw.
A city girl is she, but cows
stop mooing when she laughs. Her name
is blowing in the winds back home.

A country boy am I. I know
this will not be an easy trip.
I know her name, her face, her smell,
but not her city, neighborhood
or street. I know the road back home.

A country boy am I. I turn
in canyons made of bricks and glass
with one eye on the road back home
and one eye in the mirror for
the sweetest girl you ever saw.


This is Magpie Tale 88
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Magpie Tale 86: The King am I

The early day unfolds
long shadows of
the coffee cup.

The paper tells me everything
it did not tell
me yesterday.

I am a sponge, absorb it all,
I gather tiny facts
in empty jars.

A shelf am I, and never full,
always a corner free
for juicy bites.

I stir the news in black and white,
I am a coffee spoon,
remove the clouds.

My wise advice fills dawning skies;
no one replies because
the king am I.


This is Magpie Tale 86
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Magpie Tale 85: TRUNK

Four feet on solid waves that hide the ocean’s depth
Two wings dream of the skies that rise above the mist

The beanstalk made of steel grows high above the clouds
It welcomes you to climb up to the golden harp

The concrete tower cools the warmth beneath the waves
It fills the world with mists that make horizons fade

Four feet on solid waves that hide the ocean’s depth
Two wings dream of the skies that rise above the mist

This is Magpie Tale 85
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Magpie tale 83: Bird

I am a gray bird with pink wings
that shine in the moonlight
always ready to spread and
fly over trees and lakes.

So why do I stay on the shore
among the coldblooded
and listen to the silvery sounds?

Because deep down I know
that every note that floats
from that mysterious flute
is not meant for the snakes
in the grass and the woods.

NO!

Every note that escapes
in the darkest night
shines especially for

ME.

And the snakes?
Ah, the snakes are the perfect disguise
for a secret love between a man in black
and a gray bird with pink wings.


This is Magpie Tale 83
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Magpie tale 82: Home

When you appeared in spotless white
I knew your face no more,
but I could see you felt at home
when you walked through my door.
The sun shone bright, yet not a ray
did fall into your eyes;
I could not spot a speck of truth,
nor could I read your lies.

When you appeared in spotless white,
I knew not what to say.
So I said “Hi, it’s been a while”,
and “How are you today?”.
There was no time for When and Where,
there was no time for Why.
We stood and saw what time had done,
were speechless, you and I.

When you appeared in spotless white,
it brightened up the house.
But did you come as just a friend,
or did you seek a spouse?
Your answers I did not await,
they mattered not to me.
I locked you in my attic and
I threw away the key.



This is Magpie Tale 82
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You can also read this on PoetrySoup


Note: Last change 20110919, because of Suz's comment and because I also felt there was room for improvement

Magpie tale 81: 25th Wedding Anniversary / 25 jaar getrouwd

25th Wedding Anniversary

Marriage is not a boat
rowing merrily down the stream

It is a family car
that for years and years
surprisingly passed the MOT

The mechanic looks worried
asks carefully about
the possible possibility
of a new model

But you shake no
see you next year
we still like our ride
we do not care
about an extra rattle now and then

Fill her up with super plus
because we still have a long way to go

This is a Magpie Tale
It is a translation of a poem I wrote a year ago for the occasion of my own wedding anniversary. Here is the Dutch original


25 jaar getrouwd

Het huwelijk is geen bootje
dat zachtjes glijdt
op het spiegelend meer

Het is een familieauto die
voor het zoveelste jaar
met wat kunst- en vliegwerk
toch weer door de APK is gekomen

De monteur kijkt zorgelijk
vraagt voorzichtig
naar de mogelijke mogelijkheid
van een nieuw model

Maar je schudt nee
Tot volgend jaar
Hij rijdt nog lekker
We kijken niet op een rammel meer
of minder

Ik gooi hem vol met super plus
want we moeten nog een heel eind