Ter Ere Aan Haar (In Honour to Her)

You are beautiful as joyful; as White porcelain your face is, shining upon me is your smile,

giving life to my heart a lion cannot do..

I chop your head off; holding it by your hair and raise it above me -

in the deep, dark, starlit night. See! You are the moon!

To the known unknown love, which might fade soon enough.

Just this night, my thoughts to you; gone the next days.

Schoon als mede vrolijk zijt gij,

Als witte porselein jouw gezicht is, Straalt jouw lach in mijn wezen;

Mijn hart geef je leven een leeuw op jacht niet gekend.

Onthoofden doe ik uwen wit porseleinen kop,

Houdend uw hoofd bij de haren heffende boven mijn bloed begoten ogen - In de diepe, donkere, ster-verlichte nacht:

Aanschouwt, de maan zijt gij!

Aan de ongekende bekende liefde,

vergankelijk mogelijk spoedig, Alleen deze nacht mijn gedachten aan jou;

vergaand met de dagen..

Oh Fortunate I Am,

that I have danced with Nature's personified beauty;

not the dance was enhancing, but you being my discriminating first pick.

Your beauty is like that of the moon shining upon the sea. A mountain flower only to be picked with strong lungs,

so no breath you can take from me in the thin mountain air.

Let me pick you, I will leave your roots in the earth where you grew flowery -

I beg, do not wither in my hands..

Your glance upon me - we see, you smile, I breath.

Your face in my mind - as I write in the late night.

My heart I will give to you, just give me your dagger;

or an old, rusty piece of metal. Feel how my heart beats in your hands;

hold it up high and taste how my blood is dripping on your lips.

Drink my being, as I did yours with my heart.

Cor Ad Cor Loquitur

Hart spreekt tot hart;

Mijn bloed, ik verlang u!

Uw ogen straal-blikte mijn ritme, Hart spreekt tot u;

Geeft terug mijn ziel! Ik verlang u, mijn bloed, Uw ritme slaat mijn hart!

Heart speaks to heart;

My blood, I long for you! Your eyes gaze-radiated my rhythm,

Heart speaks to you;

Give back my soul! I long for you, my blood,

Your rhythm beats my heart!

Once a tiny amount of blood of an person has penetrated via the eyes, the eyes of another person, by condensing blood-vapour, the blood longs for its origin - a longing for the person who poisoned his/her blood. Her blood, attracting me towards this woman, longs for her, a return - since it cannot (distance /

one-sided Eros Divine), her blood manifest itself in the ''origin'', the strength of all my blood: the heart. It circulates through my heart, the most close to the origin.. and the heart poisons me with her blood.

''At the visual encounter of people condenses the space between their eyes to a highly charged radiation field and will be the scene for a micro-drama of energies; between gaze and counter-gaze

interpenetrations come into existence by which the strongest gaze injects its substance, mainly consisting of life-spirits in the form of extremely fine vapores, into the eye of the other. Thus becomes

the intersubjective space a battleground of life-spirits that through the eyes, but also through other emanations of the body interact with one another.'' ~Sloterdijk

Distance in Death as in Life

Even in death,

That which I felt for you, The feeling to sacrifice, Shall be a legacy in life.

Our bodies will be buried,

Not just under the earth, The distance between us,

Will be as during life.

The closest that we will be,

Is in poetry; dancing, On a verse,

A memory..

We are dead,

Your beauty is rotting, My mind has ended,

The world will go on..

Mijn hart behoort u toe, Aannemen zult u niet,

Een dolk - ontharten zal ik;

Behartig dezen hartenwens,

Ontneem mijn hart,

Het is u niet gegeven.

..…, mijn hart behoort u toe; Uw vapores van hartennevel doorboorde mijn ogen,

Een bloedzending vergiftigde mijn bloed: Nu circuleert Hartenbloed vol heimwee naar de oorsprong -

Uw hart.

Vergiftigd verlangt nu mijn hart naar u,

Het bloed kolkt in ontstemming, Hart in, hart uit - geestesziek - het hart ontbreekt.

Mijn hart is verbleekt tot sterrenkou,

Koudhartelijkheid.

Mijn eigen niet-zijn boezemt geen hartkloppingen - Uw bestaan is verbonden met mijn kloppend hart.

Leeft voort in de poëzie: Geen rijm, geen ritme.

Louter bestaan.

The Path of the Mountain-Bear

My flower of the mountain,

Beauty on top of the highest height, To blossom in solitude is the greatest weight –

For my heart to bear, To not wither in my hand;

That is the path of he with the heart

of a mountain-bear.

What good it would be to pick you, If at all one can reach you and bear you blossom.

Whose lungs have strength to continue -

The path to the highest height and the thin mountain air; There where you grew flowery, there alone.

If I could only pick you, you would take away my breath

And wither together, both alone – You in my hands, I in your breathless breath.

''Tiny bird singing

At my window, Thank you, my tiny bird, For the beautiful morning.''

''Oh little bird! What have you done?

What mystery is concealed in your song That you arrest my steps?

Traveler, my melodies are not for you, I am calling my companion;

Because without her the night is sad. Do not stop, continue your journey.'' ~Miguel Serrano

No Lament of Yearn

Bird, oh bird, hear my lamentation;

Accompany my pain on this journey of mine, Let me hear those wings of yours in silent time,

Fighting against the weight of the earth´s gravitation.

Your singing always in joy even in vain,

Do not fool me, a traveller in pain, Sing for me, oh little bird, a traveller amongst trees –

Not in joy, but as if your beloved has left forever thee.

Traveller; enough of your lament of yearn! Sing I will, even if no-one will hear,

Only in joy, even in vain for my beloved to return; Hear this song of mine or move on with your lament of yearn:

Ride on, ride on; knight amongst trees, Night under the light of the moon,

Follow this path to the mountain, Ride on, ride on, through forest in rain,

Only then thou will attain the highest right –

Of the strongest of will, no right other than courage, Ride on, ride on, traveller amongst trees,

Do not fear your loneliness up there On top of the mountain,

Your beloved is what you will find up there, To gaze into the abyss on top of the mountain.

See, the moon!

Hear the silent song

The amorous nightingale sang no more,

The trees were silent, but only the wind whispered; An echo of a lost singing which is no more -

Where did my beloved nightingale go, I wondered.

My beloved bird, I call for you!

Where art thou, where are your joyous songs? Through forest and amongst lost trees, no sing-ing of you,

The trees are without leaves in mid-spring, in solitude as the monks; As the lonely monks are the trees without their leaves –

Without my beloved nightingale, all seems so cold and withered.

A sighing was to hear, from this whispering wind, A withering of flowers was felt upon the dry eyes,

In this dying wind of the autumn in mid-spring, This silent dawn did not bring -

A joyous song; only a sighing in the wind

And a withering of flowers in the eyes, so dry.

Awakened from the dream of what was to come,

My beloved nightingale, still here -not gone,

In its cage of dreams without song, no song Neither in the realm of awakening;

Only to be silent and alone..

Journey to Sea

I went to the North-Sea again on my bicycle this late evening; the wind however gave me some thought to return without destination;

I looked at the stars, as I only do when I am on my way to the Sea, to imagine how they shine above the serene waves.

That and because the Sea gives me peace, are the only reasons that I kept going. The stars above the Sea always makes me think and remember.

Too often I have music in my ears; but only the Sea, the wind rushing through the trees,

the rain falling on the roofs, my feet walking through the snow in the early morning and crickets reminding me of how curious I was to the world as a young boy -

are my reasons to listen.

I arrived at the dunes; and decided to go on the path of the wind mills, but water blocking my way, the past of the rain which felt earlier this day,

made me go another way. Thus I took my usual path towards the Sea, but when I finally came in touch with the beach,

the wind blinded my eyes by blowing sand into my face - thus I decided to return home after I was done focusing on the Three Stars,

which are a group of Five if you look closely, and a group of Nine if you try to make a figure.

On my way back it was as if all the stars and the grey clouds; came together rushing behind one marvelous star -

to fall upon the village.

Can’t you see?

A mountain top - Beautiful trees blossoming in green;

A view upon the mountains far away, The sky cold blue with clouds passing by.

A wooden house, A home on an open place,

Carved wood by hands and patience, Surrounded by trees and far away mountains -

Only my echo speaking to me..

The mountain top having an overview,

Upon rocky cliffs with trees exposing their roots, Only a looking down from my mountain height,

Reciting poetry each cold night when the moon is the sun.

Seasons decaying and giving life,

Depending on the being; Snow burying home and mountain,

Cold laying its pressure upon my breath, Risking death by snow collapsing the hearth.

A river away for a long walk, With creeks birthing through grass fields,

Fish and wild life to feed upon, A lake more close by,

Hidden by the summer with its green trees -

And by winter with its ice and snow as if dust in the wind.

Can't you see..?

Dancing Statue

A fool I was to think that I ''loved'' you, a fool I am for still wishing you to be Without Death, together;

without ''love'' as well, to be divided so I can appreciate your Beauty as a flower field being observed from the distance with its Dancing bees.

That is the meaning of my love for you, to not decay, I understand now - your Beauty I perceive as a Statue in motion.

Clothed was your body in black up to your upper chest; from henceforth it Shines porcelain White, as a decapitated Greek Statue head still attached to your body, the body with its elegant movements while

Dancing, furious and embracing.

That is what I have captured of you, a Dancing Statue; the face in its perfect angle like the Moon

reflecting its fullness from each corner, Shining upon every Sea and the Living Sea reflecting the Moon into Heaven back.

As beautiful as the Moon's Sun rays Shining upon the Sea; you are One at that instant:

The Statue, the Moon, the Sun and the Living Sea - in All I can see you Dancing like the Waves of the

Living Sea upon which the Moon Shines its reflecting Sun rays and the Living Sea mirroring the Light back into Heaven; and you, the Statue, your face I see in the Fullness of the Moon which Shines its

Sun rays through Heaven upon the Living Sea which the Living Sea gaze-dances with its Waves back into the Sky above the Earth's surface.

Moon Sun ray versus Moon Sea Sun ray; all One you are: You, the Dancing Statue, the Sun, the

Moon, the Living Sea with its Dancing Waves and Heaven filled with the rays of the Black Sun which

shows itSelf through the Fullness of the Moon.

As a Statue in motion you are,

Captured is your Beauty in eternity,

A moment which has become a memory. Your Body has expressed your Being,

A Dancing Statue is what you are.

I too shall become a Statue,

Expressing shape moulded through strength, Elegance through Dance,

A preparation for death should a living Statue be, Before the Dancing Statue crumbles into decay.

Take Honour to yourSelf!

Dance with death, Die as a Statue,

Become a memory, As a Statue capturing the eternal moment -

Of love, freedom, youth, health and courage.

Let the legacy-memory become the Statue..,

As in poetry.

Verloren Sterrenbeeld

(Sterren is Stars, Beeld is Statue / Image; Sterrenbeeld is Star Sign) Lost Star Sign (Statue) A story I will continue.

A mountain covered in snow, naked in all else, With a Star-filled Heaven as a comforting blanket;

Endless the plateau is, surrounded by mountain tops - As if they are frozen giants of a long forgotten age.

Such a cleanness is the snow, reflecting the Stars as a fog above its own substance. A silent wind not yet present, is my only thought, whispering,

Silent wind as it is like reading the future of the coming day, through the patterns in the clouds and the flight of birds.

A storm which hasn't yet fallen upon the naked mountain - That is the silent sound.

Where I am is above the starry fog under the Star-filled Heaven in the snow, Surrounded by frost giants about to howl the silent night into terror;

A foreign shadow is what I carry with me as my only companion, Foreign for I have never been followed by a shadow in the night,

Or does it lead, I do not know, what do I feel but frozen blood.

How few are my beats of the heart, if it beats at all, I cannot feel. In search I am for Her who is buried in snow,

She who is as White as snow as fragile as porcelain; Covered by a blanket of a Star-filled Heaven,

She who has eyes as of stabbing stars. I search for the Snow in snow, for the Stars in a fog of stars above the snow,

The night-air is as lit as the dark blue of Heaven, In search for Her, where to be found but in Stars and Snow;

Where to be lost but in my longing.. Buried in snow is all I know, here so close by lost, With only Her cold face above the surface not dead, not alive.

Blue frozen lips on a White face with hair as a starless night and eyes of stabbing stars, Her hair I might mistaken for just another lost shadow,

Her face I might lose in the stretching of this snow covered plateau - And Her eyes in the stars as a fog above the snow..

Loyalty through possessiveness

Ghira: This word, that has been translated as possessiveness, denotes a possessiveness stemming

from a sense of self-honour and self-worth, where a man who has the quality of ghira would be a possessive or jealous husband, seen as a positive trait because of its stemming from self-honour.

When ghira is ascribed to Allah, it denotes His being deserving of and demanding exclusive worship, loyalty and adherence. In other texts, ghira has been translated equally as jealousy, zeal, and fervour.

In this text therefore, it will be translated according to its connotations in individual traditions (ed.) ۴٩٢٣.Imam Ali (AS) said, 'The worth of a man is in proportion to his ambition ... his courage is in proportion to his self-esteem, and his chastity is in proportion to his possessiveness [i.e. over his own

wife].'

۴٩٢۴.Imam Ali (AS) said, 'A man who is possessive [over his own wife] will never commit adultery.

۴٩٢٨.The Prophet (SAWA) said, 'There is possessiveness that Allah likes, and possessiveness that

Allah dislikes. That which He likes is the possessiveness during doubt or misgiving [about one's wife], and the [over]possessiveness He dislikes is in a situation where there is no [reason to] doubt.

۴٩٣٠.Imam Ali (AS) said in his will to his son, al-Hasan (AS), 'Beware of being over-possessive [of your wife] in a situation that does not necessitate it, for verily that will lead a wife of sound character

from among them to become weak.

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One should distrust the man who isn't possessive over his wife;

a man who is possessive over his wife shows loyalty.

I think that would be a great proverb - and does also apply to women in general whom belong to one's tribe.

I wouldn't share a woman I care for, be it together in a relationship, or else to allow her to be in a relationship - with any man, to be seen by lower minds or to approve a relationship with a unworthy

man.

Of course one should have a degree of trust, and take note of a person's essence by evaluating his/her choice of partner, but you should always direct your son, your daughter, especially in these Modern days, towards a certain ideal - and by self-example of course.

Too many have access to deceiving tactics such as mimicking intellect, without understanding, or

''beauty'' through artificial means. I have never understood those ''men'' who, not just allow, but encourage their women to dress as if

they are whores, to be seen by any man on the corner of the street. To ''show off'' they say; but are they themselves examples whom a woman could ''show off''.

It seems to me their value is like that of a attraction in a amusement park, worth around 10 Euro, a freak show. Or is such the case again of like attracts like..

Yes, a woman should be able to show her beauty - in modesty, to my standards.

And even naked, one can be modest, depending on the behaviour, the purpose and the selection of eyes permitted to see.

I myself would take pride in my Beloved, yes - but wouldn't parade her as a carnival caricature. Like attracts like indeed, I can't be with 'a her' who is, even though attractive, immodest in essence.

Only with Her, as an Ideal, or She, probably idealized and remaining cherished in memory - thus

rather staying at distance in order to not lower mySelf through another woman whom is easily decomposable into forgetfulness.

Proverb

Should there not be a saying one time, amongst us Noble ones:

'To fall in love with your ancestors in a pretty girl's beauty.' Or: 'A partner you choose through ancestral attraction (recognition) in her, in him.'

That I may succeed!

A sadness has stricken my heart; a bloody disease pumping through my body -

for a far too long time, as a cancer reminding me.., of a memory and a delusional desire.

Truly it is time to gradually root it out,

but I still rather suffer from a deep wound in the flesh, yet.., I have to endure and grow in strength.

My heart will become colder, stronger..,

as will my Will and body; this struggle shall take me on the brink of a madness -

If I endure and succeed, I do not know.. And how much more monstrous I shall become,

in regards with ''emotional normality'' - if I will ever give warmth again,

I do not know either.

That I may succeed!

Golden fields and Blue skies

What to defend but the blue skies and blond fields of beauty, what else to die for but for that which you

live by, breathe for. May the mortars keep their fires far from the golden fields and its smoke away from the skies so blue.

Nature most cruel,

Hear my cursing lamentation, Know I do that you don’t care,

But my cursing-desire so cruel – Alike you, oh Nature, oh uncaring caretaker

Of life and death, giver of plenitude

And receiver of the last life breath.

In honour to you, I ask, not beg, To accept my curse for if you would deny,

You would deny your essence merely.

Hear; my burden of broken trust,

Once again been defiled by one I took dear, My dear teacher has betrayed me –

Once again I should have learned from you,

Nature-uncaring, to not have trust in those next to me, To not attach to those behind of me,

Nor at any angle circulating my beats of the heart.

I ask from you, give her cancer in her womb, Take away her beauty-fertility – gradually,

Silence her tongue as she does her affection.

Don’t take her away from me, I ask, too soon –

Step by step, in conscious awareness, And instinct leading her thoughts to me: Let her go insane and take like Medea,

As a tool of your play, her child from her; To become sane again and grieve her loss,

In all of eternity as is felt in this soon bygone lives of ours’.

Take away her loved ones in suffering vain,

My beloved Nature, cruel uncaring – Even if I am one amongst of them;

Especially if I am one high-ranked amongst of them.

Don’t spare me, oh Nature! With my foolish lamentation,

If it so be, let my suffering be -Tenfold of hers

Duke of Parma: My most beloved beauty, praised throughout - exceeding the borders of Italy, for gold

has its value recognized and the finest art acknowledged and admired, far outside the boundaries of

settlement. Do you remember, my flower of the mountain of highest height, where no man can stand without his breath taken and suffocated; your honourable blood circulating through most noblest heart, gracious one who steals sun’s heavenly hours of perception; do you remember, the day we have met

by blind Fortunae’s favour, it may have been a wrong turn on her wheel and meant to be for those nesting doves going apart in quarrel when we crossed path.

Duchess of Parma: I remember, my signore, honourable valour cannot be forgot, for by the mercy of

you who halted the most low and so as well the dishonour of which I was prey for most cruel

humiliation, you who took sword and risk for the defeat of most low in heart; who wanted to perpetrate what belongs to your legacy, our union on this night of wedding, and may Fortune be well to us by

having union continued in more than one child, may all be healthy.

Thus was their memory rebirthed to favour the desire for more memories of bonding; though past time it already is. The Devil’s demon and his contracted companion, slyly abducted the beauty exceeding

Italy’s borders on their wedding night; and when the Duke awoke from the knavish deception, he was - after the game of shadow, devil’s demon misleading the one who has just been robbed, into thinking

he could win, though it was just the devil’s play - stabbed through the heart; the Duke who has been deprived from his bed he would share after joyous wedding carrousel.

May the contracted be joyous in his strive for more than dry knowledge; so each has its story stored in memory, as the abduction was the theft of imagination and the given pain of memory, knowing what

was and could have been..

You sang to me, let me read to you.

I danced for you that night; my instinct took over, in honour to you, as I had told you.

From many I have gotten the respect, but you are my judgment; when you sing, like a Siren – your beauty increases tenfold relatively,

without numerical meaning in perception – beauty simply is and what an blessing to perceive it is.

You honour your name, the sun alike, awakening the world within, the rooster alike in the night when the sun is rising elsewhere,

you will be the rising dawn and the going down;

and the Siren in any given time when you are the honey of the atmosphere in - and exceeding - the agora.

Truly, my instinctive judgment did not fool me –

once you had let me know you, my love (agape) increased towards you;

you responded laconic when I told you that you are a remarkable woman; indeed I have been in the West of the West and in the East of the East;

If you only knew your value in this big world with these small people. You know the value of colours and taught me - the Natural colours will leave their marks,

all else is artificial pretence and cleansed over time,

you have left your colourful mark in the heart the sea creature alike which I had given to you.

Asked you did, if I would go to war for France; I answer you, war is everywhere, the fundament of existence, life is struggle, the laughing battle is the one that Dionysus lead,

Agon is life – death is the peace that so many long for on this world, let them rest in peace where they be-long, longing to be,

the living struggle is for those only willing to be-come, to resist the peace.

My people have abandoned me and honour is a myth of a long forgotten age;

the times we live in, where we know it all but do not understand, I am lonely with my principles for which I would shed the blood of the many;

but to know you - is the memory of the long forgotten age,

the reminding essence of the few worth fighting for, to die for.

My sun awakening in the rooster the cry to go to war.

For is the sun not the representation of life, the new day to behold – we are still here; to sing and dance and to grieve – that is the eternal return in life;

as it was, as it is and for the generations after; what are we but a moment in the chain of causality – though it sometimes feels as if Fortunae knots the rope together upon which we dance.

You know from who, to who

Why the little birds fly as they do, Whistling their songs as if life has no end,

Loving birds flying in warlike formations Above the little lovely village in peaceful celebration..

Don’t you know, loving birds – life is at the near end, For the first chirp in your fragile lives is the song to death;

That you may have a last one during an unknown end.. Sing and dance, oh little birds – above the little white village

In which so many had their last breath after having danced to life.

On top of the hill near the sea.

See we will you during our last-breath-lamentation, Your joyous flight in our yielding thought,

For the last one is as the first one – to an unknown destination;

Our beloved-ones gone as the sweet river having its end at sea.

That life may not have an end, sing and dance; Remember we will, your songs, dances and loving nests.

Your legacy shall return in the memories of next generations, For is a loving smile and caressing kiss between a lad and his maiden -

Not the same of feelings as those who have withered already in earthly nests.

The village always in celebration, on top of the hill near the sea;

With its seasonal summer birds from countries all over, The winters, as I had summerly heard, are silent nests in a living village,

Celebrating in song and dance without seasonal wither and flower –

As if life has no end..

Hateth too much?

‘You only hate, I only know your side of hatred; do you even have love?!’

Can't you see that I express my love through my hatred;

I hate that, than I love such, the opposite of, or a balance in between -

of that which I hate. Hate, this feeling beyond goodness, yes – this feeling which we are supposed to discriminate against

and to accept Love as the One and Only great-est virtue, of our age, of all times; since the collective

interprets immediacy as everlasting and dominant throughout all centuries, as it was, is, and should have always been this way – and shall be. Never!

Understand do they not, the love for the selected few, to sacrifice – through hatred. Through hatred, I tell you, is the best way to learn to love, to know the value of sacrifice; for have I not the will to spill my blood to have live the memory of a long forgotten age, she who awakens the call to war in the Rooster

regardless of Sun to behold -- for my instinct beholds in all void and dark, perceiving through blind light as well – that for which I would sacrifice and not share, those for who I would spill in plenitude and not

receive but coldness nearing death.

If not, then what value has my willingness to sacrifice; then what is left of Will at all but the will to be satisfied; woe! that I ever will be Deontevredene, the one who is Dissatisfied with all immediacy of

institutionalized-understanding and instincts polluted with artificial-nature. That I ever be Dissatisfied with your civilization and progress and myths towards Utopias - of all kinds with all of mankind, away

from the myths of the long forgotten ages, like a Cacus misleading, inverting the meaning of left-

behind traces. Herkules, manifested in spirit of the few, slaughter these Cacus-thieves who have inverted our pasts!

Revenge upon the deceivers who have given us reason to strengthen, rage alike Achilles and take back what belongs through us, to us, from those who deserve by rights, who take for granted the

eternal bliss of silence. Woe! Hear the silence of the Hyperborean Gods marching, you deaf ones, never wanting to listen to the return as it goes through eternity; the war drums in the silent nights

approaching, each roaring thunder closer to your Fates, the roaring nights are silent indeed with your

senses polluted in artificiality and comforting bliss. No comfort we find in the virtue of the loser, to let go the feeling of knowing the value for which we had

fought in previous ages - only blood is what we have to return and to spill in plenitude, may yours be soaked on earth more so than ours, upon which we will be fruitful. May we conquer back value - value

only known through sacrifice! ''But not my own non-being instils me with fear, but that of the beloved. [...] What they with a

somewhat watered-down phrase call ''love'', is rather that the death of another touches me more than that of myself.'' ~Emmanuel Levinas

It touches me not, to lose my life - my legacy will be my return.

Hear the Rooster calling to war those instinctually spoken to, regardless the dawn or the going down

of the Sun. The Rooster on top of the churches crying for the defeat of all weakness-preserving institutions of Morality.

Beyond time we have become. Fight dearly for all that is dear to you.

Go I must and leave behind my dear Northern Sea, always She spoke winged words to me, Her

soothing dark waters in undeep and Her blanket of warming coldness in sight and seasonal temperament no other race than those made by winter, in heart, rarer they’ve become, can appreciate

and find visions of own spirit reflected in You, beloved Sea named after the North.

How I lamented sitting on the rocks near the mills blown by no other than Your wave swooping winds, the thunder roared, the rain fell and the deepness glistered so beautifully with the sun setting in

between the dark clouds, the one I still have imprinted as Beloved and no other woman’s beauty and manners can poison me as much as she, not even the unknown Greek pride of one of the last women

in the West on Lesvos. Alas! the image of the most beautiful is within me, not I myself, but to recognize and appreciate in the few, the Dedication to the few in prose cannot be if not for my engraved image of the most beautiful, I call healthy Instinct, was not there to lead regardless of

manifestation in others, though those manifestations incite.

Wherever I roam, the Nine Stars will always express, if the nightly darkness and cloudness heavens

allow, their lighting glory from far away distances - to accompany me on my journey, and shine after me, when I have ceased to live. How great to be, alike to the stars who shine throughout the deep distances of the heavens through

the layers of blankets, varying in atmospheric harmonies of the many planets and other rocks with their own gravitating atmospheres – long after they have been perished, their lights will shine and

guide above wild oceans, alike to the past from which we take guidance, for is the light of the sun itself not, to our perception, the past through which we process the present and await the new day to rise – to live, dance, sing and mourn - to behold her during our quick moment of breaths before we return the

last, and cease to live.

J.R.R. Tolkien on Fairy Tales, Language, the Psychology of Fantasy, and Why There’s No Such Thing as Writing “For Children”

The same goes for poems 'to a woman', often enough the poet needs only to recognize the beauty, the selective and tasteful spark, in a woman; an atmosphere, a experience.

'Fairy Tales' are the Myths of those who can understand and translate (into words and prose and art), children are the most untouched to appreciate but in a infantile manner. Then the corrupt adults throw away our Myths, as something ''childish'', non-existing, no value but entertainment; but how real, how

inseparable from reality and imagination are the stories to children when told to them - how valuable to mould their sense of self and honour and perception of otherness.

Dance’s Libation

The swift-footed dancers, Lezginka and Sukhishvilli with so much energy, each time they pour water on the floor, thirsty they may be after exhausting dance, they honour their ancestors and forgotten

gods. Rather they dance with swift feet than to drink and stand alongside the line in all comfort, for what is this comfort but crippled mind or legs. Each emptied bottle of water, each poured bit of drinking

fulfilment, is an libation to their past, their ancestors, gods and an honour to themselves – an libation to dance!

Dancing star

I have not seen the moon for almost a whole moon now, roaming in this strange city, as all cities will remain foreign to me; where are you hiding, for I only see dirty worlds called faces - why have you forsaken me, once I have become a dancing star you won't be hiding for me anymore; show your face

relieving my disgust for these faces belonging to utopian paradises!

Oh moon, redness reflected of sun’s absorption, why you have forsaken me..

Overcoming jealousy

It is the cracking mask to which you might feel the most attracted, an abyss behind you feel curious to stare into, you will fall frightened out of balance for the longing of intimate fruits to share will disappoint and nothing but ancient darkness is to be found – excuse my coldness, for what have I to offer a girl

like you so innocent of ill-aired mountains and storming winds whirling around the tops, with the loneliest of dancers nobody to dance with but my own sadness and sorrows and laughter sardonic for

devils even; I am a dying man, we all are dying for that is existence, but I live and know my dying, what would I leave behind but a broken heart in dismay and regret. Only jealousy to overcome, for rejecting prior will encourage the arms of another; may I ever be lonely,

ever be companion of howling mountain wolves in distant threat for the echo repeats and griming already is in the neck to breathe.

Khali lamazi

Khali most beautiful rarity in this smog drenched city,

How you were sitting on bench in all magnificent piety, All you cleansed in my lungs and took away breath -

To breathe through blood you have sparked in hunting beats of heart; Melting mountain’s eternity of snow covered blanket, your fairness as hearth.

Khali most beautiful, how you were sitting in the park in all magnificent piety, How we danced with unsheathed sword in between us eternity,

Only if, dance we do in poetry – all honour to you as I’ll exalt you on phanduri, Khali most beautiful rarity in this song - dedicated by poet’s spark in return’s eternity;

Nenananananana – Khali lamazi how I sing for you on phanduri dedicated to beauty’s piety. Khali most beautiful rarity, ik zie me lady’s piety,

Lamazi, for the eye cannot see but rhythm of beauty; Khali lamazi how you were sitting under tree,

How I would hang the most of depravity for rhythm of song; Tyranny of beauty, all from tree I hang them all for you, As I sing on phanduri’s snares of three –

Khali most beautiful fair as jet ink your hair; nenanananananana..

An Ode to Dancing in the Rain

The tragic feeling feeling forsaken

dancing in rain;

what more beautiful

than dancing in own rhythmic

solitude.

The park’s lovers

How heavy the leaves under pressure of rain;

how much more heavier the hearts of lovers would they separate themselves from each other - if thought to cover for rain would drive them apart.

The heart must be cold already not to be touched.

To her who weighs upon rhythm

Schoon-geheid gij zijt, waardig jouw oordeel,

Te kunnen verdelen patroon van patroon, Niet de dans zonder geest maar het ritme als leven, Dat is jouw waardigheid te kunnen beoordelen -

Het ritme te waarderen, zwaarder te wegen boven doof bewegen; Mij te veroordelen evenzo in waardigheid te betuigen,

Van patroon naar patroon het ritme niet volgen maar dansen en leven.

Beautiful as clarity you are, of value your judgement, To can separate pattern from pattern, Not the dance without soul but the rhythm as life,

That is you dignity to be able to judge – To esteem rhythm, weighing it more heavily above mute moving;

To sentence me likewise to judgingly profess in dignity, From pattern to pattern not following the rhythm but to dance and live.

Hear how the trees are singing, Or is it the wind that wants to sing.

მთვარის დღეს..

ორშაბათს შთაგონების

მთვარის გადაიქცა მთის

ჩვენ ცეკვავენ თავზე ვარსკვლავები

ზემოთ მთებში დაკარგული საუკუნეების

ჩვენ ვნახულობთ მითი დაბრუნდეს საუკუნეების

მთა ხდება ყვავილი მარადიულობის

ჩვენი ცეკვა ხდება როგორც ფორტუნა მომხრეა

მიერ უმაღლესი ნების რიტმს გულის

Moon day.. Monday's inspiration

Moon turned into mountain

We dance on top of the Stars Above the hills of the Lost Ages We see the Myth of the Return to the centuries

Mountain becomes a Flower of Eternity Our Dance becomes as Fortunae favours

By highest Will of rhythm of the heart

Monday’s moonless revelation

The gods won’t let me settle without hesitation

Fate shall strike me onwards with grievance in heart What does heart matter to the makers of thread Pulling each other’s Will for I will too strong regardless the struggle

Truly I shall fight on every front within and confronting gun’s throttle The months will lessen my grievance shall remain in pain

How beauty’s golden manifest shall aim my wood For strongest wood to golden axe is said does no good

Strike me most beautiful ones, know your value I do Only most crafted smith can unite and thread’s Fate shall undo Forge I shall lightning out of Will, most beautiful ones, unsheathed thunder

No Odysseus on sea, no wood denying gold, no Fate to surrender Wooden grip with golden head, damping all elements into embracing

To Will against Fate, sword against diamond sharp thread - crumbling How I shall be wrought many a time, cut down, rebounding all Fate’s bonds I resist, my Monday shall be my next moons with you, most beautiful ones

‘nam quodcumque suis mutatum finibis exit,

continue hoc mors est illius quod fuit ante.’ ‘For if anything is so transformed as to overstep its own limits,

this means the immediate death of what it was before.’ ~Lucretius

Recognize heart wrought into despair's shadows Fate shall not follow nor lead my stuck thread to gallows

Paradise in my despair for it Wills and be struck is my Strive Higher Life wills life found in death of what was to Strike Beyond grave bravery

I challenge Fate, ourselves

Myself for we are interwoven Alike the howls of wolves That cannot be without self’s remaining

Overcoming beyond love’s of self To love the becoming of the coming hunt

Is the Strive of love of self yet to come Dawn to rise alike howling’s mystery Echoing beyond where wolves hunt

Law of Beauty

I search for you, recognize my instinctive Will gravitating towards your nature. Not because of uniqueness, but because of beauty throughout times, returning and manifesting

increasingly more rare, that is your uniqueness but eternal alike the sun to our consciousness. Your uniqueness are the memories and emotions touched and connected to all sorts of atmospheres and persons, who knows to me; your spots of 'unsymmetrical flaws' relating to the rules of ''perfection'',

alike the stars in heaven from which we recognize the beautiful constellations where we take guidance from the past flames already extinguished; your manners as beautiful alike the seasonal changes of

ordering and re-ordering, the cycle of recurrence throughout the ages, for what is beauty outside must be within.

Uniqueness as a rule is your enemy alike many beautiful flower fields dominating the field of battle we

call life, surrounding just one cess pool of terrible smell absorbing all flowery scents into, similar to polluted flakes of snow, which we merely call as such because of its source, but truly these brown

drenched icy flakes are nothing but disgust. Eternal beauty, rare, but unique not to the rules of beauty but among the general rules of manifestation.

Unique among the average, among the disgust increasingly dominant, but never as to be outside your eternal laws of beauty to be recognized, that is what we call attraction; how are your rules tyrannized

and the ugly attract the ugly as the new manifestation of ''beauty'' and ''health'' - their taste dominating as 'being dominated' by political sheltered rules.. Beauty Eternal, break our man-made laws and let us

beautiful ones taste the good taste of blood flowing in defence of her and her.., increasingly more rare..

My freedom

What I shall fight for in this forsaken world with ruined gods,

What do I stand for, in front of my abyss ready to be devoured in my solitude, What to Strive for but a family I see in her face taken away from me before I would have her.., them – My heart feels the loss as strong.., where to wander but in my despair I call lost paradise.

At least I have my laughter..

What do you know of paradise, green birds – it is your bird cage. Chased by tigers but the howling wolf in me shakes life into despair –

That is my freedom, Gaumardjos, Yamas, Proost, Sköll and a Toast to the value of life, For what life would be without an end,

An end that tells you if you do not take action you will feel loss of what you did not grab, She will be not around you in eternity, so will life fade away in-to eternity;

..

More than humour

A 'man' who can only make a woman laugh and get only attention through such will never be more

than a friend; he instils no sense of fear in her, no respect.

Our abyss

Do not give up on me as I Will you do not, Your judgement upon me, two worlds colliding of gods and god, Nurtured to lens upon earth, through heaven, hell

And, who knows, a forsaken purgatory of forgotten dreams from long gone ages.

See beyond the universe and our time’s visionary,

There are more worlds than the one ruled by vision’s Throne, See the past of ruined Thrones and forsaken values, I cannot offer but the world to you beyond

our world of births.

Let us taste the honey and wine of buried barrels from long gone worlds – You dance your ancestors spirit, beyond politics of our world’s gallows; Allow me to lead, you, to our gallows..,

Escape by dance the execution of thread’s destiny.

Let me lead you, to our destiny beyond world’s sweets; Vision our abyss holding you lovingly in my sword wielding hand your sweet hair,

Your body at my feet alike the most beautiful goddess veiled in dignity’s sheets, Fallen statue’s ruins covered in magnificent reminiscence

of bygone blasphemies.

Your eyes gazing their gift I unsheathed in your being’s funeral - Over our abyss as astonished stars newly born,

To shine and find their way through times beyond and bygone,

And your sweet lips asking me, as only I can hear, to fall through abyss’s glowing rouge and dark clouded wedding’s rainbow.

Dancing their pearls of blood from your lips into our abyss I share,

Lightly smiling in frozen eternity as I told you to behold,

My share of love I hold for you in my heart to bear; Behold my love for you to share what I become, my gift of eternity -

as your body lays without life at my feet, for my love is A-Mor. My moon, everlasting throughout dancing seasons and lifetimes,

My heaven, with its swift dancing stars and lights beyond times and death’s crows, My despair, for your life along my side, regardless of Fate’s siding and tidings,

Our time rotating in Fortunae’s wheel to Will our destinies together regardless of Fate’s gallows - I’ll be our gallows for if not mine, I Will you to become; no-else’s but our hanging against Fate’s odds.

The swallows dance in the skies of forgotten gods, so we shall along each other’s sides – You my bride, I your ash to dance around - enemies to hang from,

Before death swallows and its crows mourn the loss of moon and dawn’s dews, Of a loss never cometh alike a comet missing new created cycles;

to swallow all tides and sun’s glory for a new world to come. - As cruel as the past from which we inspire future’s agonies,

Let the crows fly around our gallows, let them celebrate our wedding - I lead the dance you my heart’s despair,

Celebrate life’s agon, the breath of beholding, so many of patterns never having despaired living life’s agonies.

Our paradise we call life to be felt most brisk in despair.., I’ll be your gallows..! You my moon, my heaven, my rope around my breath

- as we dance our last battle against Fate, My love without death..

Ringing my end

I fear no one Because I have sworn an oath A path for no Shepherd of goat

No road to love’s struggle And comfort of house and hearth

A wanderer with no land, no people No Fate’s bridle No dignity in your honour;

The death of my heart is the birth

Of another loneliness in an endless hour A wanderer with no faith

For home and bride Another Strive as great

As the loss of all dreams And Will's promises shattered

Facing her smile in my sleepless slumber The bells ringing my end

For Will and Strive to surrender Sweet death, ending all lover's tales

Rendering all tears of loss for story's end

Ukrainian war-bride

Alas, I have found my heart anew in greatest passion In you who had found it in me before my love for you Playful night in resistance surrendering to instinctive attraction

Your body as sweet as the ignition of my hearth in you Leave you will, too a scar in my heart you just warmed

The last warmth bearing from that night will extinguish My soul torn apart as a leave in storm being wrought

I shall out-cast in my last breath great grievance My ironic death to be found in your land of birth You left for land of dance and song were we shared mirth

Now off to my land of birth were I was born on infertile earth I left behind to never come back to live and find my heart to lose

To drum its last beat of war in your land I love in you Still in the land I love of song and dance soon to leave in loss For I have lost and found another war to lose too.

~ Sjoerd Heeger