Delft Blue(s)


Delft Blue Tile
Delft Blue Tile

A Sunday morning breeze
Across mountains, across seas
Meet me at noon
In the Market Square
On ocean waves soundtrack
We are roaming the dark alleys
Champagne, Scotch, and a good trip
Lips that smash against a crowned ship
With our suitcases full of books
And splashes of paint dripping on their pages
There you are, kissing my maybes.
In the center of the square
An eight-pointed star recites and sings directions
As you moan on my stage
With the sounds you tell
On the cello of Clint Mansell.
The girl with the fringe
Opens her mouth and sews fantasies for you
Seduced by the future of the past
We exchange spatial looks
And the journals that we keep
At our latching paper and ink
And the odds of the madness
Entangled in a Vermeer painting
That comes out and speaks in tiles.
Show me your wounds
I’ll heal them with pearls
And words and warmth
With the flowers from above
And the stars from below
We are beneath and across the ring of sky
An immortal creation
A reverie that croons to our hearts
With green shapes and patterns
A quilt of fallen masks we have woven
You teach me of tones of colors
I did not know existed
Of cello tremolos that soothe me whole
A musical vision of glam and theater
That buries the dark and the graveyard.
I forget and I forget and forget
This is a journey I must take
A sharp memory of a future craze
I am a turquoise maze
Pierce me with kind needles
I’m a painting of a muse
That cries and hears your cry
Let the music be our guide
We’ll meet halfway on the other side
A spiraling route to awe
I’m traveling towards a Delft Blue
A central star points everywhere
For that is where I’m going with you.

long good byes


I swim with you
in tranquil seas
a cosmic vibration
at the mercy of our
intertwined feet.
your breath lingers on my skin
bruised flesh
with daring kisses
cling to you
an energy of crazy, coffee, and candies
baptized in white wine
a painting of copper leaves
on a rainy silver pavement
a reminder of possibilities.
in the cold air of Orion
a chaperon looking down on us
you tease
I smile and fetch a fantasy
and walk into a tunnel
of lust and longing
my imagination consumes you fresh
as you tear me open.
what dough are we made of?
a fringe and rainbow fetish
in our sublime
we have traded the world for ours.
let the leaves flood the room
let us chase them over the moon
I confess
I hate goodbyes
you devour me
with long blue skies
addictive arms and eyes like spies
spin me till I lose sight
wish we could lie
and never end
our long good bye.

long good mornings

west-singing-sands by rose strang

(c) West Singing Sands by Rose Strang

black and blue
makeup running
I crave for the sweet things you whisper
and for those you don’t
for taking control
for a hand print on your warm heart.
let’s clear the road to space
and hamsafar
from the glitter of the reigning snow outside
to the nest of kindle where we lie
a mirage of good things to come
a trace of endless mornings
I recall the silence, the gulps of breath,
the ecstatic long embrace
of the first long good morning.
a glimpse of interstellar
at the threshold of our beings
in a sojourn of wine
troubles melt
and leaves gravitate
towards distant turquoise seas.
I am enchanted by you
a theatrical sailor
with performances and characters
with smeared makeup and alcohol
satiated at the sight of his blue-haired muse.
coffee candies and blue lipstick
flavor my kisses
we make our way to the unseen
towards a claustrophobic hub of creation
a melting down of words
we declare our horizontal space
a nude portrayal of a lover’s gaze
traveling at the speed of light
into our first long good night.

long good nights

Harmony Stars by Toni Grote

(c) Tony Grote Harmony Stars

Part I

green sea

what were the odds of
green scotch and tea
I like the words you are giving me
the beats of hearts and drums in unison
we write drafts of pleasure and confusion
the beginners that we are
in the science of oxytocin and dopamine
the falling and drifting at the end of the day
the unbalanced weirdness
I want yours you can have mine
this comes out of me for you
like babies out of their mother’s womb
a glam still crucified by nails
I stand here
with bleeding words and poems
songs of sacrifice
magical contours
of phrases lyrics verses stories histories herstories
and we sit together on the floor
two-year olds breaking free
I’ll be kind and blind
and you’ll be my knight
in anarchist armor
this is not the end

Part II

yellow sea

we roam in search of eternal sunshine
of hair colors and wintery breeze
orion on its knees
and you, a novelist fishing
waiting for your muse
a Muse to catch your breath
give it to the lovers
it’s funny how years pass by
but january never does
bend the time machine
tonight you’re my green.

Part III

red sea

my brain is outpouring
a rush of colors to the head
messing with your brain
you’re a blank canvas
a prince of darkness
I’ll paint my best painting yet
let’s wake up from our long good night sleep
and create language and harmonies
towards the center of the theater we stroll
velvet cellos tuned to our masterpiece
we’re the movie rolling on the white canvas
enlaced black and white compositions
in a sweet awakening
that chokes you, darling
your hand under your head
the other on your chest
I am near screaming melodically
and maybe
and I’m running out of
I’m in space divine
be my rock ‘n’ roll tootsie
electrified with moonbeams
a holy fantasy of slashing guitars
writhing naked on the floor
a masquerade of lustful contortions
and intergalactic overflow
the sanctity of pleasure is mine.

Part IV

blue sea

long good nights
of deconstruction
page by page
leaf by leaf
of strange seas
that melt
that become icy
that burn
long longing for whisky
in the dim light of the bedroom
a painting of us
made of poetry
made of stars
in a big bang of psychoanalysis
a cosmic beginning of moist paint
of light and darker shades
casting supernovas
we expand and explode
in pulsars and nebulae
a starry madness
a finissage that steals my heart away
‘I could kiss you right now’,
you say
a spell so witchy
to mend the heart cracks
inspire me more
and let me take the helm
lead you into unknown waters
forensic seas
distant oceans
iceberg with no tip
a darker corner of an enchanted universe
take my hand
close your eyes
breathe my song and poetry and politics
share a night time of chaos
with notes of recklessness
drink me
taste me
smoke me
listen to me
write me
bleed me
see me

I’m yours.


surrealist painting

(c) Joan Miro Harlequin’s Carnival

in the eden garden of dreams
we fuse our subconscious
as the night claws feed us monsters
and I’d tell you what to dream
if you gave me your worst nightmare.
I’ll just dream a dream
about stars
and binary star systems
musical stars
slipping between them while chris hadfield commands the ship and sings space oddity
a bowie scrutinizing the sky
serenading to your garden’s flowers in a cygnet committee
as he looks for velvet goldmine spaceships and murmurs
‘are there absolute beginner heroes on mars?’
you dream of disembodied brains going back and forth
a zombie mosh pit at a funeral with goth rock playing in the background
a passenger chanson with a grim outlook;
on my way to a nice, sugar free, low carb, protein rich sleep,
i crave for a guest appearance of lesbianish anarcho-liberalist parties with blue hair
while you dream of unshaved women lying naked on your bed
with great coffee and grand opera
making love to themselves in a virtual hybrid bed
sweet r-rated and g-related moans in a delicate orchestra of obscene politics
a halloween orgy with lucifer,
dead hookers blossoming in the autumn rain
and pumpkins and zombies
tricking and treating you
as everything dies an ecstatic death.
then I’ll dream a fairyland of spring
with elves and unearthly creatures
painted kaleidoscopic leaves and musings
a theory of string, chaos and everything.
I find you at the tree hollow
a fallen anarchist
with tales to tell
and dreams from heaven and hell.