The origins of joy have shifted.
As if there's winters in summers
and previous sparkers of joy
now elicit bummers.

Snow's been building up for days
and there's not enough salt
for all the ways unclear.

The bad is worse, the good is grey
and I wonder if I'll ever have a say
again in how I feel. I wonder when
the sun will once again feel real.

She's pretty and she's sitting
right in front of me across
the table. We are hitting
it off and in my head I hear applause
after every joke, every line
and when she laughs
her eyes just shine.
It's unbelievable how lucky
I am with my goofs and gaffs
to land a girl as great as her.

I stir my expensive cocktail with the straw.
Her body is probably against the law.
Her words change me to putty goo.
I know what it is that I should do.
I know what I should say: 'I'll pay.'
"Oh no, you shouldn't."
'But, yes, I will, we'll call it
even when you pay on our next date.'
I reach for love and for the check and what the heck,
the waiter's here, it's all too late,
I can't find my wallet.

Laat het waaien taaie
takken trillen. Vertrouw
erop dat vruchten vallen.

De aanwezigheid is doelloos
en doelloos geeft ruimte.

Durf te wachten, te zwijgen,
zachtjes, vriendelijk, begripvol.

Laat het waaien verse
vertes vangen en vertrouw
erop dat zij ook vol vruchten
kunnen hangen.

Remembering moments, days
of birth, resembling collecting
anything of worth, resurrecting
old, navigating new in ways
to keep it fresh of taste,
to sit down and discuss
your day without haste
yet still creating fuss
around the stories, tales
you've heard before with more details.

Today you can be happy
by working every day
you can be happy now.

It's not easy, being breezy,
the inconvenience of not being ******.

Sure the bads are there, the negatives, the minuses.
They'll float about, trying to kick
your senses out.

But there are pluses everywhere,
waiting to be found
by you.
And when all the minuses are ganged up on
by pluses
they're a lot less scary.

Herd immunity was our best plan.
We tried what no other country can.
The social distance is not
the only the thing that's long.
The prime minister claimed
he has a massive shlong.

He failed and caved, with his tail tucked,
apologized for the way he misbehaved
and how much the plan ******.
It may already be too little too late.

Comparable to the spring break's fate,
the virus has reached m(in)ister Boris J.
He probably got it from Theresa May.

Stop relying on food
to make yourself feel good.
Do everything earlier than said,
like waking up and going to bed.
Listen to the stories of your father
and drink plenty of water.
Do one thing meaningful at least a day
and, like, 85 percent of your worries will go away.

Meditate when it's dark and late
instead of scrolling and growing hate.
Life is fun. If you find the framework
you can make doing the same work.

Remember the meaning behind
the ends and when with doubt in mind,
remember to at least be kind.

If I did it,
if I was a fraud,
would you pity me
or be
meticulously awed?

I am not a household name,
no rising star, no famous game
you all can, get to play
and laugh at, slay
for trying to express.

I am not a movement, not a leader,
I am not the writer, just a reader.
I am no more and nothing less
than the most important I'd like to impress.

So leave your shoes and pitchforks at the door,
cozy up, sit down
on my soon-to-be-cleaned floor (when I get around to it)
and please don't frown when I am late.
I'm trying hard to not accept that as my fate
but rather change it even though I'm behind time.

Having to take it (all) is not a crime.

Business skype notifications
and buzzing smartphone celebrations
are ruining my afternoon.
When did life become
a get rich quick scheme?
Arguably too soon.

What's the point of crafting and honing
and honing your craft?
For fame, for money, for love, oh honey.
That's not going to make you stable.

The only point of creation that holds up
is beauty. Things can be sad or happy or anything or
everything at the same time all the time and still be
nice to look at, or listen to.

Not everyone needs to settle down,
lives are different, some smile, some frown.
The answer to why or what's the point, to me,
is beauty, not as filtered pictures or filled up body parts,
as coming home from work and feeling your contribution,
noticing your difference even if it was without solution.

Or, more in an artsy way, the creation on its own,
its beauty needs only one beholder to be seen,
if at least one beholder has slightly grown,
enjoyed, the rolling, not the smoking of a joint,
that, dear me, is for me, personally, the point.

People, asked to stay in, are drinking
Boston tea in the streets.
Eyes are tearing, mouth-covered
swearing represents the thinking
of the masses. The divide between
the classes, aware before or not,
is still only seen
because the cellphone shot
is shared and liked, awarded and rated.
What was never really loved has now
become hated. We're not really sure how
but, sick of all the lies, the nation's turning lawless as the president cries because twitter didn't find his tweets flawless.

The value of a falling star
is estimated to be far
above the earthly realms habituals.
It overwhelms, then crashes down,
crushing more than just its price.

The beauty, not the coin, is what must
suffice.

Soms schrijf ik voor mezelf,
soms voor de lezer.

Er is een tijd en een plaats voor elk.
Nu nog dat verschil vinden.

Niks te vertellen,
zagen opgeborgen,
geen boom te vellen,
maar takken te verzorgen.

Ik predikte over gieters vullen,
stond zelf de regendans te doen.
Voor schuldgevoel is dat smullen,
onvoldoende voor het vak fatsoen.

Het is goed geweest.
Stop nu maar met tappen.
En doe niet zo bedeesd,
er hoeft niemand te klappen.

Mijn waarden helpen kiezen
welke kant ik vanaf nu kan gaan.
Mijn normen leggen druk,
beslissen waar ik al zou moeten staan.

Wat helpt mij dan effectief vooruit?
Waarvoor dienen normen,
als enkel oordeel, eis en straf
me dan nog kneden, vormen.

Ik heb geen baat bij angst voor dingen
die niet echt gevaarlijk zijn.
Ik hoef afkeuring niet te ontwijken
als ze soms net nuttiger kan blijken.

Het maakt niet uit in welke specifieke herberg.
Als ik maar onder dak kan eten, drinken
en, zonder ik mijn echte zelf verberg,
in mijn dromen weg mag zinken.

Uitvloeiend spreken kost
wat luisteren verlost.
Ge snijdt wat is gaan spannen,
ge droomt van waan en plannen.

De keuzes op zich waren nooit
zo ingewikkeld. Ge ontplooit,
ge vast en ge smikkelt.

**** dan wat de schaduw roept,
zie dan wat je hoofd wil tonen,
Voordat ge alle dagen samentroept,
wilt ge toch waar voor uw bonen.

We are grey
we are mad
we are prey
and working had
better make us
more than we are now
grey, a bore, a big fat money cow.

On the evening before a small disastered
day, I lay awake in bed with nothing but
my closest dear and thoughts in head.

The filters spread across the room,
the smoke signalling impending doom.
I know nothing except elations, insecurities
and misplaced expectations.

Mismatched socks in chests with locks
and understanding you can't be too
demanding, can't let everything bother,
you, can't have one without the other.

I turn around and **** the time that ticks.
I can rest easy, assured I know the greatest tricks.

De profeet heeft
nooit iemand gered.
De verteller helpt vooral
zichzelf aan binnenpret.
Wat is vraag en aanbod waard
op ongelijke tred?

Er zijn enkel keuzes die mij resten,
waaronder onder meer,
zonder pluim of veer,
mijn eigen geduld te testen.

Ik zou beter stoppen
met elke gisteren te willen toppen,
met die fletse uitgebruiste moppen,
met die woorden die al zo vaak
zijn herhaald dat de betekenis
op melkbussen verschijnt.

Het schijnt dat ik loop te dolen.
Sinds ik geen tomaten heb, heb
ik evenredig minder controle
over mijn impuls.

De puls heeft lang te hard getikt,
ik mezelf gewogen
en mijn tijd gewikt.

Was ik maar iemand anders, zeg ik
soms, tegen mezelf in een andere taal.
Was ik maar meer mezelf, zeg ik
tegen een ander.

*** meer ik wil dat ik verander,
*** meer de dagen hetzelfde lijken.
Machteloosheid doet als koriander
elk gerecht tot zich bezwijken.

Boulders, birds and grapes were depicted
in these massive mind and body conflicting
epics, convoluted, that accurately predicted
what the present's freeing and constricting.

The operations and equations
lead to dramas and elations,
unfathomable until witnessed,
faced by your own ****** self.

You wished you were a hero, greek
or roman, nerd nor ****, no geek
no stock-photo of a human being.
Yet you missed what you should have been seeing.

Wait for the second marshmellow
and give it to the unfortunate fellow
that's lost inside your garden walls.
Be amazed by the rises and don't forget to enjoy the falls.

De borstel was smaller dan verhoopt.
Hopen werd verwachten en dan eisen.
Ge hebt thuis liggen wat ge koopt.
Nu moogt ge uzelf er terug uit hijsen.

But who is en who does?
Is it personal? Because
I'm not sure what mine
is or should be.

Caring, helping, hands,
kindly nurturing lands,
detecting possibilities
or creating my own.

Are you sure
do you know?
Are you steering,
knowing where
you need to go?

Can you spot the brightest star?
Can you pass the highest bar?
Because it's not at all that
big of a deal.
Bear in mind, to still, be kind.
Bear in sky, never deny
the truth you shine upon us.

We learned so much and talked so little.
Sometimes you yelled and I felt brittle.
Just know we'll always carry night skies
in our feeble tries
to understand the world.

Woorden als tentakels,
vurig spuwend, inkt,
vlekken tot en vlekken uit,
spreidend tot het hele blad
onzichtbaar is.

Wat als letters mis verstaan
wat we eigenlijk bedoelen,
we dweilen met de kraan,
water aan de wimpers voelen?

Dan durf ik mijn ogen
niet te laten zien,
ondanks gewikt gewogen,
misschien
heeft de mens zichzelf bedrogen.

Ondanks overuren voortdurend
over de kuren turen.
Tot dan plotsklaps knal,
een schokgolf in mijn heelal.

Ijsberg niet gezien.
Kan ik best het roer verlaten?
Wie is het die ik dien
te zijn, te doen, te laten.

*** meer ik niet teleur wil stellen,
bewijzen, preken en vertellen,
*** minder ik bereik wat ik bedoel.
Aangekondigd, zet u, pak een stoel.

De opdracht is onmogelijk te halen,
aanvaard de pijn onder dat malen.

We hoeven niets te vergelijken.
Er is geen gewin in ontwijken.

Ik heb al even geen medelijden meer.
Daar heeft niemand wat aan.

Een woord, een speer, een blik op de maan,
niet goed weten waar en dan maar
op het kruis gaan staan.

Je wandelt, de tijd rolt, je loopt, de tijd holt,
pas als je zelf eens gaat zitten, knapt
de tijd een uiltje, tukt ie, gaat ie pitten.

Ik struikelde, viel over moed.
Ik wolkenkrabde wondes open,
blies van de toren met een 'moet'
en mag dat nu met spijt bekopen

The mere presence of these
present-day technologies
occupies a part of our attentional load.
What used to be akimbo mode
has turned into a one-way road
of loss of focus. So thus, as we divide,
division itself will stride
with the solidarity
between the person and the familiarities.

We have become used to using or abusing
the multi-tasking power and lost the
sufficiency of smelling just one flower.

Everyday it matters less,
we walk around, clap at eight,
we work and sleep, digress
or try to lose the latest weight.

At night, we drink, at day
we only shower when
we stink. We look the part
and can't remember how exactly
it did start.

For forty days, lives end on one
decay on the other. We mock,
why even bother setting up
the alarm clock.

I ramble to myself to people
I don’t know. A lot of I’s without their dots,
a lot of kids without their shots.

Do you have your passport?
Do you want to come with me,
Rob yourself of dignity.
There’s a room for all of you,
I know I will enjoy.

I starred in a show or two,
if anybody aks you who I am,
stand up tall, look them in the face and say,
I’m on hulu and on netflix too.

I see in faces full of lies
and graces full of prides
the agonizing cries
of people, hurt,
wanting to be heard.

I pass them by the hour,
watch their pain devour
as they suffer from their past,
not knowing how long the
madness is bound to last.

It puts perspective on my downs.
Not that I'm not worth some frowns.
In some way it's even freeing,
to see what they're not seeing.

Why?
Perhaps I am the bad guy.

Zonder jou werd alles mens.
Die mensen kunnen honger krijgen.

Zonder jou werd alles mens.
De huizen zijn al redelijk duur.

Zonder jou werd alles mens.
Wat doet een fractie daarvan
al met onze natuur.

Ik hoef niet alles mens.
Het is een valse keuze tussen 2
pijnlijke dingen.

As we develop,
come outside and
leave our scallop (shell),
we need a hand
in swimming through,
migrating as we do,
to the land
of our fate.

Depending on the time
of our departure,
our destinations
change. The range
is fixed betwixt
some viable
in less or more
and starting at the core.

During that journey,
some come together,
some leave forever,
others doubt whether
they are fit to stay.
Just remember to not
mistake this cutting
for decay.

I call your bluff and raise.
These feelings of ineptitude
are nothing but a phase.

I see your winds and wave.
They can't restrain me from
behaving how I wish to behave.

I see your dips and rise.
These small changes of mood
will not result in my demise.

I swing back and forth,
to south, to north
yet still, rest assured, I'll always be able
to get back to feeling stable.

What's the use when we can't be
best or first, or last or worst.
The whole idea feels cursed
and bloated, just like me.

I missed my call to arms,
drenched my cream in ice,
fell for that which harms
and lost one leg twice.

Everyone can write, everyone
can paint and what is special
when you get to decide?

It's all indefinite repetition,
no upward or downward, it seems,
just spirals and attrition.

I know of a Dutch-Latin professor,
who is a serial young lady undresser.
I've seen the laws of morality,
beaten in the streets.
I've learned about funny men
being just a case of when.

There's high-placed, handsome faced
and rich, laced in gold, never-no-told men
who'll do worse whenever they can.

I do not condone, endorse or consider,
I'd rather have the talent wither.

You're not exactly setting
the written world on fire by betting
all your money on a fleeting dream's desire.
You're only another working ant,
a cog in the machine.
There's just no money made
by making what you love, unseen.

There is no magic formula to rise
above the ranks. Just do what you are told,
say help me, please and thanks.

I called, we talked for hours
and the steps we took, the ground we
walked became a path. It was ours
and the days we spent were crowned
to be the warm and cozy bath
you take on wednesdays to get
you through the week.

On saturdays I wait outside my house,
on sundays my time is meaningful
but every other day, I douse myself
in love for you.

Walk home with me, daydreaming detective,
walk home with me and keep giving perspective.

How it all can change, gradually
behind the curtains, abruptly
in the trees. The log cabin's set
on fire and anything to admire
is lost. The cost of great successes
blesses us with the greatest joke of all.
Thinking you are different, without the
potentiality to fall.

Filled with nonsense,
spilled through carrying
out orders, skipping borders,
collecting hoarders,
marrying for money,
working for the sweet
sweet honey.

Ervaring als bezit, een speld
op je mouw, een vogel voor de kat,
een vriend in de kou, geweld
tijdens de dadig, ietwat ten einde radig.

Als taal niet past op wat je voelt,
je zelf niet weet wat je bedoelt.

't Is zoeken naar manieren
om jezelf niet op je hoofd te toeken.
Waarom zoeken als je bij onze broers,
de dieren, ook niemand ziet toeken?

Ik joeg je ongewild
tot in je harnas.
Dan sloeg ik op je schild
omdat ik in de war was.

Onbewust oordeel ik
over ongeruste mensen.
Dan duw en druk ik
zonder gehoor voor wensen.

Kiezen tussen schuld afschuiven,
met als resultaat het jennen,
of je verantwoordelijkheid erkennen,
een vette bot te kluiven.

Al doende leer ik dat met boeken slaan
de kennis niet doet overgaan.

Aren't we all so ****** special?
I am different, I am weird, I am clunky,
I am quirky and just a little feared.
He's dressed in black, he smokes and
leans on walls using his back.
He has a troubled past, a future uncertain
and a present behind the curtain.
He's wearing jeans, he's cutting steak.
what difference does it really make?

He knits, he swims, he skates and hates
the curl in his greasy hair. He ****** the bed
until six and cried about the spot on his head,
he got when he smashed it against the wall
after a nasty fall.

He is so ******* special,
but aren't we ****** all?

When I sift through writings
of the old, I meet sightings
unholy to behold, as nothing
the person I am now would make.
We are different renditions
of the same mistake.
That was two editions
before the last me,
I see,
as I recall how time
has passed me.

My whole life has lead to this.
Someone else's business is
mine. In return I too get to
grow.

I de- and re-construct
to revive the stuck,
to uncover and *****
a brand new artifact.

As leaves they meet, in flight,
in fight, as soft and coloured,
sifting through the slashing sound
until their brown and crunchy remains
fall onto the ground.

I break down to build and then
watch as it breaks down again.

En dan,
wanneer die mouw de schouder dekt,
de hond mijn arm lekt,
de taart me weinig smaakt,
de thee mijn tong laakt,
de woorden je mond verlaten,
mijn inhibitie niet kan baten
en mijn taal ervantussen,
dan,
hoef ik je enkel maar te kussen.

Help vieren wat te vieren valt.
Neem tijd, luister naar de pijn.
Let op met druk want die vergalt
wat mooi is aan het
samen zijn.

Are you sensitive? Are you a tad
nervous, maybe? I am glad
you are aware, pleased that
you do dare participate.

Tell me, are you crazy,
are you out of your mind?
Tell me, are you lazy,
well-hearted, are you kind?

Why are you struggling to keep up the pace?

Probably because you're juggling while trying
to tie your shoelace.

The answer may be to stop searching,
or to continue until it all feels right.
It may be to adjust so the bad feels good
and dark and heavy returns light.

There may not be one at all.
It may be to study how happy people fall
and copy what they do
but, again, tweaked to fit to you.

It may be this
or the next.
It sure as hell is not embroidered
on this depressing ******* text.

I may never sleep for 15 years,
I may never have the greatest ears.
It could be I never find the gold
I dig for, could be I never become old.

Fame, wealth, success and the fruits of inspiration
are merely bonuses to or maybe just preparation
for the lover's taste.
I live truly in knowing that our time together
can never be erased.