when fake news
is the only news available

how do you know
what's really going on?!?

for those advanced in years
a glance ino our closets may actually serve
as welcome help for oft eclectic memories

not worn for many years but well preserved
our clothing from the days of yore
can bring back memories of striking moments

events of great significance
     some of great joy amd pleasure
others of  horror pain disaster
       not remembered gladly

our lives as dressed for some significant occasions
pass review in the wardrobe reminiscent of

     the dress worn for the first date
            another one for graduation
     the first self-bought suit
            in which you had your dinner date

    the tights that made your male friends whistle
    that leather jacket in which you thought
             you looked like Elvis
    a wedding dress  
                a wedding suit
   dark dress and suit for funerals

your life's diversity all in one closet
for you to remember
     and maybe wonder
how you have lived so far
so long

right in the eye
of history
I walk
among the crowds
that taste
the absence of confinement

   an unfamiliar space

between the band stands
on the avenues
where people
test a freedom
   newly won
still strange
as yet in need
of daily reassurance

crossing and recrossing
   the big gate
   and the bridges
that for generations
connected nothing
marked divisions kept
   by guns and barbed wires
   and well-lit empty spaces
   between walls
   watched from towers

the new reunion
brings happy smiles for most
   quiet tears for some
new doubts for many
who  are uncertain
   now
about their lives together
after decades
of separation

right in the eye
of history I walk

just now and then
a little bit afraid
that she might
rub her eye

just now

       * *

is a familiar phrase
we like to flaunt
    especially
when we would like to utter a complaint
    about contemporary grievances
    god and the world & cetera

in doing so
we keep good company
from Socrates to Livius
    to Shakespeare, Goethe, Emerson,
    Whitman, Fitzgerald, Hurston, Vonnegut,
     Morrison, Angelou, Nabokov, etc.

I guess this is because
the times like these
are always those
in which we live

shadows of distant knowledge
   vaguely unfamiliar
eluding shapes
   never redeemed
crowd suddenly
   and make a whole

   instantly gone

          * *

that many followers
    of the man who
        in their scripture
    died upon the cross

keep praising this
    as sign of his great love
    of humankind

yet seem to only love
themselves?

such days of quiet loving warmth
of joy and mirth between the two of us

sun-flooded islands in the paltry seas
of middle-age when waves of disillusion
break hard against your course
and
   lest you are alert
may leave you stranded
   just off shore
in waters flat with bitterness forever

such saving days of joyous love

                    * *

right at the center
of a somewhat stormy europe
my little country
     at times
     with a touch of gallows humor
struggles to maintain
the venerable illusion
that Austria remains
as we have thought for centuries
     an island of the blessed

amidst the brexit troubles
the growing voices of dull nationalists
     masking as patriots
authoritarian visions
     of „illiberal democracies“
         even at home

heart-breaking fates of refugees
     unwanted anywhere
spineless politicians
     who change positions
     according to the winds
     of not so presidential twitters

follow deniers of the climate change
     though they are sweating
     through the highest temps
     since measurements began

      etc., etc.

sometimes we may be wise
remembering poetic words of yore
like those of dear John Donne:

„No man is an island“

you, father,
after your escape
   from Lemberg's deadly POW camps
on your long march through Poland
braved the terror of secretive days
and endless nights
and did not simply stop

you, mother,
were holding your own
   against death from above
alone with your mother

I thank you
for finding each other
   in a world half-dead from war
for following your youth
and not those old in mind
   of whom were many
who then could only see
   the end of crazy dreams

that you brought me to life
   without my will -
this willful act
   I gladly do forgive
as you have bravely shared
   in bearing the results

for, what I have become
    throughout the years
your love, your care,
   your wisdom,
   anger, disappointment,
   patience, and your grief
have shaped me as I am today,
   even though
   I did not always understand

from all of this have grown
   for me
      perhaps for you
belief in self
and trust in life

I thank you

         * *

when no mornings
follow nights
cities lie without their lights
little beasts root happily
children can live all their fears
   forests break
   mountains shake
then it’s time again

rockets roar with deadly freight
sharp explosions rock the night
   soldiers shoot
   graveyards bloom
it is war

when scrawny skeletons
creep through the streets
parents weep
dead bodies radiate
   new death
and crumpled shapes
   spread more disease
then it’s time again

the general orders strategic attacks
and watches how the metropolis cracks
   rivers stink
   battleships sink
it is war

when the bakers bake no more bread
when the butchers chop off their hands
when the doctors’ only prescription is death
   corpses float in the village pond
   and supermarkets stay closed
         24 hours a day
then it’s time again

maybe the ultimate time
for the warriors to storm from their heights
to the valleys to lance and destroy
   they also **** women
   all children are dead
   the moon is all red
   the stars are so wan

   we are counting the corpses
   as long as we can

   it is war

             * *

when no mornings
follow nights
cities lie without their lights
little beasts root happily
children can live all their fears
   forests break
   mountains shake
then it’s time again

rockets roar with deadly freight
sharp explosions rock the night
   soldiers shoot
   graveyards bloom
it is war

when scrawny skeletons
creep through the streets
parents weep
dead bodies radiate
   new death
and crumpled shapes
   spread more disease
then it’s time again

the general orders strategic attacks
and watches how the metropolis cracks
   rivers stink
   battleships sink
it is war

when the bakers bake no more bread
when the butchers chop off their hands
when the doctors’ only prescription is death
   corpses float in the village pond
   and supermarkets stay closed
24 hours a day
then it’s time again

maybe the ultimate time
for the warriors to storm from their heights
to the valleys to lance and destroy
   they also **** women
   all children are dead
   the moon is all red
   the stars are so wan

   we are counting the corpses
   as long as we can

it is war

when no mornings
follow nights
cities lie without their lights
little beasts root happily
children can live all their fears
   forests break
   mountains shake
then it’s time again

rockets roar with deadly freight
sharp explosions rock the night
   soldiers shoot
   graveyards bloom
it is war

when scrawny skeletons
creep through the streets
parents weep
dead bodies radiate
   new death
and crumpled shapes
   spread more disease
then it’s time again

the general orders strategic attacks
and watches how the metropolis cracks
   rivers stink
   battleships sink
it is war

when the bakers bake no more bread
when the butchers chop off their hands
when the doctors’ only prescription is death
   corpses float in the village pond
   and supermarkets stay closed
         24 hours a day
then it’s time again

maybe the ultimate time
for the warriors to storm from their heights
to the valleys to lance and destroy
   they also **** women
   all children are dead
   the moon is all red
   the stars are so wan

   we are counting the corpses
   as long as we can

it is war

always blame others
for your own mistakes
this is exactly what it takes
to make America great again
ignore all medical advice
for over four months of pandemic
let hundredthirtythousand people die
and when infections shoot sky-high
blame all the mess on your chief medic
     to everyone but Donald Trump
    such sleight of hand would be too plump

but he’s obsessed with his campaigning
oblivious of the dangers he creates
risking that his remaining followers
may soon be knocking at the gates
     of hospitals without more space

     or of some otherworldly place

WHY THOSE ALMIGHTY GODS
OF WHATYEVER CONFESSION
WOULD NEED THE HELP
OF WEAK HUMANS
FOR THEIR SURVIVAL

IT DOES NOT MAKE SENSE

UNLESS THEY ARE
     IN REALITY
THE CREATIONS OF THOSE
WHO **** TO SAVE THEM(SELVES)

you are
   so far
the only person
who made my eyes
fill with bright
shiny tears
   of joy
when we first met
like sea and earth
under a southern sky

a moment out of many
  shared forever  
crystal-clear
   untouched
by darker memories

          * *

I think
what saves today’s commercial xmas hype
from being absolutely nauseous
is the wide-eyed joy of children
when they open their gifts
and find their dreams come true

a faint echo
of the joy in the eyes of the Kings
when after their long travails
they discovered the baby of their dreams
had miraculously become reality

right in the face of all the everyday reports
about disasters near and far

why do we not remember
the beauty of our world
the people whom we know
who are quite wonderful  and do great things
    day in day out without much clanging
    of media cymbals or rewards

the teenager who saves a drowning man
    thinks s/he just did the natural thing

the union woman in the protest march for better wages
    believes it’s simply natural to march

the officer leading a child that lost its way
    home to the parents

the neighbor noticing that her best friend next door
    has not picked up her morning paper

et cetera    et cetera

they are the unremembered heroes
of our daily lives

methinks our media are too obsessed
    with all the bad news in the world
and over that simply forget
    that it’s the good things which allow them to report
also the less enticing aspects of mankind

the white-haired patriarch
   beard and moustache    
    a bit colonial  
benignly smiles
   at the United Nations building
   at Times Square
   and at 8th Avenue
where hot-pantied women
   in buzzing crowds
date strangers
   to share their loneliness

humidity is high
    on muggy summer afternoons
at the core
   of the Big Apple

          * *

Truly, at the end of the day only kindness matters

to give
while taking in

to feel
your life in mine

to rise
with you
on growing waves

to be aware
   in almost desperate desire
of nothing

but you

         * *

we know
     we will die one day
but we don't believe it

in our time
we think we know
most animals of the world
from films and videos

yet
seeing
an echidna come out of the underbrush
about to cross the road
but then
    looking at all the cameras
deciding to quietly go back home for a while

watching
a young humpback whale
launch her tons out of the sea
in the sheer joy of breaching
falling back in a white splash
that sends your boat rocking

feeling
the hard back of a wombat
    under its thick coat of hair
the soft fur of a koala
the cool skin of a blue-tongued lizard

feeding
a wallaby whose sharp claws
tenderly hold your hand
so that the food
            does not go away too soon

hearing
the swelling maniacal laughter
     of a flock of kookaburras
a pied butcherbird‘s
     unbelievably melodious call
    
you become aware
they are living beings
     not just images on the screen

and the little hairs
    on the back of your neck
    rise
    in shock and awe
of life‘s beauty

chasing the jam
in the brioche
bite for bite

between sips
from the double espresso
and glances
at the sun
behind the clouds

the cup goes empty

the jam remains unfound

the sun keeps hiding

the day has begun

        * *

when I ask myself
what I am
I am not sure I know the answer

a ‚mature‘ man
of 70 plus

grandpa
of 11 grandchildren

yesterday‘s
person of authority

mentor for young ones
still looking for themselves

all of the above
or none of it

in the end only those
who read these lines
decide

these Sunday mornings feel like endless seas
I’m slowly floating toward the horizon
immersed in bluish mist through which
the rising sun sends warming rays

sleepy I gaze through frosted window panes
     there is a world out there
yet somehow all that I can see
are hazy shapes of luscious breakfast items
set upon the table beckoning
together with the morning papers
for me to settle down and eat and read
     without time’s breath upon my neck
no need to hurry   jump into my clothes
rush out and try to catch the bus

the news is terrible as usual
but somehow less important than on other days
whether the stocks are high or low
abroad   at home   the dollar falls or rises
affects me moderately at best

it seems a lazy morning spawns a lazy brain
noises of busy-ness seek access here in vain
headlines are read without concern and soon forgotten
all systems are content with letting go
and feel besotten with the prospect of a pleasurable day

     nice picknick on the common green
     a game of badminton to have some exercise
     delicious dinner at my favorite restaurant
    
night comes much earlier than you surmise
on your way home you see the half-moon rise
you vaguely wonder where the day has gone
before you rest your head after no work well done

what do you call
a more or less elected leader

who is unable
    or unwilling

to work for
    the health and safety
of his nation?

LOSER!!

when those leave
who have always been with us
we halt
   our step
and let our thoughts
    go quiet

as if we
   in our young years' busy-ness
could comprehend

or steal a glance
   over their shoulders
of that distant world
whereto
in due course
we will follow

only to see
how far ahead
they will forever be

          * *

a city old in trades,
in cultivation of the arts
based on industrious commerce
   of its citizens who boast
the world's oldest commercial fair

the city in which
Martin Luther and Melanchthon
led fierce disputes
with delegations of the Pope

where J. S. Bach found stimulus
and time to master
harmony and rhythm
close to perfection,
(and that was shocked listening
to Leibniz's monadologies),

the city of which
Goethe spoke with praise,
that saw Napoleon defeated
on the nearby battlefield
(and built a monument of quite
imposing ugliness one hundred years
after the fact),

this city suffered hard
from two world wars
followed by over forty years
of dreams gone sour of a new society,
until, most recently,
this city once again
became a catalyst of major change.

Yet those who kept their meetings
at St. Niklas' church
and by their stubborn protest
helped to reunite
a country separated by walls for generations -
those you don't see,
walking the streets of Leipzig now.

What strikes the eye
(besides the crumbling blackened ruins
of former glory,
and strip-mined land
just out of town)
is Wall Street's new frontier,
the bustling peddlers of new easy wealth
as they appear on every street downtown,
offering anything from oranges
to shoes and South Pacific cruises.

Ramshackled pre-fabs built on shabby parking lots
already stake the claims of big banks,
business and insurance companies
that promise earnings, safety and security
to eager though bewildered customers.

   "Pecunia non olet" says the poster
   of the postal savings bank,
   and shows a happy pig
   rooting in money.

Old stores, in order to survive,
have started selling
new and shiny goods
to happy new consumers,

only a few resist

and hesitate to walk a mile
for the melange of
fast food, cigarettes and *****
offered at makeshift stands
that seem have come
to symbolize the great new freedom

of the new Wild East.

          * *

the myths of birth and rebirth
are as old as humankind

scratched onto cave walls,
tablets of stone or clay,
scrolls of papyrus or  parchment,
for hundreds of years on paper,
and nowadays typed onto backlit screens
   that are recycled faster
   than old hieroglyphs were understood

in our time
when refugees are tens of millions
on our globe

let us remember that these myths
have celebrated for millenia
    not battles, war, or death
but the survival of the human race    
the joy we feel when new life has arrived
   often against all odds
the hope that emanates from godesses
    or mother saints of yore
    who symbolize fertility,
    have brought forth saviors and new tribes

these are what has propelled us to our current state

and we do well to not forget that our fate
does not depend on people slain
but on how we can save the joy of life
and celebrate all humankind again

after some grey days
comes the sun
   summer heat
spectacle on the Seine

to commemorate

"La Route de l'Armada"
a fleet for tourists
that never was

yet nice to watch
   nevertheless
with fireworks
   & stately masts
sails folded orderly
decks scrubbed
the crews all smiles
ready to answer
   all the children's questions

in between
gray & inaccessible
some men-of-war
of more contemporary make

among them
   somewhat tarnished
one single ship
that really carried
allied soldiers
in its sightless hull
on that gray morning

and suddenly
   if only for a moment
you smell the sweat
   of fearful courage
hear ammunition
   click into magazines
the waves break dull
with hollow sound
amidst the crashes
   of firework artillery
that splits the waters
upward from the ground

learning once more
of innocent people killed in the name of whatever
    some psychopath’s personal  crisis
    a violent protest against other cultures
    or an abuse of some religious creed

the motivations may be different
yet the results are all the same

the wanton killing of women  men  and children
who do not know that they are ‘enemies’
of someone whom they also do not know

the murderers may have been led to think
that they are heroes for some glorious cause or god

fact is that they are simply murderers

and I believe
they will not even receive
their 72 raisins when they face their gods

because to ****
in the name of any god
is always wrong

without remembering
our past
we cannot understand
   the present
   plan for the future

   that is what they have told us
   in so many words

with advancing years
memories accumulate
   eventually
making up most of our lives

and yet

memory is there
   life is here

the present always
outruns the past
leads us into futures
we do not know

those who think
detailed knowledge of the past
would help them cope
with future life
are right
    and wrong as well

we imagine
our future modeled on the past
with the present thrown in
for good measure

and yet

the future may be
   the present is
      the past was

to live in it
makes you an addict
of events that were
once upon a time

   no matter
   whether fairy tale
   or trauma

the art of letting go
is in demand
and in much need

to square the circle
of life’s mystery

watching a TV broadcast
with Luciano Pavarotti
singing an aria
about a unique woman

     dedicating it to Lady Diana
     who is sitting in the first row

     a lovely and appropriate compliment

she died in the Paris car crash
not long thereafter

one by one
   people disappear
   from our lives
some quietly
some as high melodrama
   some as low

the world of possibilities
   shrinks
open horizons narrow
the sky
   once the limit
has turned into
   a transparent dome
offering glances
   of space beyond
   out of reach

one by one
   birthdays arrive
   with higher numbers
until we find ourselves
   high up
on life’s pyramid
   with a wide base
   but shrinking space
   on top

             * *

the turns of life
are many

few of them
we have foreseen or planned

yet somehow we have managed
to survive

to tell a tale
of useful flexibility

and luck

light
from the lit windows
   of the hurrying train
streams out
and instantly disappears
   into the darkening landscape
   through which I travel

I do now know
   where it goes
   what scene it may
   happen to illuminate

sometimes
when we stop at a station
   pass a town
   or a row of cars
   waiting at the crossing
we are receivers
   of the light of others

so we speed through the world
receiving some
and sending flickers of light
   into space
to unknown destinations

           * *

a special light
is in your eyes
illuminates my soul
and makes me feel
it only shines for me

I am aware
that others, too,
feel deeply touched
by your bright radiance

I neither claim
possession nor monopoly
simply enjoy
looking into your eyes

knowing that things
keep changing over time
    oft in split seconds
nothings stays the same

only our words
    that name the world
remain unchanged,
once spoken

    a special light
    is in your eyes

There once was a lady in waiting
Who still enjoyed all the male baiting
When one was too daring
She slapped him with a herring
and chided him for not abating

today‘s occupant of the White House
is ne'er sure what his latest insight was
he tweets it at midnight
by dawn it‘s got pale
and at breakfast it‘s declared that it not was

there once was a president of states
who could not endure in debates
he insulted opponents
with verbal components
that were worse than what‘s outside the gates

I sit
   all by myself
   again
and look out
   down upon the streets
cigarette in hand
a glass of wine upon the table
love's sweet exhaustion lingering in my bones
   and smell upon my skin
feeling so young and yet somehow so old

A late night bus drones by
and takes strange people
   to their desired stops
in a city
where I know only few
that could say
  yes  
  it's him

a woman with unsteady midnight gait
secretly walks her dog
into the public park
   both little more than blurs
   of bluish white and brown
   in the half-shadow
   of forbidden bushes

a couple leans entwined
   forever in a parting kiss
   upon the doorstep
unmindful of the plane
   that comes in low and loud
   before the landing

why is it that these moments
   seem eternal and yet
I sense the rush of time go fast
   and pass me by
   and her
   who sleeps next door

and leave us lost among our memories
of what was lovely
   and so beautiful
   before

          * *

I sit
   all by myself
   again
and look out
   down upon the streets
cigarette in hand
a glass of wine upon the table
love's sweet exhaustion lingering in my bones
   and smell upon my skin
feeling so young and yet somehow so old

a late night bus drones by
and takes strange people
   to their desired stops
in a city
where I know only few
that could say
  yes  
  it's him

a woman with unsteady midnight gait
secretly walks her dog
into the public park
   both little more than blurs
   of bluish white and brown
   in the half-shadow
   of forbidden bushes

a couple leans entwined
   forever in a parting kiss
   upon the doorstep
unmindful of the plane
   that comes in low and loud
   before the landing

why is it that these moments
   seem eternal and yet
I sense the rush of time go fast
   and pass me by
   and her
   who sleeps next door

and leave us lost among our memories
of what was lovely
   and so beautiful
   before

          *

Yes there is fear.
Yes there is isolation.
Yes there is panic buying.
Yes there is sickness.
Yes there is even death.
But,
They say that in Wuhan after so many years of noise
You can hear the birds again.
They say that after just a few weeks of quiet
The sky is no longer thick with fumes
But blue and grey and clear.
They say that in the streets of Assisi
People are singing to each other
across the empty squares,
keeping their windows open
so that those who are alone
may hear the sounds of family around them.
They say that a hotel in the West of Ireland
Is offering free meals and delivery to the housebound.
Today a young woman I know
is busy spreading fliers with her number
through the neighbourhood
So that the elders may have someone to call on.
Today Churches, Synagogues, Mosques and Temples
are preparing to welcome
and shelter the homeless, the sick, the weary
All over the world people are slowing down and reflecting
All over the world people are looking at their neighbours in a new way
All over the world people are waking up to a new reality
To how big we really are.
To how little control we really have.
To what really matters.
To Love.
So we pray and we remember that
Yes there is fear.
But there does not have to be hate.
Yes there is isolation.
But there does not have to be loneliness.
Yes there is panic buying.
But there does not have to be meanness.
Yes there is sickness.
But there does not have to be disease of the soul
Yes there is even death.
But there can always be a rebirth of love.
Wake to the choices you make as to how to live now.
Today, breathe.
Listen, behind the factory noises of your panic
The birds are singing again
The sky is clearing,
Spring is coming,
And we are always encompassed by Love.
Open the windows of your soul
And though you may not be able
to touch across the empty square,
Sing.

Queen Elizabeth II
Great Britain's and the Commonwealth's pillar
of courage and stability
for seven decades
is no longer

she will be missed

the other day
I visited my aunt
in the hospital

her face had become bony and sharp
she looked like suffering incarnate
with a mien you see
  etched into
on crucifixes
over the centuries

I guess that at this stage
traveling into a world
   without pain
is a desire
   strong and simple
those still anchored
   in this world
cannot understand

longing for peace and quiet
to rest your bones
   forever
closing the story of your life

and leave others
to make sense of it

           * *

time & space contract
into one single
   flaming
    point

blazing its way
through future memories

of will have been
has been
and of was

brilliant star
on a night journey

          * *

she had promised

   he kept waiting

he knew it would be
   late

and kept himself busy
fighting against
   the lump he felt
   beginning to form
   in his chest
when long after midnight
the phone continued
not to ring

he thought of
how she would enjoy
exhilarating company
   and be happy

in the end
when her voice
   would come
across thousands of miles
exhausted yet pleased
he would swallow hard
and simply tell her
"I love you"

the expression
on the face of people
close to death
is different

their eyes look elsewhere
they seem to see
a world alien to us
yet eerily familiar
   a place we have known
   to exist
   but never acknowledged it
   to be important
   for ourselves

they will not tell us
what they see
    their lives fast-forward
like films
    a brighter future
   the blackness of darkness

we will not know
until we ourselves
have that same look
on our face

also
unable to tell

considering all the people
    we have lost throughout the years
          grandparents  parents  lovers uncles aunts
               if lucky   no children
    we know that our time to leave this world
    will come to pass eventually

         and yet
    as long as we feel full of life
    we prefer not to think of this too often
    borne by the vague conviction
    that the survivors of our family
    will bear the pain of loss
    as we did years ago
and live on