Oh the wind is coming from the West tonight.
That means we get thunder storms in the early mornings.
Lots of luck for my blocked nose…allergic to something unknown…lately the waters ran high but calm.
After my separation from the lie I had no breast pains anymore and the first night it was gone, my poetry was unlocked again.
I have been used as a muse yet not been seen as an artist
…a fatal mistake, on my side, too.
Words come slow…I stand steady when I stop in the middle of the crowds on high street on a Canterbury Wednesday afternoon (market day) – only a verse, maximum two. Short steps for now.
More and more music reaches out for me…sometimes I even sing again at home or when I am alone on the bus I move my lips to the music in my ears, like I used to do when I was a child and everyone had enough of me singing constantly.
On the way back home early evening today I thought what it was like…when I tried to sleep…I always fell asleep with music…in later years…fairy tales…but music was a greater experience to me as only with lyrics and a melody I could imagine the story…I was able to create a story, the image as I liked it…all in my head…visible in the darkness of every night…the story tellers of the fairy tales were all much too detail friendly…a weak practice compared to music.
Now I shall retire…in memory of those nights.