milonga

will you tango on a roof top 
with me
as we drink vodka and tea
we will crumble all cookies
and write fortunes
on our yearning skin

if I get drunk and fall
make sure you give me a call
and let me know what a grand time we had.

?innocents

I like photograrhs where we dance

the faces are hidden
photographs taken before
the winter chill came
no wrinkles seen 
nor doubts
lots of coins in our pockets
for the juke box
the dance floor 
a tiny promised land
filled with emotions
I will jump over the fence of time
just to reach you
that will be our new game
you will be my flame
and my queen within the frame
they are only photographs
they can't tell
if we are actually dancing 
or posing as dancers.

Yuichi Ikehata

we all have a dark side
shed not light on it
learn to walk in the dark
breath
enjoy
share
its mystery.

whisper sweet nothings

I will create a cock effigy

with chocolate

and we can make

mad

passionate

love.

now you say 

something sweet

to me.

one becomes a vessel of joy
pure 
strong
immaculate.



image taken from http://mellow-anmn.tumblr.com/

you are here

my life is a house
outside this house
I walk every morning
and face the sea.
my life is a watermelon
that waits for summer
I plan my vacations
I send postcards to my loved ones
wish you were here
you are here
wish you will stay.
my life is colors
bright primary colors
that your smile
will not allow
to fade.

no fear

Expose yourself to your deepest fear; after that, fear has no power, and the fear of freedom shrinks and vanishes. You are free.

Jim Morrison

once fear has vanished you can replace it with love and laughter.

Giorgos Trikeri

the healing game
is not a game 
at all
it is two kind words
a supporting smile
a warm embrace
I am here for your pain
as I have been here
for your joys.
time heals
friends stand by
until the healing game
is over.

devil’s child

To start out life on the war torn streets of Sierra Leone and end up a rising star of the ballet world seems an impossible feat, but 19-year-old Michaela DePrince, currently a member of the Dutch National Ballet’s junior company, has been proving the impossible possible her entire life. 

Orphaned at age 3 during the midst of Sierra Leone’s 11-year civil war, Michaela was called the “

devil’s child” by orphanage workers and ostracized for her skin condition, vitiligo, which leaves unpigmented spots covering her chest and neck. It was at the orphanage, as Michaela describes below, that she first discovered her life’s passion:

“I found the magazine lying on the ground outside the gate of the orphanage, I’d never seen anything like that before, so I took the cover off and put it in my underwear because I had nowhere else to put it... I kept the picture with me every day until I got adopted. It kept me going and believing and looking forward to something, because I was going through so much at the time. I thought I was just worth nothing and nothing’s going to happen. This person in the photograph symbolized hope for me.”

Soon after she was adopted by an American family who encouraged her blossoming talent in dance. At age six, the determined Mighty Girl won a scholarship to the Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis School of the American Ballet Theatre after competing against 5,000 other dancers in the prestigious Youth American Grand Prix. She was also one of the six dancers profiled in the 2011 documentary “First Position.” In 2012, at 17, she became the youngest dancer at Dance Theatre of Harlem, and, this past summer, took a position with the Amsterdam-based ballet. 

Michaela is well on her way to achieving her greatest dream -- becoming the principal ballerina in a dance company. And, after her dance career ends, she hopes to share the gift of dance with others by opening a dance school in Sierra Leone. Wherever she ends up, we know this incredible young woman will continue to show the power of determination, hard work, and hope when given the opportunity to shine!

via A Mighty Girl

I've been making a list of the things they don't teach you at school. 

They don't teach you how to love somebody. They don't teach you how to be famous. They don't teach you how to be rich or how to be poor. 

They don't teach you how to walk away from someone you don't love any longer. They don't teach you how to know what's going on in someone else's mind. 

They don't teach you what to say to someone who's dying. They don't teach you anything worth knowing.

Neil Gaiman The Sandman, Vol 9

uncomplication

kiss a stranger
in the dark
steal a car
write a song
dance to it
ride a train
to anywhere
watch the waves
live a dream
smile for no reason
swim under the moonlight.
has the stranger
become your lover
yet?

As an artist, I feel that we must try many things - but above all, we must dare to fail. You must have the courage to be bad - to be willing to risk everything to really express it all.

John Cassavetes

My wild love went riding

your city

your sidewalks

your screams on the roller coaster

I have a new story

how I briefly met your nipples

and hid your glasses

under a chair

so you wouldn't leave the room.

I started to watch a movie

every word on the script was

what I should tell you

to make you understand

I pressed pause

so we could watch it together.

I can make clouds disintegrate

I can draw a scary shark

on a tablecloth

I will not keep you awake

when you need to rest.

birds do not make mistakes

when they fly

and love is a word.

p.s. kisses are rarely wrong and they NEVER lie.

find the others

Admit it. You aren’t like them. You’re not even close. You may occasionally dress yourself up as one of them, watch the same mindless television shows as they do, maybe even eat the same fast food sometimes. 

But it seems that the more you try to fit in, the more you feel like an outsider, watching the ‘normal people’ as they go about their automatic existences. For every time you say club passwords like ‘Have a nice day’ and ‘Weather’s awful today, eh?’, you yearn inside to say forbidden things like ‘Tell me something that makes you cry’ or ‘What do you think déjà vu is for?’ Face it, you even want to talk to that girl in the elevator. But what if that girl in the elevator (and the balding man who walks past your cubicle at work) are thinking the same thing? Who knows what you might learn from taking a chance on conversation with a stranger? 

Everyone carries a piece of the puzzle. Nobody comes into your life by mere coincidence. Trust your instincts. Do the unexpected. Find the others.

Timothy Leary

"Bitter-berry daybreak"

Bitter-berry daybreak
bitter-berry sun
a mirror has broken
between me and him

I try to find the highway
perhaps to run away
but everywhere the footpaths
of his words lead me astray

Pinewood remember
pinewood forget
however much I lose my way
I step on my regret

Parrot-coloured echo
tricks me tricks me on
until I turn beguiled
to retrieve the mocking song

Echo gives no answer
he answers everyone
bitter-berry daybreak
bitter-berry sun

Ingrid Jonker

wanna play fire with you

if only my words 
could create a tiny universe 
for you and I 
a deserted beach 
a sand castle 
a song to dance to.

Paris bleeding

my arms with a single embrace

would speak more eloquently

of my desires

my lips silent on yours

would reason

that the words you bestow

upon me

should be devoured

with gentle urgency.

fingers like little cameras

are taking photographs

of our profane celebration.

la turista of truth

ever wished you lived inside a song?
all the senses stimulated by a rhythm
a long train ride
shared in a wagon lit
searching for the land where desires were born
small innocent children
scratching the earth
like a lover's back
feasting on forgiven fruits
no regrets
no memories
small genuine notes whispered
no different than clouds 
before rain.
overwhelmed I am 
by the volume and beauty of the poetry
I read in your eyes.
devastated by your absence.
wishing we lived inside a song.

p.s the song is "do you want what I need" by Milosh

diagnosis

I don't miss you
it's your afterimage that haunts me
that's what the doctor said,
like the canary
in the cage
over the kitchen table
that used to sing
while I had my coffee-and-cigarettes breakfast.
the canary died last August
I quit smoking in September
everytime I walk in the damn kitchen
I can see the canary
yellow like a tiny standing banana
an apparition imprinted in my retina
as I still smoke in my dreams
and curse myself for starting again
we are prisoners of our habits.
I don't miss you
it's your absence inflated in my head
almost the size of a zeppelin
floating over the neighborhood
casting an ominous shadow on the buildings
like a spider's web dripping blood
on the furniture
on my books
on my clothes.
I don't miss you
you are only a volcano
in my nightmares
trying to burn me and drown me at the same time.
it's your laughter that invades
my house like a storm of razors
like distortion from huge amplifiers
of a rock concert
of the previous century
reverberated in my mind to levels of insanity.
I don't miss you
your only strength is my obsession
with your myth
at the expense of truth.

Youngsea

I gaze at the horizon
that hides the ocean
an ocean that keeps us apart.
knowing that beyond the seas
but not beyond my senses
your quiet breathing
is a melody
a painful instance of absence
that will be remedied
by the boundless waters
that will carry you
to familiar shores.