June 2020

July 3, 2020 § Leave a comment

1st June

Bittersweet evening.

Selfishness could let me talk

about the bright half


of the moon, shinning

onto my glass of white wine,

in a friend’s garden


and of a harsh hug

on our way to the kitchen.

But the world is still


as dark as ever.

8th June

Late afternoon light

falling sideways through gate doors,

marking lines on walls.


Invisible bars

are the tricky ones to host,

those one gets used to,


being inside, being

outside, mostly just being.

Lines like tears, marked hours,


days, marked centruries.

11th June

Gone the epic May

bloom, bees have gone over to

the tiny flowers.


Tireless they visit

a small balcony flowered

bush. Now their late shift,


as a cool evening

breeze pushes deep lilac clouds

above our back yards.


Time to feel grateful.

12th June

Carnation odour.

Sometimes oblivion and

memory unite


in a common smell.

Funerals and summer nights,

slow movement both ways.


Hard to decide what

to cut the head of a flower

for. Or for the streets,


side by side, in hopes.

14th June

Pouring rain, the drops

woven together into

thick water curtains.


I marvel at my

happiness for every sound,

for every watered


plant, for the washed cars,

for the full garden bird bath.

When this water finds


the sea, we’ll meet.*


17th June

An open window:

birds give their best to cover

up the city’s noise.


My bedspread, green like

a summer field where I lie

under my mind’s tree


of choices. I enjoy

the wisdom of these last months.

The knowledge I’m here


and nowhere else now.

20th June

Upstream they must swim

and yet reach the sea in time.

Their ways blocked by dead


tree trunks with pink hearts

carved on them and initials

of happy people.


Soon midsummer for

everyone, but some are more

tired than others,


all their days too long.


21st June

Partial to summer

the clouds like blankets of warmth

dim the evening light.


The neighbours are still

out in their garden, laughing.

I don’t miss music


when voices play games

with the wind. There’s no language,

only vowels, smooth


liquid consonants.


22nd June

A church bell ringing

10 o’clock, but the blackbird

is not tired yet.


In fact it has just

started. From the roof gable,

it challenges every


rival to a dawn

contest. It pauses surprised

at a car passing,


full volume hip hop.


24th June

Amid the mess we’re

in, how outstanding our will

not to believe in


endings. Even when

we imagine a full stop,

a sentence follows.


Telling the story

after the story, a thirst

for more life, a wish


to be everyone.

27th June

A hot night, no sleep

to cool down thoughts and doubts.

Then the light, the birds,


a cup of coffee,

as one must declare defeat.

A win is this dawn,


yellow and rosy,

the earth, a sweet funfair candy.

Fine, I’ll stay awake,


dream of lilac dawns*.


29th June

Like half glass of milk

on our bedside table, the

moon too is waiting


for a thirsty soul.

A short glance at her, before

going to bed, just


making sure some things

are as they have ever been.

A reassurance


we do not deserve.


29th June

A dull sky, cool wind,

not enough to wipe out this

Monday’s tiredness.


There’s another world

outside my verses, still this

world and entering


now like smoke, like fog,

every single thought, every

escape door. Sometimes


one must bear darkness.




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