back then:
number, no remainder
proof, no question
years on
straight lines only
no deviation
no feeling
no need for anything
then—
something tilts
in what is straight
a listening
that does not ask back
breath
out of order
uncertainty
remains
between then
and now
no concept left—
only a space
that stays
when i stop explaining
https://allpoetry.com/poem/19051781-straight-lines-by-Uma-Hanaeda
Since yesterday, I've also joined the writing platform AllPoetry and will be posting some English poems there.
https://allpoetry.com/Uma_Hanaeda
My first impression of the platform is quite good, and I'm curious to see how things will develop :)
some little moments softly stay
they cling they stick
won't drift away
like honey warm
like drops of glue
they stick to hear
they seep right through
they grip the mind and will not fade
pressed in the cracks the past has made
no time can shake them
none erase
— they hold on tight
in silent space
In den Zweigen
hängen noch Blätter vom letzten Jahr,
nur wenige.
Den Rest
trug der Wind
aus den Bäumen.
Er fährt durch das Geäst,
löst, was noch geblieben,
Blatt für Blatt,
bis die Äste frei sind.
Dann streift er mein Gesicht,
ohne Hand,
über Wangen und Stirn.
Ich schließe die Augen,
als hätte er sich
deine Hände geliehen,
als hätte er mich behalten.
Sein leises Spiel –
ich höre.
Spiel weiter, Wind.
Räume auf –
draußen
und in mir.
In the branches, last year’s leaves hang. Not many. The rest the wind blew from the trees.
It moves through the twigs, loosening whatever clings, leaf by leaf, until the branches are free.
Then it touches my face, without a hand, across my cheeks and forehead. I close my eyes, as if it had borrowed your hands. It knows my face.
Like an Aeolian harp, its soft strings played by the wind, I listen.
Hey Aeolus, play on.
Hey Aeolus, clear away – outside and within me.
in me the moon rises
in me the sea swells
in me the surf breaks
my heart awakens
to the song of waves
my tides
seek you out
i carry too much ocean within me
for a quiet life
all of me is drawn to you
again, again
with you i want to be the tide
with you i forget the shore
with you i am
open sea
RE: https://mastodon.social/@alexbarthelemie/116250442822262295
@alexbarthelemie Oh yes, words are not only carriers of meaning, but its source. They are energy.
Language creates reality—indeed, realities; it does not merely describe them—and this holds true for other texts as well, including visual and musical ones.
I really like your sentence, dear Alex!!
A short three-line micro-poem, in French, German, and English: maybe a modern haiku.
fenêtre de nuit –
tu touches la corde
mon à peine retour
nachtfenster –
du prüfst die saite
mein kaum zurück
night window –
you touch the string
my barely return
#micropoesie #poème
#mikrogedicht #gedicht
#micropoetry #poetry #lovepoem
#poesie #haiku
Writing at night –
the ink follows its own rules.
In the morning,
the sentences gaze at you
like forest creatures roaming the village:
a blue deer,
a red fox,
a green stag,
leaping silently over rooftops.
Who spoke in the night?
You or them?
The words
fly like wings of light,
while the creatures disappear
into the houses' dreams.
#oniric
#poetry
#oniricpoetry
#poesieonirique
#PoetryOnMastodon