She can communicate

better on the phone

as in reality face to face

or so it seemed at first.

The poet has been used

to it since 1999

the year he met his most

impressive Muse

on the Internet.

But then comm’s had been

intensified thru’ Eros

some call: Cyberlove –

Ana  Anne  Anetha.

She had many names

depending on the mood

using her poetic license

but she shied away from

being in the public eye.

My woman – for Z the man.

My man – for A the Muse.

At present V communicates

with the poet thru’ talks.

She’s a wonderful model

for ZG’s painting:

Demoiselles de Vienne.

But she does not know yet

walking hand in hand

overgrown with hemp.

It has played in her mind

to do that ever since

musing about it with him

with Z the poet

bringer of joy

and relaxation.




Rays of Sunshine

Second last day of year-end

last day of work at the A/F.

Rays of sunshine make

all the difference.

The poet watches

the dance of his soul.

B’s living fashion makes

heads turn.

ZG the artist thinks of

a potential Muse

called VKL

living next door to the gallery

he’s watching on a daily mode

save for Saturdays

while T repeatedly wishes

even from his sickbed

that ZG submits his account.

Painting faces had been

great fun for ZG

but to portrait VKL’s personality

seemed to be a difficult task.

Between coughs from an

irritated esophagus

all seems to be in deep sleep

at year-end.

Music from FM4 assists with

tunes for the soul’s dancing.






She came like a breeze

danced into the gallery

a friend

I found again

one could talk to frankly

one feels at home with

who had been thru’


ups and downs as a soloist


someone I’d like to hear

playing one day.

She brought me lunch

we ate and talked

for nearly three hours

on end

from music to fine arts

from common friends

to Jesus of Nazareth.


Mary Magdalene.

Fritz Kreisler to Menuhin

Carlos Kleiber to Barenboim.


Pure and beautiful

with eyes like Mitsuko

I once exchanged love letters

as a student of art

in a romance

of cherry blossom white.

How love’s circles come back

over time.

I like her.

I liked Mitsuko Utimura.

We’ll talk again.







You call the green-white

fox moving thru’ a corridor

of dirt

wet coldness grips face

nose and throat.

You look at an old man

wearing a black beret

thinking of grandpa

reading a book.

A quiet air of calm reigns

in the stealthy air

another day toward X-mas

one more day to Chanukah

as Vivi says

it’ll be a great New Year 5777

with a great meaning

as messaged by the Kabbalah.

The poet recalls his Muse

with three sevens in her


relationships exist throughout

the endless universe

the sense of sacred


What will the message

bring us eventually?




First Snow

Late morn‘ still an ongoing

grey morning

the mind drives thru’

a steady pale dream.

The irritating coughing


bacillus  virus lie frozen

below the snow’s icing.

Having travelled thru’

hell’s symptoms

following a recommended

flue inoculation

arms and legs feel like lead.

The first snow across

Place de Juif

had vanished overnight

people crisscross the square

as usual.

One visitor enters the

exhibition ‘Augen-Blicke’

looking for a postcards

of exhibited photographs.

B phones: ‘When are you back?’

Lily enters to call on Mrs I.R.

T phones you to contact

an honorary guest who had

indicated to him to visit the


some comment about

of being too narrative

questioning the value for art.

You draw your inner world’s

tohuwabohu of emotions.

C’est ca!









239 Bus Ride Poems – Celbration Thoughts Resolutions

Year end celebrations

In midst of mass immigration

genuine and false asylum


Unjustified violence of

brain-washed fanatics

the world has to regroup

but keep traditional values


Who cares about the recent


Year end thoughts amidst

great poets  writers  and

columnists of hope.

We all have to contribute

to carry through the

Festival of Light

greet friends and their friends

of a growing world community.

End of another year

rings-in a new one and you

note down your resolutions

having learned to keep

a few priorities

you’ll strive to fulfill.

yppaH weN raeY.

evoL reveroF!





Year end 2016

Soul Sync

Year ‘16 ticks out quite soon

in an endless loop

we remember next of kin

an unusual love

a Muse for the arts

a virtual love.

Wishful thinking.

Love thinking.

The creative niche has

faded thru’ earning desire

pecuniary striving

perusal of independence

perhaps finding a lost friend

a new girlfriend integrated

with promoting your art.

The dream of a fulfilled

artist’s life

lives in a year-end hope.



ZJG-Poetry ’16.


Ghost Bus

In the white veil’s fog

your thoughts wander in circles

white powder coating –

a candy you taste on your


Driving towards town

in a ghost bus

hoarsy cough from a lonely


a wolf between a flock o’sheep.

The poet being rattled along

tired frozen cobbles

between a sea of metal boxes

abandoned for another day

by their owners

running after hard-earned cash.

It supposed to become lighter –

lichtiger – as a mighty power

pushes grey clouds away.

Everybody wishes this

for the whole world.




The Place du Juif

in Vienna is abandoned

the historic cobble stone

shines wetted thru‘ drizzle

that stained historic facades.

Children play around

the holocaust memorial

tourists take snaps from

bronzed monumental Lessing

who watches the square

and the temple

editing his last play.

Some visitors talk in

foreign languages

in a sing-song-way

that soothes heated minds

stirred-up by a pandemic of


Just carry on writing

the exhibiting artist and

photographer says

to the visiting poet

who floats above the square

like a ZG-Art fantasy.

It’s December and at 4:30 pm

the square turns pitch black

it’s time to fetch T’s lottery

tickets and then pay a visit

to the Red bank at Kierling

before travelling home

to a village called Weidling.