Across the Square.

There’s not much happening

at the Place du Juif.

Even pedestrians are a few

scattered across the Square.

Mr T. is coming in ten Minutes

which extends to half an hour.

He cannot keep time ever

and his wife will not answer

her phone.

Perhaps she’s had enough

of him and all the staff.


Old man Khan from Kashmir

comes inside the gallery

tries to sell some self-made

jewelry. Semi-precious stone

And silver.

The girls working here know him

but I don’t buy something

for it’s a personal taste for spouse

or girlfriend.

I am ready, impatient to leave

and T. keeps me waiting

not yet willing to discuss an

hourly rate for my time.

Has his memory drawn a blank

yet again?




Curses of Three.

Like a punch ball

between my spouse and life

she’s cursing me thru

her mobile gadget

adamant I have to fill-up

the water tank

for the coffee machine

we use also as a kettle.

I forgot this morn’.


At unsolicited unsalaried

work for a holocaust museum

I am cursed for leaving on

the lights.

The schnitzel meat’s too hard-

since it’s pork.

The potato chips are too pale-

Take it back! The owner shouts

at his secretary Nica

who explains to him why.

I agree with her.

My investments burned

instead of doubling

hard earned cash went the

other way…

I curse and need two ice-cold

German Pils. Ahhh!

My efforts have a holiday

are spoiled and need a new

track back again.

Start afresh.

Blame yourself.

Have some time off.




A downright tragedy.

Bergwinds brought

water-laden clouds

the pre-spring sun

cannot yet dissolve

its powers yet to grow

with elongated days.

It lets us pace the same

known roads

with the same familiar


at the same time of day

while I still use one crutch

to support my left leg

operated upon.

Since days her headaches

turned into an aggressive


swear words turned into

continual hate speech

she must have picked up

during the last election

campaign in the USA.

And all this being chained

together below one

bedsitter room’s roof

due to make out a living

from minimal social benefit.

All because of one lie

that came to the fore

at such advanced age

sticking together by the

skin of our teeth

after half a century.

It’s a downright tragedy.





Having seen ghosts of the past

speaking to me without sounds

emphasizing their soundless

messages with gestures and

body language:

Spirits like a thousand


stars for a poet of love.


An empty grey bus in

a blue flash of light

delivers me to the

waiting room in white and

pale honey yellow.

Along the wall in marakuja orange

our stripped-off clothing is hung

on name tags alphabetically.


The lights diffuse the mind

through eyes not focusable

still as if waiting for Godot

save for the therapist at

this preliminary station

that will select all people

grade them physically and


But as much as they try

to stabilize a person

to become Fit for their respective

social categories most fail.


It’s never publicly proclaimed

but secretly been worked

onto lists and lists

since few assumed power

over the faceless masses.

Whatever – when eye meets


there’s always secret understanding

human chemistry works at its best.

But how will this work with ghosts?




Start of Spring 2017

The Start of Spring 2017


Sung throughout the Media

B dances elfin-like in the morn’

pledges to raise my dullest of


At eight in the morn’

I’m still waking up

from a wet cabaret

Dimitros sings about in Roza.

Fell into the trap of waylaying


on the World Wide Web:


deceiving cookies

to lure you into the lion’s den.

Whole evenings in Weidling

In front of HD-Youtube

With movies one has to find

That entertain with some brains.

The poet quotes Charles Bukovski:

“The problem with the world is

that the intelligent people are

full of doubts

while the stupid ones are full

of confidence.”

Advertising false information

or fake news: As in the Gaza war

where the staging of false

happenings was called – Palliwood –

(Palestinian Hollywood).

Prefer to listen to the songs of

Dimitros Mitropanos any day.