A first February Morn’ with

Mixed feelings

Satisfied with my recovery of

A hip joint op

But dissatisfied with my lack

Of energy to travel downtown

And fetch my ailing laptop

From its first repair.


Spoke to Mrs IRA and she had

Suddenly second thoughts

About my hi-tech design –

Too expensive she said

While B started to scold me

Calling her ‘my girlfriend’

But then she might be right

What polite talk and interests

Are concerned

I agreed with her to meet on

Saturday and she sighed with



Hurtful words from B

Stabbed at me

So I fled into the Internet

Thanks to smart phones.

This time around I found

My sweetheart

From student days: ‘M’

She even calls herself by her

Nickname as derived from


I called Simchi in my poetry

Even if she did not respond

To my Email greetings

An important place in my heart

Remained still for her.





Wednesday morning up early

For a sip of cold water

But sleep won’t come

Any longer

Massage my leg

Listen to Johnny Hodges

And Duke – ‘Side by Side’ –

An optimal sound to put

One into good mood:

I’m filled with a new balance

Renewed confidence

A new man

Walking on steel stilts

Feeling great to dance

Definitely to Duke’s music

Classics in Jazz

The magic lives on

Spurning creative ideas.





Bad Sleep and Cumbersome Moves

Shallow sleep.


Push the covers


Dried-out mouth. Kitchen. Water.

Still three hours sleep on the clock.

Wake at 6:50 am –

Now it would be great to sleep.

Typical sleep psychology.

Left a foot below the operated one

And swing out like a crane

Step-out of bed.

Find my balance

Slow tripping to the bathroom.

Wash. Clean.

After all make myself presentable

For my lady surgeon!


Coffee at the small LK KOR Café

Where it’s not crowded as in the

Row-by-row waiting passages.

Check out the signboard and see

The construction of a small roof light

Just right for the situation we’ll need

For Mrs IRA’s habitat.


I recall having waited over an hour

To be called up for after-OP care

Last time.

But that meant to be here at reception

At 8am and not at 10 am.

Now this time it’ll be lunchtime.

At one Pm Doc S. appears as I am

Eating an apple slice and drink a cup


It’s good she says stay there and eat

Don’t rush.

I have not been informed

Sat in the coffee place when a sister

Has announced Dr S’s emergency OP.

  1. I’m glad.

For Dr S. I’ll wait all morning without

A complaint.

The way back was cumbersome.

At the changeover in Handelskai

My train to H/S at platform 12

Left in front of my nose.

Well I couldn’t run to catch it in

Time with my operated hip.


At H/S I forgot to validate my

Train card and arrived at Weidling

Train station exhausted –

I was on the go since six am with

A hip joint operated twelve days



However I bought some groceries

At the Spar shop and was still in

Time for the bus 241 to Weidling



Yet B wasn’t friendly and her

Awkward reception tested my

Patience to the boiling point.


I doffed my clothes and donned

My Sony earphones to listen to

Ö1 while my smart phone loaded.

After that I switched phones and

Listened on YouTube to great

Cannonball Adderley

While B commented that I had

My earphones on

Instead of talking to her.

What about?

She’s only critique pur and that

At all times.





Seven Drawings

The artist labels his seven drawings

He had conceived at LK KOR

Some drawings are completed

Others he renders and a few he

Colours in –

In his small confined study in a


Called Weidling.

He’ll write some poetry about –

Every drawing’s birth holds a secret

He’ll let loose and shares with his





And XinXii.

Some outlets that support poets

And artists without upfront


While his spouse swears at him

That he has not turned-on the TV’s

Sport section

To watch the tennis final in Australia

The artist could not worry about.

He listens to Wynton Marsalis

Teaching the next generation in

The understanding of basic Jazz.

Tomorrow morn’ a trip to LK KOR

For a check-up of an OP wound.

Good night all.




In a Kind of Exile

Nothing to expect from B

Peace treaties last only as long

As she determines when the

Irritating behavior of her spouse

Annoys her:

Warming up food in the kitchen

Without extensive ventilation

By opening the window wide.

Listening to music donning


Whereby ignoring her scalding


Looking at sexy women and

Drawing his artwork accordingly.

Showering too long and being

Aroused in the titillating flow

Of single spays.

Perhaps living here in a kind of


I feel not happy but I am locked-in

To the system of unemployed

The ignored artist



Except for Mrs IRA.


The air in the 33m2 bedsitter

Seems to be poisoned by extreme

Dust development

Sand on the soles of our shoes.

B thinks it is from the cement works

In the industrial area nearby.

It’s like sand thrown into our eyes

Every time we have to go and buy


Six bus stops away.


Transformation of Eros depicted.

Great detail of intimate parts of

Human bodies

Will build-up to autoerotic


The verbal spinning wheel of one’s

Spouse will thread the carpet

The artist will lie upon and

Float into his magical world

Of instant creation.





Final day at last!

At 6 am I’m ahead of all the

Other patients

Preparing myself in the



Taking ample time.

In just an hour’s time all will

Be busy again in ward eight

When the day at LK KOR

Starts up and ward eight folk

Stir back to routine again.


The horizon view is a

dark grey blot

And fog veils the Bisamberg.

But due East already

the first signs of a new day

start glowing.


I’m glad my stay is over.

Look forward to be wheeled

To my temporary home with

An ambulance.


Ol’ Werner came yesterday

For a visit and we laughed

And talked about meeting

A year ago in ward seven.

He was a special patient and

I had good luck of being a

Hanger-on by circumstance.


He still extends his friendship

To me

Will give me a lift from the

Local train station to the

LK KOR If I phone him ahead

of my appointment

as he also has still some

Physiotherapy nearby.



But usually I forget it and

Enjoy the walk.

Great stuff Ol’ Werner

A strong man with lots of

Joie du vivre left.





Men’s Quarter No.8

At least I had a good sleep

But toward morning

When they brought Ol’Moaner in

I woke and only recalled my

Excellent sleep

After I tested my self-love

That magically worked again –

Day seven!

Then I sensed that Ana had

Visited me again.


Morning’s toilette was such

A pleasure again

Most of my skin relaxed

Only my coccyx still hurt

When I touched it.

The process of healing is

A see-saw road.


Lore prides himself telling

His Adventure stories and

His way of becoming

A camera man.


Ol’ Bear grunts with his


Lying like a well fed walrus.

Delicate Mr.E remains tough

Meeting his hindrances

Face on but doubting that

His sad existing has sense

At all to stay alive.

The nurses calm him down.


The Polish baker astonishingly


But an ox like nature as it seems

Runs in his family

Judging on his visiting relatives.


Another day for me reading

In Camus’ diaries

Drawing intuitively with

Ballpoint pens on paper.

Interesting and disturbing.

Probably my last day at the

LK KOR Room Number eight.

Will hear the visiting doc’s

Opinion about me.





ZJG-The Hospital Poems: WAITING ROOM

Back from the forefront of death –

The waiting room

Where you are sorted to move

To the City of Death

Or return to the world of the



Fate has not yet decided to

Terminate your thread of life

You’ll feel when the time will

Arrive – Atropos stay away

With your sharpened scissors.


We don’t know anything

Of each other –

Microns in a microcosmic world

Compared to the universe.

How many tasks do we still

Have to fulfill

That are written down in the

Black book of life?


In midst of a quiet evening

Two nurses rush in and

Wheel Mr.E from room 8

Something wrong we all



But in the morning he is

Back again

Old self


Criticizing and agreeing

Finally with the nurses.




ZJG-The Hospital Poems: ANDROID MAN

ZG’s life now.

My present days have been lived

Drawn back into one room:

A desk with a spot for writing

Some honeypots that now carry

My drawing tools.

The wall I face is composed of

My works of art

I never get tired of looking at.

At the table’s side my printer-friend

With its own mind at times.

My present days with one skill

In building design

Set back into one ground floor room


One lady sponsor giving

My skills a reviving kick

Challenging me to create a special

Jewelry box for living in.

A wondrous time at may mature age

In spite of my personal reconstruction

Of my ailing physique

Part human part steel.

New life again as an android man.




ZJG-The Hospital Poems: VISITORS

Suddenly out of the blue

Visitors like a swarm of locusts

Occupy the men’s general ward

Where I lie surrounded by

My notebooks and the intellect

Of Camus.

I call Albert – sympathetic


A giant philosopher

And tall flame of literature.

But now as I am disturbed

By the swarm of visitors

I’ll switch on my TV set and

Check out some of the programs.


The happenings in ward 8 M

Seem indelibly interwoven into

The lights and pastel coloured


Which nature has painted and

Its drama unfolds as if directed

By an unseen God of theatre.


Entreveaux – the grand realism

Of a city in the Middle Ages

Which offers a birds-eye view of

Perfect abstract patterns

Of soft tones

Due to the local clay tiles.


And at night all seems to be an


A HD slide show switched off

Obliterated by the God of Plays.

Then I switch on the copied image

In my mind.

The voices of the three remaining

Women and one man

Interspersed by this local dialect

Seem to convert to the ghosts

Of the night

Until you change it on the screen

Of comm’s TV.

Then the red light comes on

As if outside nature has

Compressed itself into a dim

Recording room

For the LK KOR and its ward

Especially ward 8

Where people from different

Levels of education and

Social life meet.