The poet has returning thoughts

When TV beams out WWII

Especially Stalin

The infamous dictator with

His waves of utmost terror.


Immediately I have to think of Dad

And the dreadful reality of the

Gulag’s forced labour camp.


Pawlenski’s protest-art against

An unjust regime

Nailed himself to the Red Square


73 years after WWII

As more and more light is focused

On terror and the human being.







Wandering Mind

On this Tuesday 13 March ‘18

His mind still wandered about

The treetops near the famous

Village of poets and learned men

When he washed and dressed

Swallowed a peeled orange

Some gooseberries in colourful

Composition in a glass bowl

With some amber drops of honey

Raisins and nuts to round it off.


B already fell into her scalding


Wishing him a good trip

Although he had told her

That he has to see surgeon S

For taking X-rays.


When lying on the X-ray bed

He thinks of his father lying on

A stretcher destined to fix him

Up for hard labour in Stalin’s



As much as Canetti hated Napoleon

The artist hates Stalin

Who discarded the rights of prisoners

According to the Geneva Convention

He gave a damn about.






This trip to LKH KO

As a known acronym for the

Famous clinic

Would be more pleasant

If the ÖBB – well advertised –

Would stick to proper identification

Of its trains at Handelskai

As one could easily miss the

Announcement if one is not

That alert early mornings.


However one must count oneself

Very lucky to have the chance

Of being operated on thru’ the

Social health system

Available to all its members.

Besides physiotherapy and

Good friends

Healing will be progressing quickly

And waiting for an hour or two

Is not a burden

If one has a notebook to draw into

And depict one’s art with words.


Tomorrow I’ll accompany Mr.T

To his beloved Bratislava

Like father – like son.

He’s a changed person when there.

Waiting. Writing.

Positive thoughts.






‘The King of Ice’ (ballad) comes to mind

She still lives thru’ battles

Of yesteryears

With sharp directed monologues

While his mind floats on the

Gentle surf of Arkasia beach at


As life for her hasn’t turned out

To be satisfactory

He still could arrange his life

Around his priority of art.

His Muse has sent him a shield

Hammered in impenetrable

Virtual gold

To realize the shining night of

The arts

Wordsmith and painter

Draftsman and composer of

Holistic artworks.

At home hardly recognized

He seeks art-loving friends

Looking-out for a proper chance

To present his art.

Perhaps ‘The King of Ice’ illustrated

Will have a publishing chance.

He’ll see to its updated presentation

Transformed into German as well.

As he believes it’s a love story

With the backdrop of dramatic

Gran Canary Island.

Waiting for a sponsor is futile

And the local cultural council


Better to do one copy for all to see

And hopefully get some orders.

King of Ice.






He draws intuitively

With any medium available

At any place he happens to be.

As if he would drive the bad cough

From his body

That had invaded his chest

For some time.

With a sudden twist of nature

Ice and snow disappeared


And the landlord could switch down

The laboring heating system

That helped to keep the infectious

Wolf at the door.

B seeks the first warming sunrays

She’d need like a flowering plant

While her man places

Word compositions into his

Finally both rejoice with what

Is left from nature

That still lets us exist in this valley

Below the Viennese Woods

Where blackbirds have returned.

Another spring is in the making.






The road to Machu Picchu

Stone upon stone

Intricately interwoven patterns

Of the universe.


Besides the mind travels far

To galaxies

Clusters and superclusters

Forever expanding

To find answers for our

Human existence.


For there’s nothing more

Exciting than a mind flight

To the Milky Way and to

Look down to the Blue Planet

With an eagle eyes’ view.


Here I live in Laniakea

Where we’ll spin a

Photographical thread

To map these immeasurable