She’s astute in her
Tall and with a toned down
Wearing slightly baggy
Preferably in light colours
For an angelic appearance.
She’s still a woman
Seeking love
Acceptance and appreciation
Having been caught up
For over fifty years in the
Mainstream of marriage.
Observing her close-by
It feels at times
As if beloved Ann has slipped
Into Mrs Ira’s soul
As if she’d been blessed with
That sends me a sensual vibe.
She appears today a wee bit
Strained from work and worry
And she needs certainly some
Rest. Some good rest.
But could she yet relax?
The Poet has offered her
Some ways to relaxation
But she has first to be herself
And set herself up in her
Personal domain.
To a welcome new life.



Between sips of green tea
Flashes of thoughts percolate
On the lingering notes of
Its sweet-tangy taste.
How time has encrusted
Joyful events like the bad.
Yet its crust of forgetting
Dissolves now and then
To a foil
And thru’ the gossamer’s
Second skin
You still sense the gentle
Touch of a beloved.
Love’s sweetest hours
Like ebb and flow
Still sway deep
In your innermost being.


Chun Mee

Sipping Chun Mee –
Green tea at Anker.
I sit at the counter
Facing the street’s
Opposite today’s seat
Furthest to the right
An original ‘Gründerzeit’-
Building with shops at
The ground floor:
Copy Studio Digitaldruck
Tabak-Trafik the corner shop
An empty store for rent
Main entrance – Schwertgasse
Piotrowski Food and
Two more small shops.
First floor:
I cannot read the name
Second floor apartments.
The main façade with its
Symmetrical décor
Orientated to Wipplingerstrasse.
Central balconies are a feature
A central caesura with some
Classicistic gables.
Third floor:
The ‘Belle Etage’ has the largest
Balcony as the most elegant
Of floors.
Plants overflowing the swung
Balcony’s balustrade
Topped with flowers.
Rambling wine covers the
Columns of the gable motive
In red autumn colours.
A white haired woman appears
To sample another beautiful
Autumn morning’s air.
Mrs Ira will be coming soon
She responded to my call.
Sipping green tea.
Passerbies seem to have
Taken up the tea name’s
Rhythm – Chun Mee.
Chun Mee.eeM nuhC


Morning Noises

Another morn’ of great
Autumn weather
This week of cleaning out
The elegant Wipplinger
Apartment means:
Forego the wanderer’s
Mode of habit
And use one’s energy
For packing cartons
Index fifty to sixty boxes
Note down its general
After all Mrs Ira appointed
The Poet as her scribe.
Thanks to socially minded
Old-Mayor Häupl
Traveling with the ‘Öffis’
Is affordable for Senior
Citizens and students.
The 400 bus is late in
As to the electronic
Departure signboard.
Traffic is building up at
8:44 with ten minutes
Additional waiting time.
Yet some gap to reflect
A bit in midst of
Morning noises.


Moves & Nudes

Writing poetry early morn’s
Prep my breakfast:
Chia seeds and rolled oats
Chocolate coconut bun
Milk from Austrian Alps
Mixed with honey
Some energy cocktail
You must certainly try.

But as transporting
Frankl’s oil paintings
From apartment to store
Across the ‘Hohe Brücke’-
High Bridge in central Vienna
One needs some stamina.

The Serbian phalanx is
Hard at work:
Slobi and the Poet
Ophelia and Sandra
David the cool dude
And Mrs Ira overseas
While Mr T has continual
Repetitive questions –
Like ‘where’s my yellow
Mrs Ira smiles
Well she’s married over
Fifty years
So she knows her hubby
And the Poet is married
Also fifty years
His spouse is at her best
Being at a respectable
So it goes.

Life’s a gas when one displaces
A whole life’s collections
From its nest.
Perhaps for some of the movers
Though they are doing very well
Observed by the Poet.

Paintings out:
Gila records electronically.
Paintings in at the storage:
Michael does it acribiously
On his smartphone.
A fantastic team work
Molded together by family
While the Poet observes
An assembly of nudes
On a TV musical program
While finishing his starobrno
Moves and Nudes.



If you are a poet
With a moderate readership
About five novels published
Also as EBooks
Another 30 poetry books
And five novelettes
You have certainly talent
Even if you have not made
It to the bestseller list
Of popular publishing houses.

The bus shakes heavily
Along badly maintained roads
Between Vienna’s outskirts
And the nearby towns
Fit for weekend parties and
Convenient hideaways
A chutzpah for travelling.
Thanks for a starobrno beer
At Heiligenstadt
One can just cope with that.

After the daily schlepp
Of packing books and docu’s
Old casettes and DVD’s
The mind still reasonably alert
Commands the body to rest.



She says: Every time
I come to Weidling
I have some aches
Head or stomach.

He says: Every time
I come back from Vienna
I develop a runny nose
As soon as I step from
The bus in Weidling.

Well then. She tends
To her wardrobe and
The prepping of her
Special diet
While he types up
His Journal poetry.

Damned! He’s lost his
Email account yesterday
Basterds! No warning.
His laptop comes of age.
Runny nose.


Orange Thoughts

Cleaning out one’s life
A gargantuan task
The Poet
The Serbian Phalanx
Mr T at times often
Upset and swearing
That he cannot find his
Papers any longer.
He might be going thru’
One of the artwork boxes
But as he never sorted his
Life out
It’s left behind and will be
Again placed into boxes
As if once for all buried
In an archive store.
Mrs T takes the strain
She needs to relax
So often her girlfriend
And also the poet had
The task ascribed the
Pacifier’s role.
One early morn’
She phones worried
Where her papers are
She had me copied the
Other day.
The Poet knows.
As the heavens light up
Above the Danube river
He’s on his way
Glued to his range



We’ve met and warmed
Our hearts with talks
And smiles
Yet we’ve desired to touch
Handing entrance door keys
To each other
Small change warmed up
By body and hand.

Yet it’s neither shown too
Obviously to the public eye
Nor to husband or spouse.

The poet’s spouse had
Sensed these waves of
Longing in her spouse
For another woman.

The poet of great help
To his lady sponsor
Senses the time for
Intimacy to come.

His mind is keen on
Observing his potential
Muse and lover to be
His body stirrings still
Quite virile
When he wakes
During nights.



Out of the morning’s fog
The orange dot appears
The bus ride pulls it just
Above the green metal
Sound barriers
Along the Danube River’s
It hovers above the
Tourist boats at the Kuchelau
In stark contrast to the
Black-green poplars
A rolling fire ball on the
Milky skies
Bursting up its wavering
Image in the steady flowing
While the heavens gaze down
At their Hyacinth-image.
The promise of a nearby winter
In the chilly air.