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.



The poet fascinated
By writing tools
Had collected some
Valuable ink pens over
The last thirty years
Of his life
As he began filling
Unlined notebooks
With his poetry.

Cleaning up an apartment
With his friends
He came across a yellow
Lamy pen
He checked out for function
Cleaned it up.

Inserted a new cartridge
It wrote again with a nib
Specific to its user he will
Present it to her as a
An extension of one’s soul.


Fine Morning

Green Tea with Matcha
Sunshine morning
And sweet dreams
Keep the denuded artist
Within a warm bed’s
Sensual dream world.

A dove feather grooms
On the window sill outside
Few pedestrians on the
Tuchlauben at this time.

Yesterday evening we had
Some trouble finding BB.
Only through a common
Friend: Mr and Mrs P.

Never before have I been
To an evening amongst
Who have experienced
Directly the merciless
Hard brutality of the

There were times I recalled
The murder of my grandfather

But life goes on and we have
To clean out Mrs Ira’s apartment.

Another day in the city of noises
And busybodies
Tourist clusters and day visitors.

I use B’s bon for coffee and a
Great Pierre-croissant at Ströck
Stephansplatz. Excellent!
Fine morning.