Cherry on Top

The rhythmic movements

Of the train

Shake up the Poet’s

Memory banks:

As a student at the TH Vienna

He felt drawn close to some

Rebellious causes against raw


Especially as his Dad had been

Caught in Russia in 1934/44

Towards the end of WWII.


The Poet’s drawings were


Dedicated to his Mom:

A Madonna with Child that

Resembled his situation.

The real ZG-artist experimented

And one art critic who viewed

His work commented that he

Had talent: Paint larger Pic’s.

The Poet had not those financial

Needs to afford the canvas and

The necessary paint.

Mom supported his studies for

Qualifying as Dipl.Ing. at the

Faculty of architecture.

He loved art. Fuse art with



The times for sexual experiences

Embraced the Poet into its

Mystical ban. He fell in love.

He fell in love to be hurt.

Love against other lovers he



But the thorns of jealousy

Stuck deep in his flesh:

After sweet Frieke

Simchi held his heart in her

Tender hands.

But she was keen on an

Erotic roll

Experiencing different men.


So did then the Poet

On a journey to seeking out

His potential Muse.

Had not his teacher Firestone

Predicted his travel through

A labyrinth as he saw the

Emblem the Poet drew onto

His announcement to get




Love was sweet.

Love’s pain sweetened thru’

Another love.

The layers of love and deceit

Were hurriedly building up.

The Poet’s spouse fell under

The knife of the underworld –

The poet took a cue from

Orpheus the magical bard.


But instead Ana came along

To become the love of his life.

Poet’s spouse accepted her.

Just like the Poet had accepted

His spouse’s love of a gifted

Medical man

Highly specialized to save

Other people’s lives.


Yet the Poet and his spouse

Took together the same

Slow boat from Cape Town

To Piraeus.

A chapter of love and deceit

At the foot of the Acropolis.

Life goes on.


Perhaps after fifty years of

Enduring each other

Living separate lives although

Still below a common roof.

Life goes on.


It feels being

Imprisoned in the suburb of

A village named Weidling.

Economies of survival and the

Shock of having lost one’s

Reasonable bourgeoisie-life

Has born a new product of

An artist who writes about

What he paints and paints

What he writes about.



Silly wordplay of a poet

Who sampled already some

Tots of Tequila and now he

Drowns already in some

Belgian craft-beer at the

Delirium Café.


A well done burger and

A tray of excellent potato

Wedges double baked

Washed down with a half

Of Slovak beer.


As a cherry on the top?

I doubt that.

But it works!




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