After the remembrance ceremony

At UNO City in Vienna

Mr T wishes to have a bite at his

Haunt called Kopp

Viennese fare as he prefers

Yet the cold air interferes with

Walking there.

From Vorgartenstrasse station

We make it to a pub called


Saviour of a weak bladder

Besides a cup of hot semolina

Dumpling soup

Makes him ready to reach his

Famous pub in Engerthstraße

But still five bus stops further.

Mr T is amazed how different

It is to use the Öffis

Appreciating to have been

Ferried there in the past.


The bus ride is not that bad

For me

The poet

A familiar thing.

Not bad the Kopp

The bus driver states

The beer is there good as well.

As it’s the turn for the poet to

Order and invite Mr T

Who orders a small goulash

The poet prefers roasted

Minced meat with mashed

Potatoes. Ok. Not bad

But he is used to simple meals

To stay alive.

For Mr T the small goulash

Has to have tender meat

Which is not always to his taste.

Of course

With his slow eating habit

He needs his gravy heated up



At least we shared a bottle

Of alcohol free beer

And Mr Walter cracked a few

Jokes in Viennese

The usual waiter style.

Warmed up again

Mr T orders a portion of

Wine-chaudeu desert.

Has not much wine

He states.





From a tit for tat-tension

Of verbal arguments

The cold air outside

This wintry morn’

Isn’t conducive to ease

One into the day’s

Commemorative do

For: The World Remembrance

Day for the Holocaust Victims

Especially for the children

Through the project: Butterfly

At the Uno City Vienna.

Yet never rely on the

Bad communication of

Some people

Who dislike to be

Pro-active. Indeed.

A cab driver to Uno-City

Is not conducive to soothe


Built up on endless messages

From friendship pages


But I’m glad that changes

Are underway      

To break pure anti-UN


With changes within the

Stolidly structures.

Glad to hear Ullmann’s

New compositions played

By guitar and sung by a

Woman with such an inner  

Vibration in her voice

Just like prayer

Carrying albeit its lament

Also a ray of hope for all.

I hand my calling card to

The artists and art-related

People like two interesting

Young and cordial women:

Erminia and Armenia

In the restaurant-bar

Where I’m drawn to Erminia

And she responds like a

Full-bloodied Italian woman

Who – interesting! – is also

Relating to art in portraits


She makes me blush admiring

My brown specks on the iris of

My green eyes

While I look deeper into her

Dusky hazel eyes. Instantly

I feel a rising heat for her

As nobody did this to me

Since my time with Ana at the

Start of the New Millennium.

I’m smitten with Erminia

It’s obvious

Who traditionally has been

Named after her grandma.

She said. Great.

Please keep this great

Tradition going I said and

Her smile denuded me right


As we talked art exhibitions

And about Napoli

She’ll show me one day!

I’m glad I came to UNO City


Thanks Mr T.





Interrupted night’s rest

Erotic dream of a bevy of

Beautiful women

Gives the pick of the lot.

Lucia Loukia the artist

Has inherited the style of

Lovemaking of her poet-Mom


Who romps the poet home

To a sweet come

His upper thighs close to

The chest in repetitive moves

With sensitive tits

Like a woman’s nipples.

Up at 6am

The creative self rears its need

To place words onto innocent

Pages of this journal

For love of a Muse

A special Muse

Lasting this long. Imagine.

For it may be telepathy

Great soul-bonding

That had been laid as some

Special seed by poet-Mum

To Lucia into her heart.

The artist thanks his sweetheart

Muse for her effort

To keep comm’s going

And the poet appreciates

All the stirrings for sensuous

Nipples his art causes.

For true love and genuine want

Will keep the promises inert

In body and soul.

The heart a prolific conductor

Of making ZJG’s poetry worthy

Becoming a poet of love.




Love’s Wings

Since a fortnight the poet

Enjoys the wings of freedom

Writing about his wanderings

Across the nearby vineyards

On frozen snow

Taken to his Nordic Walking

Sticks and trekking boots

Dressed to fend off frosty

Perpetually blowing winds.

When time elapses without

The conscious mind

Put to senseless stresses

The mind and soul seek unison

And ask the body in heat

To follow.

Dreams of one’s youth stirred

By some old-time movies

Friends place generously on

Youtube for all to share.

‘We are so lucky’

The poet speaks to his spouse

Her physical system in turmoil

She flees the bedsitter and

Perhaps herself.

‘My mind is focused’

The poet says in defense to

Unjust domestic quarrels

Like: ‘What kind of writer are you?’

With an ironic undertone.

‘I’m a writer of Love’s wings’.

End of arguments.




Portrait Ira (1)

Love once fresh and new

Exciting and exhilarating

As a couple in blue

Has drifted onto a cloud

Impossible to catch-up

With lost times.

The scene of love’s paradigm

Had shifted its gender embraces

And into these undulant land

With its random storms

The scenery turned bleak

Richly decorated as a garden

High up in midst of armoured

Roofscapes of Vienna First.

The Poet has been invited

To visit and shed his mental


Doff his intellect and give

Himself up

To a song of seduction.

The skies a lacquered blue

Where all clouds slipped off

Burnt relentlessly with rays

Of blue and red

Onto the future canvas of the

Artist’s mind.

Past and present passions

Immersed into his heart

Painting colours of gold

Amber and delicate greens

Across the face of his host

Who emerges steadily

As his newfound Muse.

The painting’s prediction

Will read like a prophecy.

An overture.

A message.

And to a greater extent

A desire to create

Great pieces that will hone

His unusual style

In visual art.




Green Tea

January in the New Year

When new resolutions will be


Like collating all collected

Photographs that reach back

About twenty years. WOW.

How life has flown past

Carpe diem. Carpe amore.

Swinging music’s uplifting

Background to the pretty and

The sad.

Curing a portrait painting for

Mrs Ira besides the drawing ‘Trees’

Still to be spray protected

When B’s away due to her


Drinking green tea.

Cooking some veggie soup

With Curcuma spice and dried


Thinking about my meeting

With Simchi after 52 years

In the timeless atmosphere

Of an old Viennese Café.

Green tea. Peppermint tea.

Cerise-red roses.

This friendship entails the


To carry-on where we once

Left off.

Perhaps next time

As she had indicated

When we’ll meet in early

Summer again

Poet to Poet.

Drinking green tea

Made with mineral water

From Römerquelle.






The sunny winter morn‘

Diamond glitter on snow fields

Tracks of feet and animals

Along rows and rows of black

Vines with supporting arms

Of poles and tension wires

For the local viniculture.

Shadows lie like sharp drawn

Lines on the land’s white paper

Endlessness of flatland ends

On a band of blue mountains

Mirrored on sharp polished

Lenses by Zeiss within one’s

Own eyes.

You slip on a piece of ice glaze

Across the end of a path –

The body hits the steely asphalt

Your thoughts shatter into


Something concusses you

Air forced out of your lungs

You recall the thermos bottle

That hit’s your torso’s supine

And stretched out lie.

You gasp. Gasp. Gasp and turn

Sideways regroup your senses

A stone fallen from the skies.

Since then you feel tired

Your head hurts

But you’ll recover

Breathing deeply.