Check Up 2

Get up early.


Bus to H/S and ÖBB train

To KOR. Korneuburg.

Slow walk from the station

To the LKH-KOR. The hospital.


Coffee and ‘Apfelstrudel’.

Just as I finished – my call –

Room 8. Ambulant patients.

Dr S. smiles albeit she’s

Flat out busy.

Next the clamps from my

Knee wound removed.

I count 21.

Mü-Gu a descendant of

A family with a poet does

A sterling job.

Next to the x-ray dept.

Cabin 5.

Two quick snaps and back

Again to room 8

Where Dr S. notates my next

Appointment June fourth.

She is not happy that my

Physiotherapy only starts in

Two weeks’ time.

But then it’s out of our hands.

Yet I assure her I’ll come

To terms with my recovery

Step by step and week by week

Playing the motor rail’s

Movement machine.


Polar winds outside the hospital

Have cooled down the air


I phoned the landlord to keep

A bit of heating going

He’d switched off suddenly

During the night.

As sorry I feel about my spouse’s


I’m not able to do more about it

Than to support her as good as


Within my own physical restraints.

Takes recovery time to become

A fully fledged walker again.

A pub on the way.

I need some hot soup before

I face the polar air again.

Another morning at the LKH-KOR-





Verbal Violence

The poet woke from his world

Of creation

To the heavy murmuring of

His spouse

Who performs lately in constant


About her fate late in life

She calls undeserved.

Indeed the poet agrees

But little he can do other

Than support her toward

Her expenses

Battle with rising inflation

Having fallen on hard times.

The poet still describes his


His spouse considers useless

But then he takes her antics

With a generous pinch of


Yet verbal anger

Has driven his spouse

To subscribe mentally

To violence

Enjoying movies about

Al Capone.

Her behaviour escalates

Toward a serious split

Also in reality

She stated on many occasions.

And what about tomorrow?

Verbal violence to spiral?



Good News

Usually the saying goes:

No news is good news.


In the poet’s case that’s

Not relevant

As news is all around him

On the world stage of

Everyday life.

At times too many phone calls

Chase the poet

And thus he becomes irritated:

Friends he still accepts

But adverts and sales clerks –


In the stillness of cellular phones

And without the turbulent doing

Of kids

He may at least finish his latest

Stories about walking the periphery

Of Vienna’s fields and woods.

Good News.




Saving sanity by just taking off

To the historical city of KLNBG

For short

Dealing with a cell phone issue.


The poet addresses the repair man

Mobile phones are not designed

For keeps.

Ask Samsung

The sturdy man from


It looks like the software had

Expired on me.

Possibly he murmurs.

Now then while junior has another

Try downloading my precious


I’ll have time to spend at Leonardelli’s

For a Sorbets-cuppa with prosecco.


Need a fine treat after yesterday’s

Disastrous meeting at a realty office.

Behaving dyslexic and to cope with

A wound-up spouse



Impossible to get a word of reason

Into her monologue.


Today the sun fights dark clouds

But a positive hub prevails

With senses again back to balanced


Yet the poet always travels between

Layers of consciousness.





Rucksack packed

Vitamin pills swallowed

Blood pressure measured

Beret. Shawl. Leather coat


Unlock front door

He says good-bye to his spouse

Who doesn’t respond.

Exit one step up into dusty

Gravel split yard.

Lock entrance door.

Maybe she’s still upset –

The poet muses –

About yesterday’s meeting

In a realty office in Dresdner


But moving up in the world

Of suitable accommodation

Requires a good and steady


Yet excellent design is usually

Appreciated by true artists.

But who will pay for it?

Ask your friends – she said.

The poet had to laugh out

So loud

He pushed his coffee all over

The high glossy catalogue.

His good intention to play

Along with his spouse as long

As he could find a way to

Avoid a noose around his neck.

Yet it all stopped at Café

De’l Opera in Vienna with

A generous meal and the poet

Had to load off tension while

Joking with Luigi the gregarious


After that the poet and his

Spouse took the train towards

The City of Saints

With his spouse exiting at

Vienna Midway

Having to swallow the poet’s

Perspective of reality

She had lost while dreaming

Of a wondrous flat

They cannot afford.

Back at the temporary home

Without a valid contract

Hopefully the major will be

Helpful to sort out

One way or another.

The poet foresees a painful


While arranging an alternative

Affordable rental agreement

With the city of KLNBG.

While his spouse will stay


But then she lives her own





Electric Motor Rail

I lie in my rented bed

And seek a comfortable lie

One leg in the electric motor rail

To reactivate my muscles again.

In a supine rest

The ever-repeating stretches

And bends

Will render mobile functions

The monotonous dove-like

Cooing will put me to

Restful slumber.

Perhaps cleaning the ever-dusty

Laminate floor

Made me also tired

My strength not back more than

85% or less.


My term to clean during May.

In an artist’s consciousness

Of interactions to a world that

Constantly changes

Needs to be observed and

Reported on.

My leg.

My cyber-leg inserts will be

The answer to enable me

Walking the landscapes around

Lower Austria

Scale along the Viennese Woods

Building up renewed fitness

And feel a complete person

Physically and mentally

To follow one’s ever-yearning





I did not know how much


I would have to muster

Before I handed myself over

To most capable surgeons

Who replaced my used up


But thanks to gravity

The delicate bone of the


Fought the squashing of the

Body’s ongoing supine lie.

Washing daily

I would apply cooling lotion

To this irritated tailbone.


Impossible to touch the

Bee-sting sensation.

Damned! Patience.

Condemned to lie supine

Adjusting my bed remotely

To different angles each day.

Each hour.

Who knows how often

I’d seek a wee-bit relief.


Moving bums left and right

By centimeters.


Get out of bed in spite of


‘S the only solution to stay

Reasonably sane

Lie down only when exhausted.

This routine then worked best

For a seven day stay.





Overtaking my mind on the fast lane

Whirling me up into the air of an


Stirring up my emotional life:

Greedy faces of advertising.

The sorry face of having lost

All of one’s possessions.

A pretty face frozen in a moment’s

Ecstasy – like Mary Magdalene.

A surgeon’s face of concern

For her patient

Like a mother’s for her child.

A mature face of a female Muse

Depicted by a talented artist –

A face in agony equals a face

In ecstasy.

A face of eternal sadness.

The face of eternal mystery

Like Leonardo’s Mona Lisa.

David’s victorious face having

Killed Goliath.

Giacometti’s face reduced into

His fading figures.

Picasso and Dali’s portraits

Facing each other.

Camus’ face doubting his very


And this list will probably go on

For a long time indeed!




Make Time

Usually all boils down to

Five milestones in one’s life

Just like in a novel

But don’t take a poet’s word

For it.

Just see for yourself

Once you’ve reached a state

Of self-realization

Of being destined to report

Being a messenger of the spirited

The souls you’ve been related to

Embraced and still love.

For who’ll know if there’s still

A milestone left

In the mature life phase of

An artist?

Perhaps he is capable to feel it

Capable of sensing vibes from

His Muse

The Greek Muse

But then perhaps from all his

Illustrious Muses

Who dance around his virtual


He strokes to entertain them.

Make time for your milestone

In art. POET.

Make Time.




Amazing repetition of an

Irate spouse about recurring

Ill health

Shouts of blame on the next

Of kin

Albeit the poet’s patience

In spite of offered help

A barrage of insults on his head.


The poet had a fortnight ago

An op

Replacing his knee joint


He quietly accepts errands

Thanked with kicks.

Incredibly raugh the swings

Of M/D

Like molten lava into a sea

Of ice.

Such signs of her illness

He missed at first meetings

Doused by flights of fancy

From her honey pot.

Now then

For five major milestones

During his life

The poet witnessed peaks

And ravines of a married life.

Pushed high in free flight

But fallen like Icarus…

Only the poet had survived

To stay and tell the tale.