have you hugged a tree today?

not the best day to start

nordic walking from a

known departure point

heavy breathing feels as

if running out of air along


where usually the poet was

well underway

but not today

yet he will endure this

johann grünberger trail

thru’ the viennese woods

even if it feels too steep

for him today.

it’s like being in love

not always the mood there

for the partner

to make her feel wanted

definitely not in a long-term


besides now statistics show

four divorces in ten marriages

almost half have serious times

to go thru –

the poet hugs a huge birch tree

it must be this with a portent


but as he hugs a smaller one

it befits him fine.

have you hugged a tree





she has a good eye for

poster design

besides the art of presentation

therefore she’ll be in a position

to criticise the artist/ the poet/

the designer/ the writer.

as she had woken the bard at

4:30 am –

he’ll splash water on his face

and settle down at his working


redo the intended invitations

until she’ll communicate

a successful way forward.

unfortunately – like everything else –

the word program has changed

and with it the way he used to be

quick with producing

well-designed pamphlets and

fliers about his latest work.

for now he’s adamant

to get his immediate circle of

friends and acquaintances


about his creative work.

perhaps something may come off it

maybe he’ll meet a sponsor

while his mind questions his efforts

for a public presentation.

yet – he always kept his humour

and he laughs out loud

recalling the joke about

“an Italian in malta”.





well then –

most beautiful days

in mid-september

nearby woods tempt

the wanderer/ the biker

the nordic-walking enthusiast

but then –

where else has a world-city

such a green lung

right on its doorstep?

yet – the poet is handicapped

by duties to his household/

the local water with too much

chlorine added

he has to travel downtown

to find a reasonable filter for

their drinking water

there’s no local one available

across to the north he rides the

magnificent öffis-transport

for finding a reasonably priced

filter set

thanks though for a competitive

market in the west

not yet rigged by huge corporate

greed/ called monopoly/ like the

beer market/ his neighbour said.




he and she

i have great charisma“ she said

and placed three photographs

on the poet’s desk –

one/ a woman with a winning


two/ a woman with an expressive


three/ a romantic look with flowing

hair across her face – a woman

you would fall in love with instantly.

“yes” – he said and scribbled into his


disappointed about the way

life had turned out for both of them.

she/ aspired to become a model

presenting hats and head-ware

he/ spirited to moving-up in the world

of design and art.

yet it had not materialized and while

she complains to have stayed on a

level of a charwoman –

and he – has transferred design and

construction into works of art

while searching for ways of


she – still dreams of finding some

occupation concerning with some

presentation of her fashion ideas

he – still hopes to gain recognition

for his art that’ll accompanies at

present all his publications.

he and she.




there are rules and regulations

for the public and for private


made up as we go along

there’s the law of causality

that may turn out great and

yet also could cause havoc in

our lives quite often –

then everybody concerned


bit so often its blows could have

been softened-up

if only everybody involved would

just talk to each other.

however/ flexible people could

endure more due to their

character taints

thru’ their focused motives.

the artist analyses intuitively along

the lines he’ll draw

around the colours he applies

the compositions emerging as he

strives along guided by the

stirring deep inside him.

the poet/ independent on the

time of day and night/

the lighting that pervades his


and shakes-up his writing mood

and pierces his inspiration

as there cannot be any prediction

like for voters behaviour at

election day but one thing:

the piece of creation only relies

on messages from within

the artist’s universal world:

love is the universe

the web its pulsing vein

where we’ll meet and touch

where our juices flow.





he takes time from more

writing and reads a book

about art and science

by eric kandel

waiting for his spouse

to arrive at their usual


a haunt for ice cream fans

and good viennese food

with a touch of Italian.

then/ as sunshine lures

to a nearby square

she’ll sit there to absorb

her daily dose of vitamin d

as she believes it

while he still rests his eyes

further more some pangs

of hunger

will lead them to the


close to st steven’s cathedral

where clatter of hooves in a

rhythmic arrival of coaches

entertains and soothes one’s

tested mind

while tourists keep the coaches

in continual movement

along predetermined routes –

it’s a well-known aspect of

old vienna’s core/ its heartbeat.

as the afternoon progresses

horses bray/ hooves are dancing/

visitors thinning out/

fiaker coachmen and woman

still worry.




about adam’s quotation

about adam‘s quotation

“to furnish the means of acquiring

knowledge is…

the greatest benefit that can be

conferred upon mankind.

it prolongs life itself and enlarges

the sphere of existence.”

this quotation/ 160 years back

has not yet percolated thru’ the

broad spectrum of present day

humans worldwide

albeit all modern digital tools to

acquire knowledge –

computer games are of a wondrous

entertainment value

but then – human conscious of

learning should be equally fun

and also a game for young and

also the elderly –

art/ ambience/ the views ahead

stem from the furnishing of means

of knowledge

to be acquired by us

as we are fortunate to have had

a few teachers we’d listened to

who pointed ahead the world

to excellence in the arts.

for now/ the artist’s mind on a

book on art by eric kandel

he saw for sale at leo’s

he hesitated to acquire

but he couldn’t’ get it out of his


it feels good in his hand and

the only copy in the sale-box

had been left for days now

for him to have and read.

whereto dear poet?

where will you proceed dear


if visitors for an exhibition

opening are restricted to

fifty persons?

waiting and drinking tea.

think about collating another

book with a cover of one of

your paintings:

short stories part 3

it’ll be a top-selling book in

your stable at bod-norderstedt.





waiting for the bus

at a temporary stop

next to the open door

that invites you to enter

into a place:

welcome to the limits of


in the city of saints

where people march-in

meet/ travel from and to/

health enthusiasts/ sporting

folk/ casual visitors meet

at this point of mobility’s

intersection as a base

no use of discussing matters

of a specific bus

one travelled on

as it comes up with a friend

who insisted

that she was ahead of her


who left her thirty minutes


and yet she arrived at the same

time at changeover station

to join the thru-bus

he was sitting on.

well – he said – she insisted

that i hide from her

where i come from.

she thought she noticed that

he came sitting on a bus

from the opposite direction

to hide from her meeting

somebody else.

“wow now” – his friend said

“she’ll need a shrink – as

pop-words go”

“yeah” he replied

“she always insists it’s me

who’ll need one.”

they both laughed.




one smiling & one tearful eye

there are few options

in life

for conducting an existence

as an artist

who fell onto hard times:

the first one is to find some


even if it pays a pittance

the second one is to work

on his own specific art

and suffer hunger spells

amid depression –

it’s incredible how galleries

treat an artist –

well now/ the artist said

nearby my place the woods

will sing

so let’s go/ let’s explore them

if at the beginning being

thrown to the wolves

let’s find them and become

a wolf-whisperer –

the laughs heard are those

of spirits

who still share in ironic trains

of thought

but still support the artist with

one smiling eye and the

tearful other.




he settles down to his

restaurant-styled desk

and he tries sorting his

staple of calling cards

thinking of visitors for his


that lies in a static state

since april and frozen

since the start of corona.

but then he types some

intimate thoughts

as if he’d do a striptease

for his muse

just like anne did for him


and if eroticism and faked

climax mix

diluting borders of true


so it all happens in public

life and in politics.

he settles down to his

writing desk

editing poems he wrote

at a bus stop/ the subway/

waiting between fast food


the waft of spices colours

his words

wynton marsalis with his

refined orchestral breeze

lets the words dance along

for a grand ballet/ colours

blotched upon a giant canvas

of imagination

for great happiness.