this easter monday i woke up late

ate late breaky/ doodled in my

notebook’s third page

and turned a horizontal drawing

into a vertical imposing dynamic


well then/ the air in my domain

smells strange from next door

eastern-style cooking/ whatever.

i took to the road and enjoyed

springs fantastic working on all

blossoms/ took some macro shots

with my handy/ add some images

to my next drawings/ voila!

the air along the weidling brook

is already warmwe at 3 pm

the northern winds will eventually

loose out to the sunrays steadily.

it’s soon time to prepare for

a nordic walk into the viennese woods

stretching up towards the kahlenberg

for now the sun/ still shy/ hides

again behind dark cloud covers.

the artist will go back to his drawing.


zjg poetry ’21.


you have to b brave to walk

for hours in a sudden cooling

down of temperature

but if you are lucky

your partner will receive you

in her cozy domain

for a cuppa or two

maxbe some cookies –

but then listen about her

travel experiences

and you may tell your side.

then discuss some esoteric

issues/ soul travel/ return from

the edge of death

the change of life styles and

be in good luck to live for

what is most important to you

not what your mom had meant

would be good for you.

time travel/ art travel/ soul travel

soul travel and beyond

the plein ordinary.





the wonderful sunfilled morn’ arrived

announced with birdsong

long before i sat up in my bed and

felt my body waking

morning talked to my heart

created words of beauty and

memories of love once experienced

with such a wave of warmth and

excitement – it still stays with me

memorized by skin and mind

heart and soul.

this wonderful thursday/ i give a six to

reducing the numbers of its date.

now then get up for a walk along

a murmuring brook

with its variations of sound –

a schubert symphony/ the unfinished –

swings in my mind with its refined


natures etwenal source of inspiration.

life – a short walk in the spring air

the aged cobwebs of yesterday

wiped away/ rebirth.


zjg poetry’21.


if my bed would be more comfy –

muses the poet –

i probably wouldn’t be forced

to get up/ so it has a good side

to get going at 80 plus!/ besides

mrs b/ up at the crack of dawn

prepares her hair on the green

leather couch for the day

listening to a mozart symphony

pleasantly tuned down for not

waking me up too harshly.

fine. pyjamas are a bit humid –

it’s the moist air that clings to

the garments/ keeps the poet

alive with the daily dose of

dripirrigating his creative plant.

he might decline in his overall

body functions somewhat

but his mind is still alert.

now then/ change clothes

warm water to face and hands

get on with a breaky –

three minute soft egg/ kornspitz

buttered and add orange jam

hm! excellent!

check out the websites

write another journal poem for

his loyal readers across the seas

the continents

and for personal fun.





why do you write every day

another few stanzas?

a continuous stanza as I have

been inspired by george seferis

introduced to him by ana

my greek muse

the one who gave me the key

to enter the labyrinth of poetry

and prose.a labyrinth?

don’t look surprised. indeed.

every day you’ll write and every

day you fail/ at times more

at other times a bit less.

but if you wouldn’t fail you

wouldn’t write/ as if writing is

failure – see roth/ see rowling

see an army of others –

every day you await the magical

moment of inspiration

that’ll catapult you out of the

ordinary chit-chat/ the harbinger

of a lyrical garden with exotic

and strange fruit

you’ve never thought existed

that’s where you wanted to go

that’s where the treasures lie

you need to touch/ smell/ taste

and paint with your words.

that’s how you’ve always wanted

to write.



zjg poetry’21.


on this twentieth of march

the poet slept like a log

once he had taken medication

for his shoulder joint pains

no wonder/ as it had snowed

at night

the morning’s air fresh/ but

off to the social shop

fill his trvel bag with good

selected foodstuff:

ratatouille from the deep freeze

bakeries and whole wheat rolls

vanilla cescents/ bitter chocolate

carrot juice/chicken with rice

and some curry sauce/ uncle ben’s

rice with quinola/ three oranges

from spain.

all good enough for a week and

more/ until a monthly minimal

pension arrives

were it not for my muse mmm

i wouldn’t have tasted delicious


filled with superb apricot jam

from her favourite pastry shop.


from the five piece box

the poet ate three immediately

delightful. fluffy. irresistible.

his evening meal.




zjg poetry’21.


what happened to voluptuous bodies

as rubens#heritage dissolved for

a century in the myriad of modelled

bodies/ designed for the minimal use

of cloth/ just as a juxtaposition to the

ionic fashion of the hellenistic era?

the creation of a new body trend

that promised a brilliant career for

the new woman/ he-she gender –

a new gender creation/ a far cry from

thefeminine ideal of the hellenes.

take your pick.

what is really important/ once you’ve

tasted love/ lived desire/ good sex

adventures in eros?

it’s the person/ not the body alone

neither boby nor too voluptuous

certainly a bonus for the lucky artist

the happy-go-lucky bon vivant.

from symbols of beauty – venus:

willendorf to aphrodite of knidos

aphrodite by praxiteles – all resemble

beauty as summary of mind/ body

and soul

beauty isn’t only in the face and body

but the spark inside.

spark and body.





if you met by chance a woman –

you have met before/ at a time when

she was inhibited with learning about

various cultures – especially classocal

egyptian/ hellenistic greece/ modern

chinese –

you are surprised that she suddenly

will not solely remembered you

but also enjoys your talent as an

artist/ supporting you with a letter

some ink and a pen/ watercolor paper

a walnut-pasrty/ an invite for lunch

goat cheese in a capped pyramid box

showing you artistic fotographs of a

sensible soul

you’ll be thinking of painting her

one day. indeed.

as a muse has always followed you

all your artistic life/ the cycle of muse

and artist follows you:

at the age of 80 plus 11 months

may this year of (9) not be a year

feared by all artists concerned about

the number nine

but become a revolutionary year

for mutual success.

as her engagement for humanity

and your obsession with your art

may fuse to an even atomic event

thru’ drawing/ painting/ and thru’

philosophical writing

forging the base for a new novel

with atistic value/ perhaps.

follow your artistic life/ artist!





he moves about in a dream

time frames pass without recognition

by his mind – a blank canvas where

he paints her portrait/ a nude with

a soft feel all around/ without accurate

body shapes/ perhaps an idea

picasso inspired him with. whatever.

he only has to ask her for a session

of some sensuous fotographs

but that wouldn’t be the same

as doing a life sitting –

perhaps why she suggested in the

first place to do a portrait of him

using the fotographic method

so to avoid the nearness

desires to come up?

well/ he had only one muse

to watch and feel him in an act

of autoeroticism/ closely embraced

in a niche at a portal of a historical

byzanthine church

with a century old wooden door

to lean against in pure ecstasy

she called: lovemaking.




there it was: the day for visiting

mon the artist

her flat so close to the station

what a great position to be off

in a jiffy and back .wow.

good spaces/living to bedroom


a good way to conduct life

as an artist.

besides we are two artists at

a similar wavelength

there’s no hinderness to the life

of two kindred spirits

life to be lived independantly.

she’ll draw like an athlete runs

wishing she’d be priviledged

for producing more art.

think of the athlete – the poet

says to her – but he is gentle

as she sponsors his next book

edition: cantos libidos.

thank you dear mon/ mona lisa

the poet is full of praise for his

friend and sponsor.

who would now in this age of masks

not be incarcerated in her heart?