September Time

I live the life of a Bohemian

supported with a temporary

stay in the heart of Vienna

a stone throw from the artistic hub

of the Bermuda Triangle

not far from the Bohemian

chilling strip

along the Donaukanal.

Musical happenings.

Meetings of the Thinkalikes.

Jogging strip for the young and


Cooling down beach for the

city dwellers.


My bag of drawing


Painting instruments at hand.

Perhaps awakening one night

with the desire to paint up

the concept drawings

find the right expression for

a passed love’s portrait.


Paint in the nude some nudes.


Demoiselles a Vienne

still sitting on my mind

sorting potential faces and


don’t know yet how to start.

I have some contestants

yet the one’s chosen are

too shy sitting for me in

the nude

although I wear some clothes:

Nica  Viki  Vivi  Barbi

yet one more female member

to be found

to complement the foursome.

All women.

All in contrasting body shapes.

Which one will wear a mask?

Or the head of a bird

the head of an Ibis.

This is a homage

you could by now guess

to which artist.






Art Concept

Early October Sunday

morn‘s truce at last

no battle of words while

she still sleeps.

He plays ‘word hub’

while B prepares her

special breakfast entering

his kitchen domain.

It’s 10 am.

Weather is fair.


He had listened late night

to Santana & Shorter Band’s

excellent fusion Jazz at the

Montreux Jazz Festival ‘88

during this ‘Night of Museums’

going on in Vienna.


She dreamt of seeing her

sister at the window

staring into their bedsitter.

She jumps up from bed

but goes back to sleep

as nobody is at the window

where she forgot to lower

the Venetian blinds.


His soul swings in an

elevated mood

sketching out an inspiration

for a drawing he intends

as a present for Mr T’s

83rd birthday:

An emotional concept about

the closure of his Art Shop




Turn of the century buildings.

Ellas restaurant.

Holocaust Memorial.

Empty square –

embedded in rich history of

tragedies and pogrom

between the cobble stones

we still walk upon.





At the eighth floor

moving up street escalators

in the spacious hall.

Not much has changed

for the past three years

since I have been for an op

of the left eye’s cataract.

All’s well

just for a small incision

with a laser beam

to free the lens from

a grown-in pocket of skin.


Sweet B

At times a horrid company

still means well

amidst her own pain to her

exposed bone

covered by only skin.

She’s braving the atmospheric

pressure changes

of an early autumn chill.


My thoughts go back to Anna:

Anna disintegrating

still loving me

breaking apart physically

but mentally forever part

of my poetry.






olay ra lepek –

I’ll step onto oil –

a Hungarian expression:

It’s about time to leave.

Into A/F steps a tall man

with a grey patterned

woolen jacket

asks for Mr T:

Green he says.

Nice meeting you…

I’ve been here five years



The poet has done his tasks

and wishes to leave. It’s 16:50.

But Green’s family appears

and asks Mr T for a good

viennese eatery.

So he’s polite and shows them

the shortest pedestrian route

that leads to a first class ‘Beisl’.


The poet leaves for Merkur Market

that offers high class cuisine

coffee and bakeries

but the cashier cannot find the

poet’s basket

he left yesterday there. So?

I’m sorry you have to shop

For the goods again.

All right well what’s the problem

between friends?

At least the coffee is less 25%

a fortune for the poet for all

artists and creative scribes.

Mohnzuzler for Mrs B.

Mohnzelter for ZJG.







On the 29th of Sept 2017

a miracle happened:

She was calm collected

unusually quiet and would

not moan about pain in her


mistreated since she was

a child

who suffered when she was

dead quiet.


Together we move goods

from SAM’s market

with a stop at Lidl

where I buy some natural

still water

to prepare chlorine free



On foot we proceed to the

bus stop at Weidling station

miss the noon bus and sit

still for another 30 minutes

on a bench

but fortunately in the warming


I greet her

place my arm around her


She feels fragile

a shadow of her once

striking beauty.

What’s with you today?

she asks astonished

holding my shoulder and

kissing me hello?

It’s a good day

filled with sunshine

I say.





two masters

for serving two masters

impossible for both

being satisfied.

mrs ira asked the poet

to look after mr t

which means to be poised

for his granddad’s foibles.


as he is on time to the

a/f art shop

b phones him to be treated

as no 1 for a change

demanding the poet sees

her first

as she wouldn’t wait for

two hours for him

when he finishes his work.


the poet visits her at posh

grand hotel

entertains her for three quarters

of an hour.

his cellular phone rings.

ah oval office calling

b snaps ironically

as he has to agree with nica

to be on his way and take

her place.


ok well b takes it stoically

but she mocks the poet for

being a slave

indeed I am

the slave marches toward






mr t gives his orders in a hurry

and it means that he’s not satisfied

for the poet being late.

but then – he’s not on a payroll

not employed

just helping out –

errands mount up: stationery shop

ice cream parlor

wollzeile a second time

to the Archbishop’s office.


it’s 17:30 he’s done his chores

NO still to laminate documents

there are some small laminate

foils at the back of the shop mr t


no way he replies

it’s pockets for CD’s

mr t still argues

show me – the poet almost loses

his rag but enjoys as mr t can’t find

the laminates

he murmurs in anger: i’ve put a few

right here!

where? the poet asks

on the floor he says

I am 76 and a half the Poet sighs –

while kneeling on the wooden floor

to laminate some documents –

but I’ll do almost everything to

support my art


bought six tins of ily coffee and

poppy seed buns

but it had to be kept at merkur


as the 25% discount only starts

from tomorrow

now that saves 15 Euro on the


which I have already spent today

on coffee and sweets.






Her unbalanced mood swings

are not transient like youth.

The deeper root to her emaciated


lies in her nervous condition

she has to drag about

like a heavy weight attached

to her legs.

She’ll live – just.

A difficult state to take care of

by an artist

whose creative world lies

far away at most times.

She’ll shout at him

frustrated she could not

harvest from her talents –

Fashion and its accessories.

A couple since 49 years

having survived the stormy

seas of life

thea still share their common


Creativity for the arts.

Albeit ill advises from associates

tight and stringent allowances

for living

they stick together

when their backs are

against the wall –