Those of you who don't care much for poetry should skip this page.

From time to time I feel the urge to write some poems. I even sent some to a real living poet, David Constantine who encouraged me to keep on writing, in German, though. He said my English wasn't really poetic. What a pity! So here you can take a look at some of my works.

to the poems (a pdf-file)

See also my Trek - page

New: Sonnets

minimalistic sonnett
lady fair.
long hair -
no heir

will be
by love's blows?

Impossible Sonnet
or why Professors hate Star Trek

The learned man's most feared plague
Was the serial infection of a still sane mind
By a certain Trek to Stars no eye can find
So distant, unknown, guessed for, and vague.

All through his career it met him oft
That students of wit and sense and charm
Were struck down and done incredible harm
By an illness that drew their gazes aloft.

The poor erudite may apply 'bout any cure,
He may ask for every help, hint, and idea
And from oracles beg for wisdom more

One truth stays forever, so evilly sure for
Trekaholism is, however you plea, no hope in science, no lenity in lore.


A guy stood in the bar's door and brayed
"fifty-eight" just the moment my friend
and I left the place to walk home and send
our minds to rest for the night. I'm not afraid

to admit our being stunned by the mate,
his words, whether he wanted someone to lend
him that amount or rather intended to send
the message of what he preferred to have laid

upon his gym's equipment or if he even guessed
(badly) my or my companion's body's weight.
Unless he thought it wise and utterly best

to use digits and numbers to communicate.
The question disturbed my well deserved rest
but I still don't know what he meant by "fifty-eight".