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Igitt, wassollndas? Wer das denkt, zurückklicken.

Ist wohl zum Teil erblich bedingt, aber ab und zu überkommt mich eine dichtende Ader. Der folge ich dann und bringe es zu Papier, ich meine in den Rechner. Papier kommt erst, wenn ein Gedicht fertig ist, was bisweilen durchaus Jahre dauern kann. Ich habe es auch mal einem echten, lebenden Dichter zugeschickt, David Constantine, ein britischer Dichter, Germanist und Hölderlinexperte. Der meinte, ich solle ruhig weiterschreiben, das wäre durchaus versprechend, allerdings sollte ich nicht mehr versuchen, in Englisch zu schreiben, das sei bei mir nicht wirklich poetisch ausgereift (oder er konnte die Konkurrenz nicht ertragen ;-) ) . Ein paar Beispiele mag der geneigte Leser hier finden.

Kommentare sind durchaus erwünscht.

zu den Gedichten

Neu: Sonette: mini - Impossible - fifty-eight - Brown

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 your 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".

for Madeleine

When it's cold you're hard but smooth when warm
Quite long ago - overseas - you were hot indeed.
However, the Christian monks have made you sweet.
Now you can be found in bars and full of charm.

Not Many are alive who would actually dare
Resist you, it's futile ‘cause you have us hooked.
The greed you grow when looked
Upon does kill the courteous will to share.

The Aztecs spelled you with an "X".
Usually brown, you can be white or nuts, contain
Raisins, rum, wafers, mint, air, or different grains

Some even claim to prefer you to...Oh! next
Line ends the poem and I - so inconsiderate! -
Haven't said much about you, chocolate.

(Brown II)

Oh chocolate! should I compare you to some
Strange other thing, or should I caress your
Appearance and your taste with words for
Delight and pleasure? Well, I know you've come

Across the ocean from the strangest land
Which our forebears then have conquered and "tamed"
And nearly "freed" of natives and then renamed
With their christened pride. These deeds aren't grand

But shame. And still - you are the one who
Lets me gain a ring around the waist
Not that I approve of that too much

But I enjoy your presence as such
Until you're gone and then I think of waste
To eat so much more than I have to.

(Brown III)

Madeleine has dropped you for a cat called kitty
Who is certainly worthy of sonnet or song
And who's deeds can be told quite witty
But I for one think she was wrong.

You of all delights are there for male and female
As well for the happy as for the lonely
You are an incredible delight in taste in every
Form in which you are served. A cat's tale

Is nice, but you, my friend evoke endorphins
You make happy and you still our hunger.
You meet us everywhere and you tempt us

To be weak and to commit the sweetest sins.
You endure our moods so much longer
Than others - I offer you the highest praise there is!

(Brown IV)

When you melt in my mouth there is
Anticipation for the joy that follows next
Along with greed for more I do expect
The body's morphines to bring me bliss.

The major problem is: you come
So varied that I will never grow tired
Of you, for so long I have admired
You, when asked, I’d always have some.

You may be crunchy, then I'll bite you
You may be creamy, then I'll lick you
You may be many, then I'll pick you
You may be more, well, then I'll fight you!

The day after I look down on the scale
And all I do is shrug, be sad and exhale


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