See how we stand together, calmness rising,

lanterns carrying it to trees and eyes

grass breathing, stormclouds fading, and inaction

sweetens mood of the moment.


Cool music of the evening rings ascetic,

a skulking cat’s soft step, and flimsy prose

leaving our mouths sometimes, sparing and floating

smoothly endangers nought.


Brisk flow of understatements, thoughts unwhispered

emergent and insistent, peach and straw

of sun and sunrays, swimming past the vision

that colours us a smile.


Consent simmers like grass under your breath

ebullient as the crow in the morning who flees

pernicious battles, out of spite not fear, not

the high priests of compunction, prudently clad

in thick hides.


Tasted salt of the sea, salt of the earth,

glistening crystals turned to eyes that see and are seen,

allusions of dignified resistance heavy as lashes and wings

never spoil a contest (or is it conquest).

Assent is ascent. Ancient, acidic and steep. And sweet.

Like a pinprick with which winds tested my resolve,

when someone else was me. But no more

should you be ashamed of your vaingloriousness,

than I of kissing your neck, that flows like a balanced wine

in a rotund sacredness of glass.


Sighs are the coin now, no doubt.

Let us sigh the years to sleep.

I am extremely happy to be able to accept this award. I’d also like to nominate Seabell for next edition.

“Abandonment” was said.

I picked words from you as ripe

And bursting as cherries and

I also watched the beside-the-table

Where you used to take your seat and

Made a small cut in time

So the past could sap your

Presence. Meantime is where we

Dwelt. Moon-time is the air

We inhaled, that a balcony has formidably


A mutilated siren of your weeping

Precedes me to the hospital of loss.

This is where nurses have soothing names

And talk of gentle blood, giggling.

I sit, my far flung gaze like a limping dachshund

Confining its world to saccadic barking,

…I, Here, Now, I, Here, Now, Now, Now…!

The solipsism of intellect

Deprived of green trees, white brooks and yellow thunders,

Doorknobs, letters and steering wheels.

So I sat, “there” was the only signification

That world had not disappeared.

All because there was someone

And then there was no-one anymore.

“It is important

to stay sweet

and loving.”

Kay Ryan


Do not go.


Your incremental leaving

Is my tradition


Bright land of meadows and swamps

Stockades lunging out to sea; and away


Is a lighted corridor of words.

Arch of comprehension


Walls, immaculate syllogisms

Fleet-footed in rebellious whiskey


Clutching at inevitability

Poetised to luminescence.


Wrinkled voice of spinster mermaids

Mocking from the warm obelisks of waves


A surplus self, in avalanche of mood contagion

And persistent usability of things;


Shaped only if submitted to the tyranny of therefores

Incarnated in imperious implications


Tasked to rewrite regret as a flamed sensing

Of air that should have been you


Of smoked mackerel that no more

Shall be eaten


Of cupfuls of coffee

That now are twice


As many; of disrupted rigour

Of morning’s cyclical riddles


Of otherness that will

Again distance itself

4,000 miles away


I must go

And in my going stay

Sweet and loving

I think I’ll pick the one over there with

Handsome hair and a nice family, he’ll

Do, you, I see, prefer to make them

From scratch. That’s cool, too, but

Do bear in mind, the detail can

Be Overwhelming

In truth, it’s up to your personal preference

It doesn’t matter who – not so much, the looks

The character – it’s what you do And

Then this is really spectacular

I’ve wondered so long about how

They manage to get all those tiny

Details, what makes life


Into a bit of silica or whatever

That only knows two values




And life’s not like that

And yet it is

It’s built out of these

And so much more

That we

Cannot even say (daruber schweigen)

Not to mention

Put in a computer game

Or maybe that’s how we are And Therefore we can


No eternal soul imprisoned

In body

No res cogitans, that thinks and therefore is

But not, too, simple chemical activity in a lump of matter

A superstructure, rather, on electric base

This is more like it.

This is where the sense lies dormant

Until your language awakens it.


Yes, this is as close as it gets to illumination

Your mind is Bioshock

Or sometimes Need for Speed


Can you, in the pacing spectacle of moons and suns

In viral sequential madness of our brains

Discern what others, in less cynical idiom

Would call a pattern



Can we, adamant leaves in unreal clusters

Preposterous in our unfinished shame

Our glowing postures, sucked out in syringes

Sickness, plague of belittled reason

Absolve the sins that don’t stain

Berate churchbells for beating impotently into

Nothing and sky


And bleed the roads and seas one last time

To sabotage the sainthood

Silenced by sepulchers

With maladroit muttering of words

That never even gained the weight of meaning

But hanker

In the nightly sky where we in fact live.