walking

shadowplay of branches drawing wild patterns on my skin.
I am blinking the horizon away.
heat is buzzing against my temples and sweat pearls are dripping down my back.
and endless drip, drip drip…

i can feel every step. every stone and grain, covering roadsides and unpaved walkways.
the air feels thick and burning, being pushed down my windpipe.
breath, breath, breath…

on and on. the landscape before me.
i am a little beating heart, surrounded by vibrant living beings.
Of skin, fur and feathers. bones as heavy as the ocean and light as the wind. floating by.

smells of earth, dirt and rain. Oh, the sweet smell of rain!
time is of no importance, only distance matters.

get up.

get up.
rusty marks on chest and bone. i want to leave this place.

get up.
my brain is working full time. stop.
hide. behind rosy cheeks. your blackened eyes and
mean spirited demeanour.

get up.
from ashes. burned woods and cooling embers.

get up.
raise your voice. scream and stumble trough the roughness of your throat.
now is not the time to find cover. no threshhold will let you pass.
no candles in windows to lead you to a silver lining.

get up.
on this maddening path. in search for change. for one is only still when dying.

Fragments 1

Figures of speech, running and chasing – to the uttermost bewilderment of man. Up on a hill and down, down to the ash-filled holes of earth and filth. I scramble my words, the scattered letters. Worn like a crown upon my heavy head.
The smart connections of daily conversations. On never stopping, gleaming screens. How do i yearn for the sound of sentences, brushing my ear. Numbness of intactions. Atrophie of humanity, how Huxley predicted it so many short years ago. I want the Beat- (nik) of familiar souls, simmering in this heart of mine.
Waitin, waiting till life starts trembling. Blood is streaming down my cheek from constant weeping. The smell of bound paper subsides to a dusted memory. Do you not crave the touch of skin on skin?

copyright (c) 2014 by franzad

Harvest.

The rearrangement of the senses.
In the transcendentalism of emerging thoughts.

Haying in the afternoons fading heat
i tend to wander away, around                         Waldens pond

the coolness of spent shadows
make words linger in my mind.

sweaty drops lumbering down my spine       and lower
ha…..searing mind, decendes through worked muscles
–   to yawning fingertips and toes.

pink and orange colored skies, in variations –
after the horizon with cricket songs
my spirits strive

copyright (c) 2014 by franzad
written for dVerse

I drowned a year ago

I drowned a year ago

On an average Wednesday afternoon

I felt it comming – the water arising

The pressure on my skin as ist almost bursting

 

I am dripping…slowly out of myself

Am flooded, doors wide open

I can taste the salt on my lips

Drops are wandering down my trachea

Oh so tempting is the thought of resisting the waters

 

Bursting against my walls and rooftop

Lamps, cutlery and curtains are moving gracefully in gravity

Time has stopped for a moment or two

Still – i drink water and loosing air simultaneously

 

copyright (c) 2013 by franziska dirnberger

Silence of words

There was a great silence in my head

It filed out all the creative spaces

Abandoned i felt – from words i hold most dear

Not able to  form even the smallest poetic sentence –

They drowned in daily chit chat

 

Wied awake i watched the willow in front of my window

Suddenly it felt like its leaves were touching me

Its tangled arms poked my heart

And i aroes to ethers spheres

 

copyright (c) 2013 by franziska dirnberger

My Memory in Graves

Flee, my child of painful mime

Tender assignments in sounds –

Of my voice withdrawn from time

Marching to the silent grounds

skulls bursting On cobblestone

the dead are raining upon me –

mourning dressed in black lace

stillness of earthly cadence

dried eyballs in my boney hand

i wipe your skin with soap

scythe cuts out the rotten sap

„To The Ground“ conducts the band

with agonized act in parture

stried to disused grounds in virture

copyright (c) 2012 by franziska dirnberger

FormForAll – Kyrielle prompt by Gay Cannon

written for dVerse.