woensdag 5 november 2014


She doubted the wisdom of
writing poems that blamed

what clearly didn't exist
but in the minds of neighbours

those she would greet on the way
to the shops not to get marked out

as a suspicious character
that wouldn't do the town any good.

Instead she would walk the hill
breathe the cool air of an early morning

greet the hares and wonder about
the shape of yonder mountain

where it was whispered gods once dwelt
before the invention of this phantom

that made one think in black and white
that caused her to dress in the colour of death

leaving no room for her dreams:
poems drenched in bitterness.

It just left her weary with memories
she wasn't supposed to have.

©Kees Klok

Thessaloniki, October 2009

Photo: Kees Klok