neither here nor there - poetry from the heartland

Mermaids

noreply@blogger.com (daugther of lilith) — Mon, 14 Aug 2006 20:24:00 +0000

The Little Mermaid

I sang vaguely
To distant princes
Until I wanted legs
And became a dancer
Without a tongue
Now each step I take
Each waltz I make
Cuts my flesh deeply
My mute pain is invisible
Except for the rhinestones
Adorning my lashes
My sparkling eyes are
Called enticing
The soundless movement
Of my arms and hair
Reminds them of seaweed
Of the salty wetness I come from
Now they feel they have
Conquered me they sail my
Heart like a huge ocean
Pirates and conquistadors
That robbed me of my songs
I do not have a say in this at all
I cannot tell about lies and treason
I have to live with what they make of me
I am the silent dancer without a tongue
I bleed my way from there to here
My feet forever caught in shoes
Red as the warm blood that now
Constantly relentlessly
Runs out of my slashed veins

The Little Mermaid, Grown-up

I gave myself a second chance
Traded the legs for a tail
And got back my tongue
I returned to my lonely rock
My lower half fish scaled and
Comfortably numb
I sing for myself now
On nights of a full moon
I still allow myself to be a woman
Hidden from the eyes of the predators
I do my dancing behind closed doors
It is safer saner more sanitary that way

all poems copyright ulrike gerbig August 2006

Well-Provided

noreply@blogger.com (daugther of lilith) — Sun, 06 Aug 2006 12:39:00 +0000

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Living with less

Than the bond of dreams
The share of promises
The mortgage of hopes
The IOU of love
Frees the mind of credit and debit
Makes room in heart’s pockets
For the benefits from life’s unexpected enterprises

New deal

Today
Costs me nothing
No penny
No farthing
No cent
Only time
The currency in my heart
The coinage my mouth phrases
Our stock-exchanged thoughts
Close on a high
Today
I am
A successful Entrepreneur

Sitting Pretty

Your legacy
Left me well-provided
On this rare smile I can
Still feast for hours I still
Drink in your words the memory
Of your touch still ties me over freezing nights
Carefree I live on the leftovers of one single meal of love

all poems © Ulrike Gerbig, 2006

Weather Report

noreply@blogger.com (daugther of lilith) — Sat, 05 Aug 2006 08:52:00 +0000

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Thunderstorm

A jaundiced sky
Ready to puke
Rubbish performs
A frenzied dance
A careless wind makes
Doors meow like love-sick cats lets
Gates on hinges voice a rusty bark
The river exhales a tire sigh
All sadness tries to find the sea
The world lies low
A frightened creature waiting
For the one fatal bite
What lives seeks shelter
From the crackling atmosphere
Sheer forces splits the longing sky in two
Send sparks of heaven down to earth
A hungry thunder coughs revenge
On all that crawls
Rain washes streets of all past sins
A sky then is embroidered
With a rim of stars
The night as clear as
Windows cleaned
The final thunder is as small
As a young boy moving his chair

Atmospheric Disturbance

The moment it hit me
The weather broke
A bright flash or awareness
Split me right down the middle
What was left broke with a thunderous clap
I drowned in a flood of unspoken words
My remains washed in the gutter
I simply disappeared

© Ulrike Gerbig, 2006

The magic we sometimes create

noreply@blogger.com (daugther of lilith) — Fri, 04 Aug 2006 13:51:00 +0000

http://people.lulu.com/users/index.php?fHomepage=282976

Some days ago I had an inspiration...some call it a vision...maybe it was just an idea:
I thought that I would like to create a blog for female artists, for talented women, a place where they could post their poems, their stories, their thoughts, their photos, paintings...whatever...

The urge to create that was so strong, that I just started...I set up the necessary stuff at Blogspot, wrote to all the talented women I knew and waited what would happen...

...and the whole thing took of like a rocket:

Lilith's Blog (http://daugthersoflilith.blogspot.com/) has been up and running now for 3 days...

It is a magic place where magic things happen, created by magic people...
I am just the founder, I was just the vessel for the creative input, kissed by some kind of muse (certainly female)...I just made real what seems to have been a dream for many of us.

Go and check and take part in the magic!

Peter Pan

noreply@blogger.com (daugther of lilith) — Wed, 02 Aug 2006 12:40:00 +0000

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The story of Peter Pan has always fascinated me. Not being American I got to know it through the book, not the film, and thus the images in my head never have been Walt Disney but always my own.

Like maybe many other women, Peter, with his charm and his love of adventures, has influenced my life and maybe my choices in men.
Which female could help but love this boy who never grew up, who never became a male, tired from work and the burdens of life?

It takes a while until a female realizes the prize she has to pay for loving Peter.
He flies away whenever he wants, returns when he thinks fit and in the meantime forgets everything and everyone who ever mattered in his life.

He is a charmer and a thief of hearts: Wendy, Tinkerbell and Tiger Lily cannot but fall for him...and especially Tinkerbell pays a tough prize for her fierce loyalty to this big boy.

Wendy, in the end, seems to be the most successful in the fight over Peter's heart, but then, lately, I came to realize that I would not want to have Wendy's place: she spents the rest of her days waiting for Peter to return, for him to remember, for him to grow up.

I'd rather be Tinkerbell and love fiercly and loyally and lose some of my life over that instead of growing old next to somebody who is there but then is not.

Black coat

It hides
A boy’s soul,
Desperate
For shelter
From a world
In which
Dreams
Must be build
In secret places
Lest they’d be
Crushed by
Inconsiderate feet.
A world
In which one has
To run real fast
To dodge the
Poisonous snake,
The deadly scorpion.
A world that asks
Rough Manliness of
The soft dreamer,
Turns him into
Peter Pan,
Armoured by
Drugs and drink ,
Flying high
Above the rest,
Daring God, Fate,
Love, Life
And Death
To proof him
The right to his
Otherness,
His own individual
Bleeding heart.
He wears it still
On the sleeve of his coat
Well-hidden
A black Chameleon
Shedding ebony tears
Of loss, pain and desperation.

The day Peter Pan married Wendy

He promised that secret adventures would be over
That he would stay grounded that he would spend
Nights in bed beside her that he would keep
The window closed that he would never again
Follow the chimera’s luring cries that he would
Clip his fidgety wings that he would settle down
That he would grow a beard and a belly hiding
His longing he welcomed the responsibility he
Volunteered for this chain for this cork sealing
The bottle in which an alien genie hid from himself

Tinkerbell

Bow your heads to
This iron will
These fragile wings
This tinkling voice

For she will lead
You out of ins and outs
That lead no way

Like Peter Pan
You will be lost
Without her magic wand

Without her pixie dust
You cannot fly

Without her loyalty
It will be you who dies
For you will lose your shadow

And your soul

Will wander endlessly
In Neverland

You will forgive her
Jealousy and rage
For in her tiny body
Only one feeling at a time
Has room to breath

Don’t scorn her and her
Wild ferocious heart
She’ll die for you
While you still try
To grow from boy to man

Tinkerbell’s Death

Don’t mourn her
Fairies don’t live long
A short time seems
A good sufficient while

See Peter!

He already has forgotten her
In everlasting childhood
Real death and tears do
Spoil the fun the sweetness
Of the Darling’s home
Will not be soiled by gratitude
For self-evident affection

The Tinkerbell effect

As long as one believes
As long as just one single
Mind one single heart one
Unspoiled soul still calls her name
She is not dead she is just
Waiting in the wings
If all is quiet you can hear
Her catch her breath her body
Ready to erupt and shake the worldWith her brazen ballsy beautiful laugh

Relevance

noreply@blogger.com (daugther of lilith) — Wed, 02 Aug 2006 12:24:00 +0000

http://people.lulu.com/users/index.php?fHomepage=282976

I have been away a while...I have found myself speechless after some human actions beyond my understanding...and again, once more in my life, I took time out to reflect on the relevance of words:
their meanings, their power to hurt and to heal, their absence, their changeability...

When thinking about the relevance of words I always come to the point where I reflect upon the relevance of writing, of poems, mine and others...times like these always render me unable to write for some time...until my soul recouvers again and my eyes wake up to the beauty and wonders of life and people and then a dam breaks and the words come back and flood me and all paper around me....

Things unsaid

Hide in single spaces
Between words and phrases
In pauses and blanks
They are the muted poems
In your head in your heart in your cock
It is there that you remember best

Icarus, female

I came too close to something
I could not fully grasp
With singed wings I toppled
From skies that looked full of promise
I must have missed the point when blue turned black
Now my scorched heart reminds me every day
That it is presumptuous to kiss the sun

Disposable

Be: Hungry, thirsty, horny
Want: food, drink, woman
See: package, can, body
Get: burger, pepsi, person
Use: hand, mouth, cock
Do: eat, drink, fuck
Dispose: faeces, piss, me

Information at the emergency ward

They told her he’d lost it
What exactly he’d lost
They could not say
For what it was
He had already safely
Locked inside himself
His throat blocked
By the indigestible key
He would never reveal
What brought him here

Spit it out!

You have been gnawing
This same old bone
For much too long

Spit it out!

Then go and bury it
Beneath the rose bushes
May its decay beget
Some unsung songs
Some new still undreamed dreams

copyright of all poems, ulrike gerbig

Ciderella

noreply@blogger.com (daugther of lilith) — Thu, 01 Jun 2006 14:27:00 +0000

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Fairy tales have always fascinated me...their strong symbolism, their deep conncetion to the subconscious...how can one NOT use them for poems...

When I was a small girl I had a nightdress: babyblue with frills and long sleeves. This nightdress appealed to my girlish side and not matter how much of a tomboy I was (climibing tress in torn jeans), this nightdress made me dream of princes coming to take me away. For months I went to bed in this nightdress, with combed hair and a washed face, and lay in bed trying to be "beautiful": I tried to lie very still, my hair fanned out on the pillow and I was certain that one night a beautiful prince would come and kiss me awake....

This prince never came, but I kissed many frogs....(the nightdresses I have worn or not worn never made a difference...)

Cinderella 2003

Not only kitchen maid
But sales accountant, secretary, manager
She slaves away her weeks

In Neon lit dungeons
In front of fluorescent screens
Not counting peas
But increasing the treasures of invisible kings

The two stepsisters
Have many names and faces now
They changed their sex
But not their vanity

The good fairy
Is now called
Helena Rubinstein
Or Elizabeth Arden
And can be met at Boot’s
Selling magic ointments
Promising
Eternal youth.

From tough wonder woman
Fighting life’s every day battles
Without a magic wand,
By magic spells
Cinderella turns into
A soft and purring, sexy creature
Hiding her strength
Lest kings and princes
Turn away in horror
By the truth.

But, be careful
The spell still only
Last till midnight.
Then pumpkin coaches
Turn into early subway trains
And glass shoes into
Sensible but still attractive
Footwear for work
The ball gowns
Into business suits
Because no matter
How strong the spell
The alarm goes off
At 5.30.

Cinderella, barefoot

Grown-up,
She came to see
That glass shoes never fit
That bloody feet leave ugly stains
That princes are just one-night-stands
That blood-red nights end monochrome
That its for her to wipe the floor,
To wash the sheets, to clean the mess.

Punishment

I dance an unshod dance
On shards of something
Once whole and pretty
Shattered it cuts my hapless skin
Stains my bleak house with
Black-red blots of coagulated dreams
Fills it with wails and screams
Of a pierced and bleeding heart

Cinderella’s Funeral

She might have thought
There would be
A glass coffin and rose
Petals on the way and
Beautiful tears from beautiful
Eyes in beautiful faces
And deep sighs and moans
Of love and loss and shiny
Locks pulled out in desperation
And confessions of misconception
And regret and on the stone the words

“There Never Will Be Anyone Like HER”

But on that day an unspectacular rain did fall
All of them were busy elsewhere
Already perfecting their amnesia
She stood there alone looking down into the consoling hole,
Knew she would not expect visitors anymore
Would not wait any longer for the redeeming kiss
And realized that even this last event was to
Be planned, organized and paid for by herself.

Not Cinderella

I am not
What you think
I am.
I am not
What you dream of.

I might well be
Your worst
nightmare.

I will not wait for you
To find the right
shoe,
Cause I will be
On the way
To somewhere.
I will not wait for you
To kiss me back to
life,
Cause I will be
Out there
Howling to the wind.
I will not let
My hair down
for you,
Cause it suits me
short.

Get your fairytales right, boy,
Frog King turned
Into his better self
When she threw him
At a wall.

Frog-Prince

A frog is just a frog
It’s not a prince
A wall is just a wall
It is not a door
A dead frog is just a dead frog
It leaves a stain
A stain is just a stain
Some mess to clean
A dead frog is the essence of
The stain
The stain is the reminder of the truth
The truth is just the truth
It is not a wish
A wish is just a wish
For a prince
A prince is just a dream
A kiss is just a kiss
A dream is just a dream
It does not hold
A fairy tale is a fairy-tale
It is just told

all poems copyright by ulrike gerbig, 2006

Weather

noreply@blogger.com (daugther of lilith) — Thu, 01 Jun 2006 14:04:00 +0000

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The storms that pass through our lives and ourselves sometimes shake our foundations and turn our hearts into fragile kites blown about like brittle leaves and our minds into windswept huts with rattling shutters and banging doors.

Feelings pour down like rain and flood our insides. With water up to our chins we try to survive by building shelters and islands...of words...we swim for our lives and reach them out of breath and sometimes chilled to the bone.

Waterlogged

Slippery tides
Swamp me
Moonstruck
I observe
The waxing
The waning
The desires
The surge
The longing
The undertow
The dreams
The salty liquids
The floods
My oceanic heart

Premonition

A jaundiced sky
Ready to puke
Rubbish performs
A frenzied dance
A careless wind makes
Doors meow like love-sick cats lets
Gates on hinges voice a rusty bark
The river exhales a tire sigh
All sadness tries to find the sea
The world lies low
A frightened creature waiting
For the one fatal bite
What lives seeks shelter
From the crackling atmosphere
Sheer forces splits the longing sky in two
Send sparks of heaven down to earth
A hungry thunder coughs revenge
On all that crawls
Rain washes streets of all past sins
A sky then is embroidered
With a rim of stars
The night as clear as
Windows cleaned
The final thunder is as small
As a young boy moving his chair

The Laws of Nature

What has
Never been
Creates
A strong cyclone
Between them
A storm about
to break loose

Across a
Touchless void
They howl
Their hunger
To the wind

In cold heat
Weak and wet
They dodge
The tempest

The wind
Sentinel of
Desperate words
Adopts the passion

Sighs
Screams
Moans
Shake houses
Bend trees
In lonely shelters
Ears are dead deaf
to the wind
To each other

Like weather

I came over you like weather

golden sunshine
warms your cold bones
lights up your face

fresh winds
steer up emotions
long thought lost

soft rain
waters the barren fields
makes seedlings grow

thunder and hail
make you retreat
into the safety of your cave
where you simply shake
my love from your fur
like a wet dog

Chilled
nothing moves
heartbeat down
close to standstill
frostbitten soul
in hibernation
or close to
dying of exposure

all poems copyright of ulrike gerbig, 2006

Near and far-travels inside and outside of me

noreply@blogger.com (daugther of lilith) — Thu, 11 May 2006 15:32:00 +0000

http://www.mylifeoftravel.com/Ulrike.home

Thoughts

noreply@blogger.com (daugther of lilith) — Thu, 11 May 2006 15:10:00 +0000

http://people.lulu.com/users/index.php?fHomepage=282976

I haven't posted anything in a long time...I know!
Some people have been complaining about that, which means I actually must have some readers ;-)))

Anyway, I was away: first for real..in Ireland and then away in my head and in my heart, looking for explanations I still haven't found yet...for reasons I did not find, but, as usual, I found rhyme or rhythm or verse or words....so I guess that is what I will share with whoever cares to read...

P.S.: I guess all this is about love, still...

Still

I wake with you on my mind
every day
why that is is beyond
my comprehenssion
I guess matters of
the heart cannot be solved
by the grey matter
in my skull

Outside the limits

I really wanted to go there.
Do you remember how I
Said drive, don’t stop!
I want to see what is
Outside the limits,
What lies behind what we
Can actually see from where
We already are, I wanted to
Explore it all, I wanted each
Pixel to burn my retina, to scar it with memories.
Every single bit of sky seemed to call
On me not to stop, the clouds in
your eyes did the same, they asked me
If I was brave enough, if I was serious,
If I would dare to stay and roam beyond the
Limits of your city, of your mind, of your heart.

Tulsa Airport, Real Time

“I like your hair” he said
As if I had just come back
From the beautician on
Any given Saturday as if
I had just dumped the shopping
As if I had just shouted “baby, I am home”
He told me about how the dog
Had eaten the sugar and about
The mess on the carpet and the weather
Little things, you know, things that matter
We hugged and went outside for a smoke
Stood there as if we were meant to be as if we
Had a past a present and a future

Icarus, female

I came too close to something
I could not fully grasp
With singed wings I toppled
From skies that looked full of promise
I must have missed the point when blue turned black
Now my scorched heart reminds me every day
That it is presumptuous to kiss the sun

copyright all poems ulrike gerbig 2006

neither here nor there - poetry from the heartland: on silence

noreply@blogger.com (daugther of lilith) — Wed, 26 Apr 2006 15:35:00 +0000

http://www.splint.org.uk/

on silence

noreply@blogger.com (daugther of lilith) — Wed, 26 Apr 2006 06:27:00 +0000

http://people.lulu.com/users/index.php?fHomepage=282976

sometimes even poets have no words....sometimes even the most eloquent fall silent...sometimes the words we have in our hearts are not sufficient...they will not do in expressing what happens to us...right then, at this very moment...sometimes our words are mared by anger, they burn inside....poisonous bile, that would corrode everything it hits...then we best remain silent too...sometimes our sadness, our pain, our happiness or our love are too big for any poem...sometimes life surprises us, rolls over us and leaves us drenched in shock and wonder ... even the most beautiful gifts can throw us off balance...make us mute...

i then wait the emotional storm out...eventually the right words will find their way out of me and onto paper....

Things unsaid

Hide in single spaces
Between words and phrases
In pauses and blanks
They are the muted poems
In your head in your heart in your cock
It is there that you remember best

No Poems

Are no answer
Are no insight
Are no feelings
Are being alone
Are being denied
Are being forgotten
Are being cast out of Eden
Are being thrown into a dark void
Without a guiding planet without
A sun without any single star without
Warmth without light without hope without life

beyond words

we write messages
single-sentenced
double-spaced
electronically transmitted
muteness
our true self hides shyly
in the starkwhiteness
between the
hapless lonely words

Speaking in tongues

I wish I could do it
It then would just
Flow out of me
A passionate torrent
Of uncensored self
A tsunami of truth
Anger fear love longing
Devastating
Undeniable
Unbridled
Tactless
Carefree
Shedding
The wise or the virtuous

There is no time
For the little girl act
For fairy tales
For Pollyanna

Life is too short!

This calls for the mad angel of verse
Walking barefoot through the fire
Unmasking the worldIn a frenzied dance of
Brazen rhyme and barefaced rhythm

all poems copyright ulrike gerbig, 2006

Men

noreply@blogger.com (daugther of lilith) — Wed, 08 Mar 2006 13:28:00 +0000

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I love them, although I really do not always understand them...still, they are my necessary opposite, my complementation, the missing other half...in being with them and sometimes away from them, I fully, truely, am a woman...
I owe them a lot, because even through the emotional pain they sometimes inflict, they teach me something about humanity and life....

Bears

In my warm cave
They lie
Huddled under blankets
Gentle animals
In deep sleep

So soft and fragile
Even though
The sounds they make
And how they smell
Remind me of
Bears

And bearlike
Did they devour
The honey
From my deep hollows

With gentle claws
They dove deep into
My silky currents
Catching lust’s silvery fish

They nuzzled my soft hills
And tasted the sweetness
Of my brown berries

Their sated grunts
A hum, a call
Reminding me of the
Wilderness they come from

And bearlike
Do they rest
Regaining strength
To go out haunting
In the morning.

Balls

Some men
Just have them
They don’t need
To brag about
Their size
Scratch them
To assure
Their existence
Or spray the
World with
Testosterone
Like a horny
Alley cat
They know
The art of
Refined
Rutting calls
And stay
Away from
Stag fights
To draw a
Doe’s
Attention.
Attraction
Can lie
In gentle
Mating
For females
Who are
Wise enough
Not to
Choose a
Consort by
The penetrance
Of a roar
The potency
Of a smell or
The size of
The horns

15

He is 15
An unwanted question
To himself
He feels and speaks
In exclamation marks
In comic book phrases
Soars up and down
On his own hormonal
Helter-skelter
He judges harshly
And cries silently
Joyrider feelings
Shiny new roadsters
Carry him
To foreign destinations
He sometimes drives to fast
And breaks suddenly
His new voice
Still unfamiliar
To his ears
Already masques
The child in him
Soon he will take
The pen
Into his own hands
To write
The book
That is his life.

Young man on the balcony, hanging up laundry

He scratches

His naked chest,

Bear-yawns,

And uses

Today’s sun

To bleach out

Yesterday’s stains

From last night’s laundry.

all poems copyright by ulrike gerbig, 2006

On Writing

noreply@blogger.com (daugther of lilith) — Wed, 22 Feb 2006 13:29:00 +0000

http://people.lulu.com/users/index.php?fHomepage=282976

it is something i cannot help...it comes over me at the oddest moments and in the oddest places...while cleaning, when watching tv, while cooking, under the shower, in bed, in the tub, in my dreams...
when kissed by my fierce muse there is no other way but to find some paper and get going....

Saturday Night at the Poet's House

Right in front
Of the TV
While Watching
Soccer
With my son,
Like most
Saturdays,
The muses
Kick the door down,
Rush in,
Kiss me brutally,
Then disappear.
Later
Jittery black
Signs
On white paper
Are the only
Reliable
Proof
Of their
Fierce
Intrusion.

Wild Life

It is one of these days when verses
Hunt me down like lions
Images silently slide
Through the high grass of
My subconscious like snakes
My poetic mind flies over the
Savannah of the day
An antelope free proud
Denying all bonds ties or
Domestication

You left me something

A bed in County Clare…

You fed me your words,

You penetrated my brain,

You inseminated me

With your inspiration.

Later that night

A poet was born,

Your illegitimate child,

On rumpled sheets

That smelled

Of you and me.

all poems copyright ulrike gerbig, 2006

beauty and beast

noreply@blogger.com (daugther of lilith) — Tue, 21 Feb 2006 11:15:00 +0000

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i am most certainly both..."beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder" (also in my own)...lately, my idea of beauty adapts to what is possible, to what is real, to what i really am...and not so much any more to what others want me to be....

The Mirror

Every morning
I meet a woman
In the bathroom mirror.

Though finely wrinkled
I still know her as the girl
Whose wild and brazen laughter
Called to the hunter’s heart of boys,
Made them follow her to the
Thick undergrowth of pubescent passion plays.

Her eyes can still cast spells,
Turn males into grunting pigs,
Routing for magic mushrooms
In her deep dark crevices.

Yet lately there is someone else
Standing right behind her,
A woman I don’t know yet.

Her withered face,
A transparent masque,
Turns the well-known face
Into a persona non grata.

We both are scared,
The mirror-girl and I.
We try to ward her off
With magic potions.

Yet we both know
There is no way round
Getting acquainted.

Not Cinderella

I am not
What you think
I am.
I am not
What you dream of.

I might well be
Your worst
nightmare.

I will not wait for you
To find the right
shoe,
Cause I will be
On the way
To somewhere.
I will not wait for you
To kiss me back to
life,
Cause I will be
Out there
Howling to the wind.
I will not let
My hair down
for you,
Cause it suits me
short.

Get your fairytales right, boy,
Frog King turned
Into his better self
When she threw him
At a wall.

Hag Days

Snake-haired
Medusa-eyed
I bare my fangs
With glacial stares
I petrify whoever
Breaks into my realm
And rip apart who
Dares to break
The lavish spell
Around my heart

all poems copyright of ulrike gerbig 2006

Eloquent Silence

noreply@blogger.com (daugther of lilith) — Mon, 20 Feb 2006 09:07:00 +0000

http://people.lulu.com/users/index.php?fHomepage=282976

sometimes even a poet is dumb...unable to express the pain caused by life's accidents...unable to put the desoltaion of the heart in rhymes or stanzas...emotions then take on a life of their own...they grow in the dark and later show themselves on paper...eventually it all comes out...

What's left to say

This year deserves a poem

But words fail me

White oblivion wraps

And seals Pandora’s box

Outside frozen softness

Blurs sharp angles

And covers dirt

What remains

There are stamps
For letters
I will never write

There are texts
For cards
I will never send

There are clothes
For bags
I will never pack

There is time
For calls
I will never make

There’s petrol
For trips
I will never start

There is food
For thought
I will never cook

There is warmth
For love
I will never give

There are words
For poems
I will never speak

Strange

I cannot write with cold hands
But I can write with cold feet
I cannot write with eyes closed
But I can write with eyes wet
I cannot write with an empty head
But I can write with my hands full
I cannot write with a hollow soul
But I can write with a growling stomach
I cannot write with an empty heart
But I can write with a barren cunt

Nourishment

noreply@blogger.com (daugther of lilith) — Sat, 18 Feb 2006 16:53:00 +0000

http://people.lulu.com/users/index.php?fHomepage=282976

As a passionate cook I have always been fascinated by food and its methaphorical meaning...I don't not only express myself in words...sometimes all my love lies in the meal I serve....

onion heart

my heart is an onion
layer for layer
it reveals itself
under the scrutinizing knife
of my mind’s eye
it makes me cry sometimes
yet I know
that in its very centre
lies the sweetest softest core
that will give ultimate
spice to
my life’s menu.

Onion, part 2

I am an onion
brown skin outside
somewhat brittle to the touch
a shield
protects
soft white flesh

peel my skin
to find
translucent layers
wrapped closer and closer
around the softest core
full of milk- white juices

cut deep
and they start running
weeping my very essence
ready for you
to lap them up
and taste the stinging sweetness of my soul

Yeast

A word, a smile
A taste, a smell
Enter
My ears, my eyes
My mouth, my nose
Settle in
My gut, my brain
My heart, my soul

Safe and warm
They ferment
Past encounters
To a rich
Organic dough

Baked
As nourishing
As satisfying
As substantial
As a slice of
Fresh, warm
Bread.

An ode to cooking

These days
I put my love
In cooking
I peal a carrot
With gentle hands
Let its colour
Caress my eyes
I daringly touch
Touch meat
Amazed by its
Juicy redness
I melt butter
Down to a
Nurturing
Golden well
Add chopped
Spiciness
Some herbal
Magic and
Sacred wine
Passionate steams
Rise from the
pots
I breath in
Life in
Hot damp gasps
And warm myself
On stove and pans
Only the onions
Let me down:
They make me cry
involuntary tears
Of loss and
Misconception

Reflections

noreply@blogger.com (daugther of lilith) — Fri, 17 Feb 2006 17:15:00 +0000

http://people.lulu.com/users/index.php?fHomepage=282976

...when writing, I try to be myself completely...but sometimes when writing I find something of me I have not known before.....

Outside looking In

There is not much to see
Just a desk and a woman
Pens and paper
No aim no purpose
Just stillness
The mute attempt
To make some sense

Inside looking Out

The world spins around its axes
24 hours 365 days
The sun rises and sets
The leaves turn
We seem to have a purpose
We spin around our navels
We look up our own assholes
Wondering why we are blind

Sitting myself

I sit here
I am bare
I sit here
I am unmade up
I am bare
I sit here
I am bare
I sit here
I am naked
I sit here
I am not hiding
I sit here
I am bare
I am unprotected
I sit here
I am anyone’s prey
I sit here
I open up
I sit here
I am honest
I am naked
I am prey
I am proud
I am what
I am meant to be
I write
I am myself

copyright all poems ulrike gerbig 2006

24 Hours

noreply@blogger.com (daugther of lilith) — Mon, 13 Feb 2006 16:16:00 +0000

Dawn

Dawn battles blackness
Vanquishes death
With the light blue kiss of hope

Sunrise

A freshly showered day
Dons a crisp shirt of light azure
Makes up its face with
Orange yellow red
Wakes us to life
With a new morning’s mint fresh kiss

Noon

Half-time
Harsh light
Turns colour into
Brilliant white
So much already done
So much to do
Nowhere to hide
From the fierce sun
Which pushes us
To greater deeds
Our eyes slit-shut
We try to grasp
The sense and meaning
Of this day

Sunset

The fire of this day
Touches the skies
With flaming lips
It burns
A passionate lover close to death
A desperate lust before
The chill embrace of vapid night

Dusk

It wraps itself
In purple haze
In smoky grey
With quiet gaze
It undisturbed takes stock
Of this day’s harvest

Night

Its velvet black
Leaves room
For peace.
In its soft folds
We rest and dream,
Children not delivered, not yet born,
Absolved of purpose, duty and of scorn.

all poems copyright of ulrike gerbig, 2006

Zen

noreply@blogger.com (daugther of lilith) — Fri, 10 Feb 2006 18:31:00 +0000

I long for stillness often...often I wish I was like an undisturbed lake...something patient enough to just be....

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Zen

Watch the dust
First dance then settle
So incredibly meaningful
In its unimportance
It is beautiful
As is the moment
The only unbroken promise
The only true reason for
Being alive

Zen 2

Stop
Acting
Resign aim
Goal Purpose
Just breath be the moment
Float in infinity live life to the max

Zen 3

Watch snowflakes fall
Perishable repetitive uniqueness
They melt in possessive hands
Like moments we dream to be eternal

Zen 4

There is no path
Just the way we make
As we blindly stumble
From place to place
If we open our eyes
We might be granted
Some perspective
The only valuable lesson

Zen 5

Welcome frost
Life craves death
Before the resurrection
Of beauty

Zen 6

Sealed in amber
The rotting fly becomes
Eternal beauty

This is not a fairy tale...

noreply@blogger.com (daugther of lilith) — Thu, 09 Feb 2006 10:11:00 +0000

...and neither is it a dream.
Yet in the images of fairy tales some deep truth is hidden, some key to the dark vaults of our subconscious.

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Cinderella 2003

Not only kitchen maid
But sales accountant, secretary, manager
She slaves away her weeks
In Neon lit dungeons
In front of fluorescent screens
Not counting peas
But increasing the treasures of invisible kings
The two stepsisters
Have many names and faces now
They changed their sex
But not their vanity
The good fairy
Is now calledHelena Rubinstein
Or Elizabeth Arden
And can be met at Boot’s
Selling magic ointments
Promising eternal youth.
From tough wonder woman
Fighting life’s every day battles
Without a magic wand, By magic spells
Cinderella turns into
A soft and purring, sexy creature
Hides her strength
Lest kings and princes
Turn away in horror
By the truth.

Frog-Prince

A frog is just a frog
It’s not a prince
A wall is just a wall
It is not a door
A dead frog
Is just a dead frog
It leaves a stain
A stain is just a stain
Some mess to clean
A dead frog is the essence of
The stain
The stain is the reminder of
The truth
The truth is just the truth
It is not a wish
A wish
Is just a wish
For a prince
A prince is just
A dream
A kiss is just
A kiss
A dream is just a dream
It does not hold
A fairy tale is a fairy-tale
It is just told

Scheherazade

…saved her life
With lips and tongue…

A 1001 nights of aural fellatio
Administered to
Shah Ryar’s ears.
If I, likeScheherazade,
With my lips
And tongue
Aimed
The ultimate
Kiss of pleasure
Just at your mind,
Would you Listen for1001 nights
And spareMy life?

Music

noreply@blogger.com (daugther of lilith) — Wed, 08 Feb 2006 05:44:00 +0000

For me, there is no life without it....
Beats and bass move my guts, make me dance and cry, make me think and write...make me feel alive like a deep sensous kiss.

A Mod’s dream

Tight jeans and
Zoot suits
Pencil streak narrow ties
The care for one’s hair
A must the cheap comb
In a pocket and
Sunglasses always sunglasses
Pinups and pinball
Blues, yes, blues
Quaaludes Uppers Downers
Washed down
With lager
Nights without sleep
Clubs and pubs
And girls always girls
the Who the Kinks the Yardbirds
A revolution in
Music an escape from
Suffocation
In homes where
Even the staircase
Is too narrow for
Spreading wings
Shiny new scooters
Streaming proud foxtails
Bar fights beach fights
Brighton on the weekend
Smashing up burghers and
Rockers and the dream of
A life in a semi-detached box

A vain attempt at the blues

Come and
Make love
To me, baby,
All night long.
Make me sing
Your song, baby
And sing along.
Make me scream
‘n sigh, baby
And make
Me cry.
Make me howl.
Make me growl,
Then make me come.
Make love to me,
Baby, all night long.

sound waves

faster than the
speed of light
your sound waves hit
this instrument
make it hum
and sing its song
long before
your bow touched
its strings

The blues
For Babs

Write it down,
Scream it out,
Baby,
As if it was the blues

Write it down,
Shout it out loud,
Baby,
As if it was the blues

You’ve gotta voice
Your feelings
Cause you are alone
In your shoes

Cry hot
and hard,
Baby,
As if it was the blues

Don’t shut
This door,
Baby
Because it is the blues

Make your hoarse
Voice heard
Baby,
Cause you’ve got nothing to lose

You loved and
You lost,
Baby,
It really is the blues

You’ve been
Feared and adored,
Baby,
That really is the blues

You are walking
Alone,
Baby,
On the road that you choose

And all that
You have now,
Baby,
Is that feeling for the blues.

all poems copyright ulrike gerbig 2006

Of Witches and Goddesses

noreply@blogger.com (daugther of lilith) — Tue, 07 Feb 2006 14:10:00 +0000

The female principle has enormous powers...its sensuality is magic and enticing, it lures and leads astray, it hurts and heals, it creates and destroys...

A Samhain Prayer

In the light of
a dying Samhain moon
I call on my sisters
Medusa and Lillith
Penthesilea, Queen of the Amazons,
Cassandra and Jezebel
Circe and Kali,
The evil queen,
The smouldering stepmother,
The mad 13th fairy.
Make me one of
Your tribe!
Initiate me into
Your dark secrets.
Protect me!
Send me strength!
Make me stop this
Disgraceful dance,
This worship of the Golden calf,
This licking of boots,
This adoration for a
False male God.
Give me a deer’s strength,
A bear’s equanimity,
An eagle’s liberty,
A wolf’s loneliness.
Transform my pigeon heart.
Grant me fierce spirit and angry scorn.
Turn me into an
Independent warrior
Proudly asking for nothing
Hoping for even less

Call me Lillith

I cannot help it but
I am Lillith, men’s worst
Case of be careful what you
Wish for, the one who
Speaks her mind with
An agile tongue,
Breaks boundaries
With knowing hands,
Brazenly invades sleep,
Stains sheets with the
Pearly liquid of secret dreams,
Questions the independence
Of sacred virility
With the fearful longing caused
By her audacious kiss.

Cassandra

Apollo’s gift
Attempted bribe
Then punishment
For theRefusal of a lover
Cursed
People don’t believe
The words she
Cannot help but speak
So often scorned
For this harsh service
To the gods
She’s promised love
As payment for this
Torturous gift
By weak and potent
Men alike
Who want to use
Her powerful sight
For their own means
She stands alone
In dark despair
Doomed to the
Utterance of
Atrocious verities
Anticipation of
Her brutal death
The biggest burden
Of them all

Circe

Scared of the night, Circe?

Uncontrollable visions
Of blood-drenched walls
Haunt you?

Is it the fear
Of your own
Power
Turning
against you?

Or desperation?

You know that
Binding men
By spells
Is very
Empowering,
But magic words
And potions
Do not help
Against an inbred
Porcine nature

Will you ever
Be happy
Loving a swine?

Death is a woman

In the face without masks
Death is a woman
In the moment you know yourself
Death is a woman
At the end of all questions
Death is a woman
As the well of all answers
Death is a woman
At the end of all regrets
Death is a woman
In the liberation through tears
Death is a woman
As the relief from battle
Death is a woman
In the loving embrace
Death is a woman
As the end of all pain
Death is a woman
As the return to the source
Death is a woman
In the dreamless sleep
Death is a woman
In the endless peace
Death is a woman

Asleep in the arms of Kali

Take me in your arms
Ferocious one
Goddess of ultimate
Blackness
Absorb me and
All colours
Dissolve all images
Of what is and was
Cradle me in
Your all-embracing arms
Love me all back
To my source
Help me transcend
My pain

White witch wishes

If I could break the
Spell the 13th fairy
Laid around your heart
If I could kiss the magic
Sleep away which has you
In its claws if I could cut
The thorn hedge round your soul
No evil spell would stop me
I gladly would bestow the
Kiss of live on your pale lips
Would bath your worried brow
In sorcerous tears
Would tap the warm blood
Of my heart to
Disenchant you and
Bring you back to life

Word witch

Waves her
Weary wand
Casts spells
On hearts
And minds
Conjures up
Some shy
Smiles, some
Cautious love
Some lasting suns
On this planet
Spinning on
The edge of
Darkness and
Destruction

Travelling...

noreply@blogger.com (daugther of lilith) — Tue, 07 Feb 2006 05:33:00 +0000

...is moving, is the opposite of standstill, is life.
Sometimes we pack our bags and go there in person, sometimes it is only our mind that leaves "here" and goes "there"....

more journeys into the mind of the poet:
http://people.lulu.com/users/index.php?fHomepage=282976

Travelling at 44

There is no
other way
but to just go
without
parachutes,
safety belts,
travel cancellation insurance
or second thoughts,
for that matter,
because if
one thinks twice,
one remembers
steep falls,
crude crashes,
and how often
one got stuck
in hell without a return ticket.
so pack
all you assembled
over the years
in your survival kit
and, for once,
decide to be
daring
because
real courage
lies in the disregard
of all experience
and the acceptance
of the fact
that you are dead
if you don’t move.

Dharma bum

Dharma bum
Packs her
Bag
On the road
To
Wherever,
Looking for
Whatever
Life will
Throw her way.
Whenever
She will
Find it,
She will
Take it
For what it is,
When it is,
Where it is.
Questions
Which are obsolete,
Find their own answers.

Tightrope walking

I walk a
Tightrope
Blindly
From where
I am
To where
I will be
Your words
The only
Beacon
That pierces
The surrounding darkness.

Blot on the landscape

Your picture
An eternal
Blot on the map
Of my heart
A lasting landmark
A signpost pointing to
A road I once travelled
In search of some place
To lay down my heart
I took it with me
Along with my soul
Packed in my already
Tattered suitcase
Together we roam the world
Travellers in time and space
The mirage of a destination
The only reason
Why we keep on moving

Zen

There is no path
Just the way we make
As we blindly stumble
From place to place
If we open our eyes
We might be granted
Some perspective
The only valuable lesson

all poems, copyright ulrike gerbig, 2005

Soul-Food

noreply@blogger.com (daugther of lilith) — Mon, 06 Feb 2006 16:35:00 +0000

Feed your soul...with verse and image, with touch and vision, with music and dreams....nourish your mind and expand....

for more food for your soul check: http://www.lulu.com/ugerbig

Breaking fast

You’ve got an
Open invitation
To feast on
My table
On succulent meat,
On hot salty juices,
On sweet berries
Waiting for cream.
When you come
To break your fast
I hope you will
Come hungry.

Curried love

Dip your lips deep
Into creamy rich
Coconut milk
Let your
Tongue travel
Past golden
Turmeric gates
Discover traces of
Cinnamon
Cardamom
Cumin
Warming ginger
Go deeper to
The very core
Find tender meat
Spicy
Red chilli hot
Feel your heart
Go up in flames.

Sugar and Spice

I want to feed you
Cinnamon kisses
From vanilla lips
Cover you in
Warm golden
Molasses
Bath you in
Milk and honey
Lick you dry
Taste your
Appetising sweetness

Ash Wednesday

Refusing to
Touch meat
Is easy this year.

I will give it
All up for lent

Until you come
And break fast
With me.

copyright all poems ulrike gerbig, 2005