an object surviving from an earlier time, especially one of historical or sentimental interest.


a part of a deceased holy person’s body or belongings kept as an object of reverence.


an object, custom, or belief that has survived from an earlier time but is now outmoded.


This old type writer my youngest fell in love with, at a flea-market and purchased for 2 Euros, now sits on a shelf in my room. It is reminiscent of writers like Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, William Burroughs,  Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Miller, Bukowski and so many others, of an era long passed – like this then indispensable tool- they gather dust on the shelves of the libraries around the world – hoping to be rediscovered.

Under Construction


(Painting by kind permission of WILD)

My life seems like 

a giant construction site

Things permanently 

pop up

that need fixing.


I keep 

my eyes wide open

for signs.

Not an engineer

nor an architect by trade

I dabble in self taught


and make shift repairs.

My ideas 

the nails.

My determination

the hammer.


Sometimes I lack 

the necessary equipment.

The nails come up short

the hammer falls to pieces -

grasping for straws.


Precarious results -

legs  trembling from the effort.

High strung -

The strain to keep 

it all stable.

Not many occasions

to admire the work.


Sometimes I think

if I sit a moment too long

I will be swallowed 

by the holes in the road.

Travel Theme Decorations


The fishing game

If you have children, this will take you back some years. 

You will no doubt have spent endless hours at the local little kids amusement park/fairs. 

These colorful ducks held a magical attraction. They had to be caught with the little fishing rod. Every duck a win! The prizes usually very cheaply made toys, replicas of the “real thing”. And the kids knew it too! Which did not keep them from looking forward to the next time. They always discussed which toy they would select next.  I don’t think they ever really played with the prizes, longer than it took to get home.

Throwing money like bait!

When nothing can turn back time



A great many years tied us together.

You often wished 

your English was better


I usually got your stories of

life lessons anyway.

Sometimes I baked 

sweets for you in return.


Once when you were very sick

I gave blood for you 

when my own father 

had just passed away.

I told you to see 

the success of your operation

as a gift

denied to others.


On your early morning walks

you sometimes sang 

so loud

swinging your cane

not a care for what anyone thought.

You took your morning coffee 

in the square 

watching the world wake up.

In the summers

evening found you 

on the balcony

in your favorite chair

surrounded by your children 

and grandchildren.

A happy old man.


My last memory of you

our sad good bye

one September morning

a shy embrace 

and tears.

Deep in my heart

I knew that 

we would not see 

each other again.

I never took 

the chance to tell you

how much I cared for you.


Nothing can turn back

time now.

I honor your life 

and pay my respects

from far away

and hope that 

there is that place 

where we are reunited

with those

we loved.

Rest in peace!




Taken from an installation named Αρτεμης, goddess of the hunt and wilderness. Representing the bow.



1. form into a bent, curling, or distorted shape.

2. cause to rotate around something that remains stationary; turn.


1. an act of turning something so that it moves in relation to something that remains stationary.

2. a thing with a spiral shape.

Let’s not  twist again

The end:

A twisted reality.

John finished

twisted and bitter

- while Jane

spun away. 


Finally too deep

he’d twisted 

the knife.

Too far

to ignore

the twisted

actions, words and humor.


Doing the twist 

for years


laughing happily.


His aloofness

often sent her

round the twist.

His evasiveness

left her

with her knickers 

in a twist.

Oh but his charm

is what initially 

twisted her arm.

His persistence 

twisted her 

around his 

little finger:

When they first met




At a metro stop on the autobahn
is where I sit and wait
facing the oncoming traffic
cars rushing
with a dream attached
towards me.

Flying from the distance
hardly expressed
still just a whisper
… if only…
and its gone
like the blurred tail lights
of the cars.

On the metro now
I am moving
and I notice
memories from the past
running away
on my right
sighing deeply
of what used to be.

As we enter the tunnel
darkness closes in
suddenly I feel like a
light afloat
shining dimly into
whats ahead
shadows closing
in from behind.

The sounds of the
underlining my journey
through life
oddly stationary
yet propelled
by the momentum.

At the station
I step outside.
And my feet carry me
onward through
the masses.
- I do not look back.


The space between

The space between

Between the heavens and the earth
the space is filled with
gravely gravity.

Sometimes looking up
weighed down
and tightly rooted
to the ground
by the bodies which we occupy
and the space
we think we have conquered
down here below.

Now and then looking up
uplifted by our spirits
wishes, dreams,
hopes and joys
they give us wings
fleetingly free.

Our mortal chains
epitomized by
responsibilities, worries,
obligations and duties
dictate the duration
of our liberty.

The struggle
between the yoke
and privilege
defines our time
from birth
to death.

Zwischen Himmel und Erde
ist der Raum gefüllt mit
ernster Schwerkraft.

Nach oben blickend
Sind wir belastet
und fest verwurzelt
auf dem Boden
durch den Körper, den wir besitzen
und dem Raum,
von dem wir denken, ihn erobert zu haben
hier unten.

Ab und zu nach oben blickend
durch unser geistiges Wesen erhoben
Wünsche, Träume,
Hoffnungen und Freuden
sie geben uns Flügel -
flüchtig frei.

Unsere sterblichen Ketten
verkörpert durch
Verantwortung, Sorgen,
Pflichten und Aufgaben
bestimmen immer die Dauer
unserer Freiheit.

Der Kampf
zwischen dem Joch
und Privilegien
bestimmt unsere Zeit
von der Geburt bis
zum Tod.