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Vrijdag 21 juni 2024

Megszabadulás egy sötét álomból

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A viharok megállíthatatlan erővel űzik a vizeket, és nem csak a visszatérő éjszakai álmok támadják meg a lelket.
De ma sok elsöprő erő hatol be a sejtjeimbe anélkül, hogy üdvözölném vagy odafigyelnék az egómra.
Mintha összeesküdnének, hogy elriasszák a bolondokat, és szándékosan bólogatnak a nyitott elme javára.
De beleolvadnak a testembe, és mégis hordom a szárazságomat.
Hogyan történhetett ez, ki vagy mi okozta, hogy a megfagyott ellenállás hirtelen megszakítás nélküli melegséggel újra gondolkodni kezdett.
(Így sír a kora tavasz, miközben az én télem még mindig ásít).
Múzsám felszabadító ürességet idéz vibráló, fénylő képekkel pávatollas ágyamon.
Geschreven door juliusdzs om 08:56 Reageer op dit bericht
Donderdag 20 juni 2024

The walk

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Following a devotional path means passing several Stations of the Cross
I long had the impression that there was something peaceful about the park, but how and what?
Statues and an altar stand there day and night.
The altar is protected by a large niche. It was once used for Holy Mass. Faith once showed the event.
With my dogs, two barkers on leashes, this place partly occupies the walking route and like the old writer, I make a modest round every day.
The joy lies buried there, however, more than the living greenery can tell.
The desire to choose a tall tree overwhelms me. I want a relationship.
To touch for a moment, to say a word. as if it were a human being sharing my existence and asking for affection. I cannot resist.
Suddenly I discovered a swastika in the bark, almost invisible. it had been there for a long time.
It amazed me, in this place, why such a hateful thing had been conceived here.
Geschreven door juliusdzs om 22:03 Reageer op dit bericht
Donderdag 20 juni 2024

Love

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Love grows in the light. Where it is shining, it blossoms.
Even when you are no longer in my field of vision. It is often sung at night.
Sometimes it is just a soft sigh. At other times it is a few moments in a row. Consciousness cannot experience eternity.
They are counted from the season called spring.
It cannot be measured in time and duration, where hopes and longings seem great, wonderful or small, and often not even in measure. It cannot be grasped with one hand and cannot be explained in words.
It's overwhelming. It colours your awareness. Sometimes at the end of contemplation, in depth, in silence...
Love as a bearer of challenges.
Geschreven door juliusdzs om 22:00 Reageer op dit bericht
Donderdag 20 juni 2024

Shoelace love

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Before I pull them tight, I make a loop around them (or untie them from yesterday).
My fingers cradle them both and caress them. I give them a kind of hand kiss.
Sometimes they have missed a shoe eye. Then I bend deeper towards it.
and when I have found them between the sock and the leather, I feel myself coming closer.
I want to catch them, hold them
I like a soft one, not too young, not too old, not too doomed.
Sometimes things get in the way. The belly or the knot of yesteryear is too tight.
Suddenly I see holes in my socks. I keep quiet about what I say.
For a while intimate love has left me.
Geschreven door juliusdzs om 21:53 Reageer op dit bericht
Donderdag 20 juni 2024

Wishful thinking

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When my heart begs for a resounding melody, sometimes I just want to hit the keys for capital letters.
It seems that black and white doesn't want to echo in my soul. I don't hear the translated echo, I only see it in a string vibration.
It is this muse that is also the driver of my inner self, and more often than not demands lyrical attention, but then through the fingers of creation.
From which only I myself expect something to emerge. I might dab feelings into a Swan Lake.
For me it is like life, as a human being alone.
Where especially the universe will understand me, it is good what I do and has no coldness and may be there and will mature freely in expansion
Should you experience me less on the hard white, know this: My muse and I dream in silence.
Geschreven door juliusdzs om 21:42 Reageer op dit bericht
Donderdag 20 juni 2024

The earthly sky

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The open doors of my garden give me a glimpse of the green of the world.
I have never had hands of this colour. There are kindred spirits who do it.
In accordance with my character, nature goes its own way.
I feel at home there. I have never had any conscientious objections.
And now, finally, a shower of light is spreading over my property, which is putting a protective layer on my soul.
It's like looking without glasses. Everything looks more beautiful, sometimes mysterious, sometimes an inner glow.
through the ever-expanding grey, seeing deer and foxes and neighbours at their best.
Yes, these magnifying glasses do act like a sunny valve at times.
One of the walls is lined with soft moss. I think.
Behind it lies a part of the rest of the world, and it gives me a free way of being.
And it is a pleasure not to be disturbed by the chirping of birds in the sky.
Seeing blind and hearing deaf is something I can cope with well.
These things give me a well-deserved sigh.
Geschreven door juliusdzs om 21:39 Reageer op dit bericht
Donderdag 20 juni 2024

Eternal fame

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What I will become: I'll keep it short;
My star is rising,
untouchable on the top
Looking down upon you all
Enjoying all the stars that have gone
before me
You see, I try to reach the highest.
It is a great comfort to me to know that even after my death you have not forgotten me.
That time has not yet come!
It is true that there was a long search before Vondel was found....He was a foundling, it is still unclear to me, but he was found and is a star.
He is a fallen star, so he is back on earth.
You naturally thought of a falling star as someone who rises and falls.
That is obvious, after all most disappear forever in the Dutch dung....too many cows, pigs and poets.
Even my next-door neighbor is on the poets' path.
It's a long way (Pieterpad) but he's doing it.
He writes about those wretched nettles. Yes, it doesn't sell.
My dead father's words : Julius, if you want to write poetry, you have to do great work. And I did great things.
I bought the most expensive fountain pen. I looked for a room under the eye of Simon Vinkenoog.
I stocked up on booze and shag and could not sleep. I exhausted myself with poetry. ....
I used to be a regular wholesale customer of the Hema, they have a great range of notepads.
For years I dabbled and filled the sheets with, if I do say so myself, great work.
Then, as it should be, I hid out in Paris for a very long time.
That's how it should be, I became a tramp.
And lived on the generous handouts of the Dutch,
That was hard, those Dutch. They came with old coins with Juliaantje still on them. Well, that doesn't help in the age of the euro.
So I was waiting for people to find me, the real connoisseurs, and rescue me from mortality.
Unfortunately, I was the victim of a kidnapping by the French immigration authorities.
I was expelled from the country by the latter.
That is how I became a postman.
And I can tell you that I have never delivered so many texts. I know that when I pass by, people run to the letterbox.
Ah, it's nice to work, and grateful too, you know, people are waiting for you.....
And then, when I am in heaven, the people will say goh.... You remember old Julius: he always had something to bring.
They see.....that they will not forget me when I am dead!!!
Geschreven door juliusdzs om 16:19 Reageer op dit bericht
Donderdag 20 juni 2024

A moment

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Sometimes you see someone looking at you. It's my eyes that understand the look.
Maybe I am sucked in by the distance. It teaches me to tolerate.
When my love finds no way, nails me to the ground, binds me to the irrevocable. While the soul continues to search, even as the evening fades.
Then sometimes you suddenly meet the deepest in the other, who in a moment, unasked and without words, proclaims the memory.
No, my longing is not dead, it is a value that is alive, for a moment I felt as if I had heard you.
Geschreven door juliusdzs om 16:15 Reageer op dit bericht
Donderdag 20 juni 2024

SHADOW

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When I can't see your eyes, your soul slumbers in the shadows.
Do you choose to make yourself stiff for me?
Do you prefer to stay away from me? Or are you an elusive shy one?
Somehow, you seem to draw the night closer and closer to you.
I collide with your smile that reveals a "dark" power that says:
Leave me alone, I have nothing to show you, just my shadow,
That's enough, that's my feeling
Geschreven door juliusdzs om 16:10 Reageer op dit bericht
Donderdag 20 juni 2024

Thoughts in old age ( 1 )

Insignificance.
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In my subconscious, I have to carry piles of archives. One day is a drop in the ocean, no exaggeration. It seems to me to be made up of chaotic layers.
Of knowledge and feelings, let us say all the ups and downs, innumerable experiences are interwoven in body and mind up to the moment of the present and I seem to be already far into my time, I dare not say how far, but I can already say that my image is slowly decaying or quasi immortalised after the still unknown last moment.
I admit that I don't need to write a memoir, it would be a sum of virtues that would remain with a smile. There are blind spots, too. But people are used to denying them.
Of course they will surface somewhere.
Besides, not long after my deepest sigh, all of the present will disappear from me and everyone else, or be absorbed into a rumour, individual or otherwise, or a commonplace, perhaps with a watered-down photograph.
The thing is, having come this far, at least in years, and this is called modesty, I seem to be part of something I cannot know, so big and wide, but I do not feel like denying myself.
Yet I do not have a complete picture of myself. Nor have I ever really known myself.
I am passing from something to an indeterminate nothingness, from being to oblivion. And where no one takes precedence or stands out from the other.
It is in a fit of complete contentment that I make this observation.
The earthly is often addicted to power and honour.
Or surviving to oppress
Surely I too have known much happiness and pain
and therefore now know of my relative insignificance.
This is a real relief, and I say this only once.
... Thoughts in old age. ...
Geschreven door juliusdzs om 16:06 Reageer op dit bericht

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