Oh Sebastian!!

Ein großer Mann mit Bart so dicht,

trägt einen Hut, der strahlt im Licht.

Er wackelt stolz durch Stadt und Gasse,

sein Hut – ’ne wilde Kartoffelmasse!

Die Leute lachen, doch er lacht mehr,

sein Bart weht stolz im Frühlings-Meer.

Mit jedem Schritt, ein kleines Fest,

der Hut macht alles – selbst den Rest!

Also,

Ein großer Mann mit Bart so dicht, (A)

trägt einen Hut, total verrückt. (B)

Er wackelt stolz durch Stadt und Licht, (A)

sein Hut hat Farben kunterbunt geschickt. (B)

Die Leute lachen, voll Gesang, (C)

sein Bart weht wild wie ein Kapitän. (D)

Mit jedem Schritt ein bunter Klang, (C)

der Hut macht alles – kaum zu besteh’n! (D)

In English

A tall man with a beard so dense, 

wears a hat that shines in the light. 

He wobbles proudly through town and alley, 

his hat—a wild potato mass! 

People laugh, but he laughs more, 

his beard blows proudly in the spring sea. 

With every step, a little celebration, 

the hat does everything – even the rest!

SOLID

 

I moved into another world

Where profit had no voice

Shackles were the absentees

Control was in my choice

 

Free to come and go at will

Without stalking at my places

To leave me be creatively

Without unsavoury spies and traces

 

Here, imagination soared 

Autonomous, dreams could take their flight,

With confines left behind me, 

Each day was pure delight.

 

A sanctuary for my thoughts, 

A harbour for my mind,

Where every spark of vision 

Was welcomed and enshrined.

 

Either Way It Is

 

Whispers of dawn in a gentle embrace,

Petals of sunlight falling in place.

A breeze through the willows, soft as a sigh,

Painting gold halos on clouds drifting by.

Every dewdrop reflects morning’s first gleam,

Carrying laughter, hope, and a dream.

Hearts find their music in quietest hours—

Sweet is the promise that blooms with the flowers.

 

 

Schöen

 

Flüstern der Morgendämmerung in sanfter Umarmung,

Blütenblätter aus Sonnenlicht fallen an ihren Platz.

Eine Brise durch die Weiden, sanft wie ein Seufzer,

Malt goldene Heiligenscheine auf vorbeiziehende Wolken.

Jeder Tautropfen reflektiert den ersten Glanz des Morgens,

Trägt Lachen, Hoffnung und einen Traum.

Herzen finden ihre Musik in den stillsten Stunden –

Süß ist das Versprechen, das mit den Blumen blüht.

 

 

As Mother Used to Say

 

Time to toe the line, she said

Buckle down and play the game

Complying as expected

If to you  it’s all the same

 

But the rules feel like a riddle

Twisting round my restless mind

Every move is weighed and measured

Marching in a silent line

 

Yet in the hush of order,

A question softly calls—

What if the game is broken

And the rules were never mine at all

The Tree

 

Picture by Keith Mills - Hythe, Kent

It stands alone, a sentinel
Four seasons of the year
Gives witness to the elements

A commanding belvedere

Light flickers through the foliage

In a quiet morning rhapsody

Being present in the quietude

A lifetime dancing melody

A natural guardian of a place to be

To give and take eternally

Sustaining life-enhancing

So much more than just a tree

The Art of Quiet Mornings

Finding Solitude and Inspiration at Dawn

There is a certain magic to mornings when the world still slumbers, wrapped in a gentle hush that precedes the day’s cacophony. The sky, barely touched by sunlight, glows with the promise of possibility. In these quiet hours, the boundaries between dreams and reality blur, inviting reflection and creativity.

Cracking Verse

Looking back on written things

In hope, one might reveal

The secret to the writer’s mind

Something hidden might conceal

 

First impressions, simple judgements

Where subjects twist and turn

Mischief in a coded secret

Ink stains shape what we discern

 

Lines inviting to imagine

Meanings waiting to be learned

Yet every phrase, each half-turned word

Is a door lock unconcerned

 

Inviting those who linger here

To see what might be matched

Shadows linger in the margins

As solutions are unlatched