walterdoege

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clothes

I ask you…undress me with your words…my soul feels joy…if you write to me…if I can hear your voice…each word of your’s soul undress my body…when I can listen the whispered rhyme…my soul and my body blossoms…when I climb the feet of your poem…I walk till the mountain top…the clothes I wear…is beckon…and after sundown…the ever stars is a beacon to my soul…I hope I can always listen your voice…together…our voices chant beautiful songs…love songs…and we walk in a parade…all lover marching on

artist and artisan

the time seems a line up…and writing is to pick the words to weave phrases…as a patchwork task…pieces of remembrances…memoirs…portions of fiction…some autobiogrphical sketchs…the writing labor as a beckon…sometimes I write as an artist….sometimes I write as an artisan…no matter the word I choose…be capable of write…with the hope that someone will read the lines…is so worthy!,…in fact, my writing resembles an endless love letter…that will reach your soul too…art is done with effort…and the labor of an artists and an artisan is the same…but I feel me close to a writer that works as an artisan…no much glamour…much love

so stormy spring

and today is just spring…although its a rainy and cold day…I like winter, and I welcome spring…what blossoms in my heart is the very sense of poetics of the winter…in fact, I have troubles with goodbyes and farewells…I feel every date as a goodbye, and i wish every goodbye be another vespera of another date…meeting peoples seems hard at some dimension…every meeting is a goodbye…i wish every goodbye be the promise of another meeting…a matter of faith…a matter of sensibility…farewell winter season…I hope enjoy you next year…but winter poetry is always inside me…I don’t look for nor search for reasons…I try not to think so much…I write and writing is a soothing task most of the time…most of the time I like any season…I support goodbyes…even last goodbyes related to beloved ones…most of the time I can see and feel beauty and joy in any season…in any path…most of the time…even when a strong windy whirling shake my house…i stand safe at our togetherness home… to share good ones…to pray…to enjoy each bit of time…I can be right with what I cannot control…most of the time

last night of this winter

today is the fourth rainy and cold day…to go out of house its needed a proper dress up…and the clothes are a second skin…don’t forgetting the umbrella…even though some rain drops touch my face and my clothes…cold drops…and walking few steps I sense the moisty floor…at some point of my little walk yesterday…I watch the cloudy sky…the thunders…the flshlightening…and for a while my tears drops and the rain drops were inly one water…as the rain seems to be tears drops from heaven…a lovely friend remind me that I can lead inside me the winter poetics…one of the few things I need to keep on walking trustful and joyful…for myself, winter season is a poetic state

goodbye winter

today I must say goodbye to winter season…last days of winter…tomorrow is just spring…I guess…however, today is being a typical day of winter…a rainy and some cold day…a storm at a cloudy sky…thunders…flashes of lightnening at sky…I could stand at house…sensing the season’s pulse…sensing some feeling of sweet home…write some wandering writing about farewells and goodbyes…wishing the next winter be good for all peoples…at this windy day…the little nest of the little birds upon a tree I can see from the window falled with the storm shake…but the other nest done of clay and grass stands steady close to my bedroom window…the city seems quiet…the sound of the rain seems a song…sometime to sense the time…the life…to say goodbye to winter…take some arrangement to welcome spring…there’s joy and beauty in any season…it’s hard to me to say goodbye, but as time goes by…I surrender to nature motion…and standing in the present…letting go the past…keep on grateful and trustful to ever good futures…love ahead…leading me

hamlet

I live in a big city…far from downtown, it’s my house…my little village…I walk a little bit at the streets…and while the weather is hot…I walk by night…at nights the weather is always gentle for me…I can see the moon…the stars…feel me comfortable…I use to take a little trip to a near cafĂ©…stand for a while…and keep walking…in direction to what lies behind…and at open nights…share love…enjoy each bit of time…sensing each step from the floor…the hamlet I live is a little village…some little space…where I can feel I can walk free…sensing the body…the soul, and the high lovely spirits…sensing the peoples…after a fresh lunch…I’m grateful to all…it’s all good I must write…I observe I have less complaints, and more gratitude…at nights, I can feel the everlasting love…at nights, the time to enjoy time…take some rest…dream…and take a dance with her…she is so lovely…yesterday we dance all through the night…free ridding at the golden dawn…after sundown…another night…another invitation to think gently regarding to what lies in futures…and sense more through the veils of the night…the waving motion of night…through the veil of the night…my heart is open to ever good futures….through the veil motion of the spring breeze…love sense at skin…while embracing her waist…we listened the music with this remind: time waits for no one…and keep dancing trustful and grateful…also, I realize the needness and willness of writing some phrases…inside some solitude…sweet solitude…the ground of lovely togetherness…when I wake up today…I had a dream…but I felt I woke up inside another dream…hearing the larks’s song and the nightingale’s songs…love songs to smooth any woe…love songs to enjoy each bit of time…as time goes bye, time waits for no one…perhaps there’s nothing to wait, but to enjoy…each bit of time…each beat of love…up beating our hearts…larks, the mesengers of day…the songbirds daybreak…nightingales’s love songs…the partners of the night…silvery spring nights…ever silvery inside me…we keep on going through the loving road…rock…roll, loving road…lead us within

wood stove

the winter is running away, but the feeling of winter is inside me…the spring is just arrived…flowers blossom…trees blossom in many colours…yellow, pinky, blue…from one window I can see the clourful nature…perhaps to remember the beauty and the joy…I take care of my old wood stove…it’s not for cooking nor for heating…but to remember old times…and sweet reveries…from another stove I could get a batch of biscuits…to send to nature, and all peoples…and all friends of mine…friendship is worthy, so worthy for me…close to joy…be a friend is a wonderful gift…and sense that inside frienship the ever love remains joyously

love songs

and the loyal doves chatter at the roofs…they don’t sing…as other little birds sing…a so lovely song!…some music from heaven…winter birds departure…spring and summer birds arriving…new songs…some music from earth… that music of the season’s pulse…and today I wake up with a love song…a dream…perhaps…are the lark songs?, or the nightingale songs?…love songs

farewel winter

still winter…but the impatient spring just arrived…with flowers blossom everywhere in the city…so many names for the flowers!…and the birds seems to sing loudly and joysouly…the loyal doves chatter a lot at the corners of the roofs…and the birds flying free at skies…blue sky…no clouds…today the weather is hot…I appreciate all seasons…the season’s go by…the time goes by…but I really like winter and autumn…closer to myself…a matter of temperament…love remains…and I keep on going…writing also is a part of myself…there’s beauty and joy in any season…I’ve worked a lot…walking at streets…facing hot days, just…time goes by so fast…it seems…and I enjoy each bit of time so slowly…

writing sounds

I’ve written some avulse papers…some journaling…last week, during a snowy weather day…so cold day…I wrote some words and phrases…with my old ink pen…and for a while i could hear the nib sound moving through the paper…the ink builded words…sometimes I long for old ways of writing…it seems a painting task…I wrote: the Thy will, not my will. Love surrender.