Another poem. This one's older.

The night my stars fell, they wounded the town,

scratched chimneys and rooftops as they rumbled down.

They turned to glass once they touched the ground

and busted in hollow explosions.

The empty night sky moved above,

stretching slowly, mending her sores.

The people below ran and closed their doors

to hide from the astral ( Read more... )

So I found the time to write a poem again :-)
I'm not sure about the title (open for suggestions),
but I kind of like the text.

The park bench's shadow still holds us tight:

two people hunched at an empty space.

It keeps us locked in a tight embrace,

burnt into the ground.

We scarred this place forever.

Our faces linger in the shallow water

where they once ( Read more... )

Okay, I think I came up with something that counts as a Limerick. That was more difficult than expected ^^

A lousy poet in Cannes

wrote a Limerick for his son.

The rhymes were so bad

that the son turned mad

and killed the old man with a gun.

Und noch'n Gedicht. Diesmal reimt es sich sogar ein bißchen ;)

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Since everybody else seems to be doing it, I kind of feel obligated. Bad reason, I know. Oh well, here we go....
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It was the most silent of all nights when Gabrielle stepped into the dark living room. The aromatic smell of pine needles embraced her at once. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. No matter how many houses she had entered already, the smell of the Christmas Tree always caused a blissful shower running down her back.
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Jacob picked up the canned food, tins of beans and pineapples, and put them in his bag. Dented and rusty, they didn't exactly look tasty but he didn't care. The contents were still good most of the time and they needed the food. One could not be picky when it came down to mere survival.
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An experimental poem, written after one of our creative writing meetings.
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