a poem by Lukas Bartsch
When at last sand covers our traces,
will you find your way back to me?
To softly embrace me once more,
atop the scorched red desert sea.
When at last sand covers our traces,
think not on what may be ahead.
So, as you gaze up to the stars,
remember all we had instead.
When at last sand covers our traces,
put your weary hand in mine.
Let me keep your sorrows at bay –
I promise love, we will be fine.
an acrostic by Alicia Albers
Those trustworthy, faithful eyes
Hair so beautiful and shiny
A smile I hope never dies
Not forgetting these birthmarks, real tiny.
Kind, caring, funny and smart.
You must be sent from above.
Oh, a masterpiece of art
U’re unconditionally loved
a poem by Wienke Niedermanner
Wisteria is growing
From a branch above my head,
In silvery lines it’s flowing
Like a bluish silken dress,
It lays itself around me
Like it’s laying down its head,
It buries me alive,
And I can’t stop it.
It’s too fast.
It fastens ‘round my muscles,
It fastens ‘round my flesh,
It fastens ‘round my ankles,
It fastens ‘round my chest.
This garden is my mausoleum,
I’m carved in stone, and you are praying,
Your knees are almost knitted to the ground,
But once you dare to go and move on,
I’ll still be blue, even if you’re gone,
A hundred years, but never I’ll be found.
A monument might be built up then,
A colossus of my own island,
An earthquake of forget will tear me down,
My ruins lie destroyed and ancient,
I’m littered with this wistful patience,
A noble trait, the rapine of my town.
It buries all my branches,
It buries all my seeds,
It buries all my hopeful
and passion driven dreams.
Wisteria is growing
From a tree somewhere nearby,
It reaches all my ruins,
It keeps them warm and dry,
It lays itself around me,
It’s as constant as a pine,
I cannot rip it off,
Although I barely
even tried.
a poem by Philipp Neumann
I asked a dear friend
My dear, would you like to play?
The answer was silent
It seemed like, it didn’t swing his way.
And the days pass
And we still didn’t play,
Although it might
Never come, that day.
I asked once,
I asked twice,
But unfortunately for me,
I can ask a lot of times
As the answer won’t change,
Quite the opposite,
It will always stay the same.
It is neither his fault,
Nor is it mine,
To be honest though,
It is because said friend
was actually a crow
a poem by Jeremias Winckler
Like gusts that herald storms,
You wake from Your life, the curtains call.
Wanderlust within, the suit too wide,
Too staid for the youth inside that yearns to ride.
The job could never hold, nor praise confine,
You ache to venture forth, create a new design.
Untethered from the known, from home You stray,
No plan at hand, just endless roads parlayed.
Paths less travelled by, adventure packed,
No boundaries set, freedom’s wind at back.
Through forests, over hills, by dawning light,
The whole wide world within reach, in sight.
Sun kissed skin, wind ruffled hair,
Strange languages, places so rare.
A journey turned verse, moments turned song,
Off the beaten track, there You belong.
No road is too long, no river too wide,
No cliff too steep, nor too wild the ride,
No night too dark—for the stars shine bright,
Nor can You get lost— You’ll be guided by light.
Reinvent, live, dare, explore,
Feel it all, and then feel some more.
Your darkest hours, like shadows, will recede,
Healed by the smiles of those who intercede.
Blisters, bruises—it will matter not,
The journey’s call compels, and You shall be caught.
To live this madness, oh, but isn’t it grand?
To the unknown! Oh, traveller’s spell, greatest of plans!
To finally go, You want to take flight!
To lands anew, each morning’s light.
The Travel Bug, a fever fierce and deep,
Once bitten, stirs from every dreamy sleep.
With one foot poised ‘twixt grave and daring deed,
New colours burst forth—none can impede.
Onward You’ll dance, by cliff and by crest,
Free and unfettered in Your undying quest.
Fever, fatigue—it matters not.
You are released, travel! You ought!
But dreams are dreams, from reality far apart,
Romantic notions, longings, learned by heart.
Now, quickly, up, to work You must attend,
The alarm rings forth, it’s time, my friend.
But as You head to work, think, ‘Maybe today?’
When the bug bites: exmatriculate!
Tired of the grind? Why not deviate,
Skip work, start to drive, for once change Your fate.
Follow new paths, throw it all to the wind,
Crash Your car, Your fuel will soon end,
Hell yeah, light it all up before You are pinned,
Your past goes up in flames, oh, what a beautiful blend.
Keep walking, don’t You dare turn around,
Break from life, in new rhythms found.
Hear the blast, Your old world’s gone,
Fuck it! Leave it! Move on, move on!
But how do I start? Step out, embrace the world!
And when? Now, or perhaps You never will.
And then? There is no end, no final goal.
What of my friends? New ones will join the thrill.
And my past life? It’s past, just as You’ve told.
But is it all worth it? Hard to say, though still—
Then, why should I go? Because You must, be bold!
And what about You? I’ve already had my fill.
What happened? Well, I’ve become weary and old.
a poem by Jeremias Winckler
In klirrender Kälte, so eisig und schwer,
wird’s dunkel um mich, ich spüre nichts mehr.
Ein Warteraum voll, das Klappern von Schuh’n,
Krankenhausbetten, die rauschend vorbeizieh’n.
Ich taumle zum Tresen, kann kaum noch steh’n,
meine Beine wie Gummi, ich lasse mich geh’n.
Wände verzerrt, mein Blick wird trüb,
ich stürze hinab, nur Dunkelheit blieb.
Folge dem Pfad, der sich ruhig erstreckt,
vorbei an den Felsen, die der Himmel bedeckt.
Auf unendlich Metern, mein Atem wird schwer,
meine Freunde umarmen mich, ich kann nicht mehr.
Dampfende Kessel, Chilischoten fliegen,
ein Mann wird gefasst, die Sicherheit: Hiebe!
Ein rotes Auge wacht, der Wahnsinn lacht,
ein Schlüssel im Schloss, flüchte ich sacht.
Morgentau, ein Reh, ein Pfad entlang,
folge ich dem Nomaden, ohne Gesang.
Auf meinem Pferd durch die Steppe so weit,
bis die Stille mich fängt in ihrer Ewigkeit.
Fiebernd im Bett, die Stimme so leise,
suche ich Trost in der fremden Weite.
Die Lok dampft, der Abschied ist nah,
ein letzter Kuss, dann ist sie da.
Ein Brief, ein Beamter, ein Raum so kahl,
ein Rückzug, ein Sturz, das Ende der Qual.
Doch die Heilung kommt, das Licht wird klar,
ein neuer Tag, bald bin ich wieder da.
a poem by Lukas Bartsch
I wander in phosphorescence,
not quite capturing its essence,
Tumbling falling through the aether,
high above yet still beneath her.
Ethereal realms thundering, colliding,
the heavens pondering still deciding.
Deep within the earth ascending,
in metamorphosis transcending,
the shining knight falls on the sword –
growing wings, becomes a lord.
In the light beyond the shades
freedom turns my fears to blades.
Roses drowning in the fog,
wallowing my mind does block
the comprehension of the form,
the wings the scales, the horn.
Hence, I’m trapped in waking hell,
my body but a tolling bell.
a poem by Lea Köster
It’s the future we cannot escape that we dread.
It’s the past we cannot change that we fear to repeat.
It’s the present we cannot enjoy that we wish to be something else.
It’s life we forget to live because we think we have time.
It is us, us, that we lose in in the process of trying to fit in.
It is myself that I am trying to find in this world that is burning to ash.
It is a fight, I fear, will never end.
A fight we cannot escape.
An end
An inevitable end
Of burning ash.
a poem by Myra Sophia Dedekind
Mein Herz ist eine Leinwand und du malst sie an
Rosa das Interesse, die Hoffnung, ein Anfang
Orange die Panik, das beengende Gefühl,
dass ich plötzlich meine Leinwand an jemand anderen verlier’
Gelb die Freude, die du mir täglich machst,
Lila die Blumen, welche du mir zuerst brachst
Blau die Tränen, dass Gefühl, wenn einer geht
Grau die Angst, die in mir lebt
Grün die Zukunft, Hoffnung, Träume
Rot die Wut, welche nie aufschäumte
Wein die Abende, die wir gemeinsam verbringen
Schwarz die Sicherheit, dass wir alles bezwingen
Braun die Ruhe, Sicherheit, Frieden
Bedacht lässt du meine Leinwand wiegen
In wechselnden Höhen, Intensitäten
Bemalst du
Mein Herz
a haiku by Lukas Bartsch
A tall Gingko tree
has spread its yellow leaves far
out over my soul.
