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Bauke Kamstra


Picture

Bauke Kamstra's profile

Ah her beauty
swallows my mouth
 
brings its sea taste
of iron
& salt
 
blood beats waves
all the way
to my head.
​

Walking through
​the trees

a bird hopping
from pine to spruce
 
keeping pace
 
telling me
stories
 
selling dreams of
flight.  
Picture
High up
& clinging
 
to ropes
 
wishing I'd
the bones
 
of a bird.
​

        ❊

High above
the bowl of salt
 
that was once
a lake
 
the small shadow
of a hawk.

       ❊

​Storm puts its knees
on the field
laying down grain
 
an unwelcome lover.

True Recycler

She was out
collecting tin
to put in her assorted bags
 
& looked at me
with my own eyes.

​                   ❊

​Poetry dispels the illusion of separateness
 
     when we touch
     when we are touched
 
we are no longer alone.

​                   ❊
Sometimes ghosts come as crows
re-scavenging the same crusts
all over again
 
a futility of need.
Picture



In the city
the dark broken by
lighted streets
 
eating stars
 
except those few
I've saved for you. 

         ❊
​

You begin to dream
those dreams
 
then winter comes
all intimate with snow.

​            ❊

​The wind chanting
slow circles
about my grief
 
mistaking tears for rain.

Bound Bone

A flute made
from the arm of a man
 
chased & bound with silver
 
each note a year
of his life
played out.
    ❧
Carry me down
that sweet incline
to desire
 
my nerves
remember you well
 
& ache
to be touched.
    ❧
Were it winter now
you could track me
through the snow
 
I prefer the anonymity
of grass.

I am not practical enough
for ordinary life
 
my feet leave the ground
 
in my gardens
are no potatoes
 
only flowers grow.

My Shirt

My Shirt
blowing down the road
arms waving impulsively.
    ❧
When I can go no further
 
when even my dreams
lay down
 
there is still you.
    ❧
I can speak your name
like cherries on the tongue
 
& still I do not know you.

The inverted sky is white
with black crows
the sprinkled stars.
    ❧
It is always too late to go back
 
ghosts take over
as soon as we leave.
 

Sargasso

Old photos
smiles fixed
drowned faces
 
caught
in the sargasso
of memories.
    ❧
If you can't be
purely free
(we are slaves
to something)
 
be a mystery
(ask the moon).

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***

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