Sunday, March 1, 2020




To the ocean of tears
we add every day
with cold-heartedness,
people drown in a sea of sadness.
We look into the magic mirror
cannot comprehend our human error.
One foot nailed to the ground
revolving around the pivot point
of our existence.

Sinking, losing myself, in your eyes,
almost drown in your love,
that's what I'd liked to have done -
we promised ourselves togetherness,
but ended in utter loneliness.
I perished out of stupidity
and drown now in your tears,
because I didn't return your love.
And left you,
so stupid so, so selfish, so inconsiderate,
we could be endless absorbed in our love.

I bathed in the green pond of illusion
and self-deception.
My face under the rescuing water surface
I breathe in water,
see the daylight but it doesn't perceive
and rescue me - I drown…
Water spirits surround me.

Water is like amniotic fluid
which keeps you protected
but is an untamed element, unrestrained.
My hands try to grab hold.
But time runs through the fingers like sand,
sprinkles salt into forgotten wounds.

I break the breath from my lips,
tear a little dream out of my sleep.
The beating of my heart might betray me.
We are not us, just a coincidence,
an accident, a missed excuse.
A broken branch here and there.

I could leave the senseless path
Or, while turning back, making up my mind,
I see the world collapsing
and everything finds a soothing end.

Evening stillness

Cursed land,
where once the cart
with the witch rolled along
the sunken ravine
a stone hanging from her neck,
while a wedge of wild ducks
quacked over the forest plane
Damp humidity lies furrow-wide,
birds lost their voice
bells are hoarse from ringing.
The wind –a scythe of frost
cuts the rusty reeds.
It snows black wings
from a dark-grey crow-sky.
A wall of ice-cold white -
No spring in sight.
A halfmoon of tin plate
blinks on the black backdrop
at half power.
The chain of hills already fell to sleep
and dreams of the other half,
the waiting crescent.

Time Dissolving

Tarmac covered with day,
anonymous shadows in disarray,
melodies of mute steps,
their path lost,

in the depths of time.

Do not forget
her greeting you waited for,
on asphalted roads
with receding minutes.

Yesterday lies beyond the wall
bricks with hardened mortar,
give little leeway
for a clock face, whose arms whittle away.

You see time vanish.

Traces end in the plastering.
Search in vain the rubble
of broken stones.

The time, disdain,
forgets to ask questions.
Calendars exercise perceptions
for the day after tomorrow
new days grow on lanterns at dawn,
extinguishing like dying candles.

In the gutter traces of cold sweat.
I pick my day to pieces:
Flower oracle, plucking petals.
In the foliage of past years:
a forgotten autumn in tears.

In an opened calendar, I search for you
find you in the echo of old songs.
I show your name to the river waves,
your face to the quicksand.
I dip my fingers into clouds,
clenched fists into storms.
I dug the soil where I found your footprint
kissed the stone, which you touched.
Volatile division of time,
carillon figures perform a round dance,
a chime sounds twelve, the door closes,
the curtain falls.

World In Fire

Red sun, pale moon,
black stars, omen of doom.
Storm tossed world,
times in a waft of mist, hurled.
Banshees washing blood-stained clothes
when people die in battles.
Under kettles… burning embers,
smouldering bonfire of nature, which remembers
lost empathy.
On the swords, dried blood, portending evil,
harvest eaten by weevil, dour, ugly warriors.
A red coloured horizon in frantic fire.
Wood heaped for an eternal pyre.

Moving times of wrath
choking the throat, in temper,
clenching a rough fist full of resentment,
drowning in blind anger.

Searching a hand, which is offering liberation,
shelter and happiness
in the bleak empty times of loneliness,
which fill me with sorrow and horror,
which deny a horizon, a tomorrow,
blocking our paths in a brazen way,
preventing us to climb to heights,
to the light of day.
So that a beam strikes us and lights up our life
lifts us out of the darkness, a sharp knife
to cut the strings,
weaving eternal ropes around us.


Castles in the air and no key
wings but unable to fly.
Wedge of birds crossing the sea
writing meaningless words on a cheerless sky

no longer will I dream
under shady linden trees
of velvety nights of love,

this breeze
of warming light above.

Freed from branches
and forgotten by the tree
like a leaf
I vanish with the wind
dream - fall - luckless
on cold, wet ground
where I find the friends again,
the other leaves,
who sang with me the songs of spring,

We lie dispersed on sandy soil,
to die a colourful death,
autumn paint marked each of us
to tell the winter
that we are
when we, as humus,
play our part again.


EDUARD SCHMIDT-ZORNER is a translator and writer of poetry, haibun, haiku and short stories. He writes haibun, tanka, haiku and poetry in four languages: English, French, Spanish and German and holds workshops on Japanese and Chinese style poetry and prose. Member of four writer groups in Ireland and lives in County Kerry, Ireland, for more than 25 years and is a proud Irish citizen, born in Germany. Published in 72 anthologies, literary journals and broadsheets in UK, Ireland, Canada and USA. He worked 40 years as international sales manager. Writes also under his pen name: Eadbhard McGowan

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