Wellspring – Eva Weggelaar

Wellspring – Eva Weggelaar

Late 19th century
marble floors, filtered light
high walls painted white
a background to memory

Like returning carries pigeons
wandering men land in a row
drink their drinks and let you know
about their fading visions

Coffee and cigarettes
we know the rest can wait
it’s home, we’ll stay till late
petting our stories and implied regrets

© Eva Weggelaar

Advertisements

Cut down to size – Eva Weggelaar

Cut down to size – Eva Weggelaar

The city looks like a maquette put together by a mad child
bathed in the neon glare of a modern sun
brand new buildings, demolition papers filed
and everyone pretending that it’s fun

A guy is screaming his private life into the air
a thread going down from his ear into his pocket
pulling up his sagging trousers and smoothing down his plastic hair
one might as well plug him straight into a socket

The coffee is served cold
the food is fake
a continuous wind has taken hold
there’s nothing left to break

All is made to measure
cut down to size
so fake your pleasure
love all lies

© Eva Weggelaar

White Mare – Eva Weggelaar

White Mare – Eva Weggelaar

Drown in my own mirage is something I’d love to do
cross the seas
consolidate my fantasies
find my castles still as good as new

Tired of being here, and oh so nice
shackled to another’s past
when it wasn’t I who cast
away the chances with the dice

It’s your refuge, I wish it could be mine
travel and never arrive
colour replacement for life
safety of movement, a way to make time

As it is, I’ll run across your mind’s sands
be your white mare
put my rein in your hands
follow your rippled footsteps there

© Eva Weggelaar

Premonition – Eva Weggelaar

Premonition – Eva Weggelaar

Hothouse flower air presses on my skin
there will be tennis for tea
I’ll be the mascot, and maybe
restrain the dog when they begin
You read, holding my summer in your hands
I hate sunglasses but wear them anyway
so I can see in your eyes what the words say
as they fall from the pages and dance
The horses rub their heads together
I press my face into the grass
watch the ice melt in my glass
and catch a small soft feather
I’ll go and get fresh water, change your book
the scent of roses hovers over crackling dry dirt
strokes a shiny new blackbird
and settles in an old hat, asleep on its hook
The stone kitchen floor is cold on bare feet
the slow treacly ticking of the clock
echoes the sound of the following dog
I pet him just to feel his warm body breathe
Through the glass I see your hazy form
next to the roses that shiver in the heat
knowing
 tonight the thunder will beat
as the heart of the longed-for storm
On the windowsill lands the little grey pigeon
that once sat sickly panting in a cardboard box
when I was frightened of the ticking of all clocks
and hoped I could trust in a good premonition
There were grand expectations
that sounded like a nervous finger playing pizzicato on a violin
as I waited for something to begin
with a hurried, breathless kind of patience

“No, don’t bark at the bird, just look!
Anyway, we ought to go and find that book”

© Eva Weggelaar

Weaving Breath – Eva Weggelaar

Weaving Breath – Eva Weggelaar

Don’t hold your breath
when you lie awake in bed
thinking of the words you wrote and read
wondering if those dreams are dead

You didn’t want to know
didn’t want the reflected light of the sun
to show the surface of a life that came undone
so you stopped looking long ago
But hear the branches shiver
crows cawing
swans calling
all sound reflected by a fast-flowing river

I need your breath
everything you’ve ever said
all the things you wished you had
to form my fine-spun scarlet thread

I’ll weave the tales you’d wish to keep
work out the faults made by despair
and watch for you when you lie asleep

© Eva Weggelaar

The same kind of pity as time – Eva Weggelaar

The same kind of pity as time – Eva Weggelaar

The clock is ticking,
the stage has been set
Was all that those years took
all that we had?

Do you like the flowers now?
Do you remember then?
It’s the same kind of pity as time
I regret

The incense is burning,
the candle has been lit
It’s all so different now,
it’s so strange, isn’t it?

Do you like the scent now?
Do you remember then?
It’s the same kind of pity as time
I regret

Still life is stylized,
it could have been last night
Look, another symbol;
the only, sad delight

Do you like the music now?
Do you remember then?
It’s the same kind of pity as time
I regret
The same kind of pity as time
Remember
Just the same kind of pity as time

©Eva Weggelaar