A Golden Ball – Eva Weggelaar

A Golden Ball – Eva Weggelaar

If it’s a fairy tale…
Then I shall play with a golden ball,
and roll it till the puppets fall
All their mirrors shall break in two
when the clocks start ticking as they used to do
I shall have the old light here
and their stage shall disappear
Oh, I shall wear a silken gown
as I watch them all go down, down, down

I’ll be your continental bride,
we’ll feast there side by side
Champagne, crystal and candlelight,
at the ball where we shall watch the puppets fall, tonight.
Toujours, le Vieux Monde sera notre amour’

If it’s a fairy tale…
Then I shall play with a red, red rose
till the puppets are strangled by their prose
It shall be the old moon that I greet
when the ground crumbles beneath their feet
All their shadows shall whither like lies
while I watch the old sun rise
Oh, I shall wear a silken gown
as I watch them all go down, down, down

I’ll be your continental bride,
we’ll feast there side by side
Champagne, crystal and candlelight,
at the ball where we shall watch the puppets fall, tonight
Toujours, le Vieux Monde sera notre amour
Recasser, retrouver, retourner
Toujours
We’ll cut the wire,
those whose limbs have turned to wood will stoke the fire
while the others call the puppeteer a liar
and each time we rise one step higher
Never
will an imposed reign last forever
Toujours
le Vieux Monde sera notre amour
Recasser, retrouver, retourner
Toujours…

© Eva Weggelaar

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You’ll feel better then – Eva Weggelaar

You’ll feel better then – Eva Weggelaar

Blue neon light shatters on the floor
of
a rented single room
where he’s knocking on the door
asking you to dispel
the gloom
There’s a bed
a mirror,
a photograph and snow
all things that he’ll forget
but you mustn’t let him see you know
Again he’ll turn on the stupid lamp
to see the floor is rough
the walls are damp
and say it’s a shame there’s no room for morning, love

Downstairs a crow flies off with a piece of bone
left in the narrow alley
next to the trash can of the so-called deli
and for a minute you’re glad to be alone

But they say that man’s got good stuff
you can find him at the mall
his hair is bleached and rough
and he won’t let you fall
The storage room’s hot
and much too light
and
he says he knew you’d not
be one to put up a fight
He says you’ll feel better when you’ve had some more
but
it’s too cold in the hothouse air
and your fingers trace a pattern on the dusty floor
in an attempt to tell him you don’t care

©Eva Weggelaar

Photogravure: Harold Burkedin & John Morrison

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

The Thief of Time – Eva Weggelaar

The Thief of Time – Eva Weggelaar

Procrastination is the thief of time
so in my imagination I’ve long since made you mine
The wind is your breath that brushes the nape of my neck
those chills down my spine are your fingers running over my back
All the sights I see
are really picture postcards that you sent to me
and in the mingled noise of a crowded room I hear
your voice that murmurs in my ear
Later in the rain stained window of the car, I see reflected
your face next to mine, a picture perfected
I use these images inside my head
the faded photographs I see at night in bed
But when morning comes along
I know that everything is wrong

©Eva Weggelaar

The Solidity of Sound – Eva Weggelaar

The Solidity of Sound – Eva Weggelaar

The Ferris wheel at the end of the street
its lights refracted by the rain
spins around, driven by the need
to give substance to a passing refrain
Well, I’m waiting for time to turn
in a game that relies so heavily on fate
though soon the lights will cease to burn
and my watch tells me it’s late
So spin round one more time
and tear away the veil
to give reason to the rhyme
and find truth in a fairytale

I’ll go down on my knees
and whisper through the door
all my verse and fantasies
to change reality once more
The black and endless nightmare
that would ride right over you
will be made to stop and stare
rendered helpless as it sees my dreams come true
So let it spin around
give solidity to sound
till I can dance on my own ground
Spin around

©Eva Weggelaar

Illustration: Kay Nielsen

November – Eva Weggelaar

November – Eva Weggelaar

After the warm and crowded train
mist curls around you
just passing through
with nothing to explain

Through the cracks between fog and frost
the space between falling leaves and a wet street
looking for someone to meet
around corners, opportunities, lost

A second-hand café
serving hot ginger tea
and another memory
that mustn’t slip away
Only when it’s near
is it good to be alone
so you try to catch it on the phone:
don’t leave me here

The scent of smoke and vanilla fills the air
as you keep moving around
going over the same ground
after something, surely, right there

Not waiting for the last train
an empty shell
waiting for the bell
unable to explain
©Eva Weggelaar

I’ll leave it to you – Eva Weggelaar

I’ll leave it to you  – Eva Weggelaar

My custom-made mythologies
My unspoken apologies
My put-on happiness
My cloak of fanciness
My pre-packed suitcase
My unworn lace
Everything to make you see
the world I paint with what you gave to me

I’m the picture in your frame
painted with your signs
the illustration to your lines
bearing your name

I’m the way you described me
a character in your book
living only when you look
following a plot that I can’t see

I think with your mind
see through your eyes
breathe your sighs
in a world where I’m blind

You see, I keep thinking there must be something I could do
but the storm chased my horses far away
left me in a pale vastness with nothing to say
and I wish I could leave it to you
©Eva Weggelaar