Poems

It crowed three times
Crowed
The water fell into the well.
The crow became the cock.
The child is already in the bath.
The coffee boiled away.
The flower deflowered.
The bud is broken,
The thorn in the flesh,
Two eyes closed,
The knowledge orphaned,
Made the night,
The red fades,
The day withers
Before it begins
Three times four eyes
Have met.
Three questioning mouths,
The gate is closed.

Bruno Griesel, Villa Rossa, August 98

There can be no
There can be no divorce,
Since it is the bringing together
Of the divorce of
of being separated.

The Woman - The Desire - The Man
The Woman - The Child - The Man
The Woman
From The Dream Of The Man
The Child - Of All Desire
End
Grace, death and fulfilment
Constant haste.
The nut is cracked
The inside out
Turned inside out.
The shell a drifting
Boat
The nut, the inside divided
By 4, like the
Inside the heart,
In 4 chambers, like
The world.
Two halves drift
Divided into themselves on
Open sea.
The nut, the boat and
The egg - death and longing
Search in the sea.

The Child - The Snail

The Squirrel the
Rainbow and the House
Have perished in the
Storm of the unicorn.
The needle in the heart is
The compass on
Open sea.
The work is done.
The addiction longs
Back, the beginning
Grounded, the water
Muddied.
The end stripped bare.
The clamps in the basket
Of the laughing child.
The honeycombs of the bees
As bottoms of the feet,
The fire of the triple
Star in
The left hand
The child sings...

Time has passed,
The tree withers,
The wood is cut.
The wood is the door,
The window nailed in the cross.
Behind the door
The woman
The evening dear,
The morning already thought,
The day is done,
Empty the four chambers,
Divorced the time,
The knowledge. The death,
The food forgotten.
The honey exchanged with the sugar,
The journey postponed.
The sinews
Tense.

Bruno Griesel, Villa rossa, August 98

There
Adam breathed
The
air, he recognised
He
The
Earth
And threw himself
On Her
And knew
Eve, when she was
Born to him
Had two children,
After they
Together
Left the
Father's garden.
The children were
Both of the same
sex.
One slew
The other,
ANNO DOMENI
One is born
Another,
Who had no
Earthly father, who
Had no
children.
HE DIED ON THE CROSS.

B. Griesel

The view out of the window
Yellow is divorced
The parting in the
middle of the mountain,
Framed by the window,
The sky above.
The yellow is
Yellow by the green.
The border to the sky
Is an edge
Of stone.
The river at the foot of the
of the mountain is not to be seen.
The houses on the other
bank seem so small.
Rubble is the sheath
Of the mountain, the thing
Of Eros' son (Erosion)

B. Griesel

The Stock Exchange

Empty

In the pocket
Warned of business,
Awaiting Monday
The MONEY hidden,
Left to chance
The OVER-RASH
Sure.
The call in mind
The money gambled away
On the stock market.

Home rages in the room
The child turns in a circle,
The doll in her arms.
The doll is a mermaid,
She came out of the water.
The way is blocked,
In the pipe the water,
Speechlessness the result.
The mermaid on land.
The fountain sings.
The child is happy.
The father alone.
The mother
In the cellar
In the web of thoughts
entangled.
B. Griesel, Villa Rossa, August 98

The cigarette in the beer
Deleted,
Stale,
The table on
One leg.
Crossed the
legs,
The pen leads the
right hand,
The chair, next to
Invites
To solitude.

Bruno Griesel

The part distributed.
Missing the jump.
Not above.
Not below.
But the promise
Of the multiplicity of the four, of the world
De-quartering the four.
The one.
The origin
From the possibility
The zero
The deed
Where is the
word.

Bruno Griesel

The branches of the tree
Pull through the
Darkness of the clocks and catch
The shadows of the sun
On the leaf of the moon.
The night.
The sky casts its
stars into the calm
Of the river.
By day we are a boat .
The river is after the bridge
is another.
The gold of the leaves
On the black of the
Clocks branches
In the hands of the
numerals of the
leaf,
In the division of the
branches of the tree.
Maria, Claudia, Bruno, Sophie

It shows the time
Not the time.
It draws time
Time.
Invisible,
The clock stands still
For one day.
Black
In letters
On wooden paper.
It adorns the newspaper
The reader.
The paper withers.
The paper is new
new every day.

The flower promises eternity.
The point peeled
From the line of time
In the shape of the circle
Of repetition
Is the centre
Of the leaf of the numerals.
The needle of the hand
Draws a circle
From east to west
From north to south.
It divides the world
Two times twelve, the hours
Divided by two,
Tells the year
And
The divorce of
Day and Night.

Time has left
the garden of the circle
fallen in love with the
hands.
parallel to each other
they have left the
left,
to go on a line
to leave the circle,
in self-absorbed duality,
moving away
away from the origin.
divided into the possible
sums of zero
and
one.

B. Griesel

A bowl full of
black nuts
in double shell,
unusual, the soft green
shell not chipped
and released the
earth-coloured wood
of the
second shell, withered
the green, burnt
burnt in the ice of winter.
They lay for a year in the womb
of the earth.
Now they are opened
by a woman on
Friday morning.

The WAAL nut, called
the WALL - nut, inside
divided into four, from two
shells,
a quadripartite hermaphrodite,
like a hermaphrodite
it is split,
like a skull with
with two brains and
will be eaten at noon
on the Lord's day.

Bruno Griesel, Villa Rossa, August 98

Love is an addiction
to stretch the sinews
in the bow the arrow
the curve curved
the willow dry
the bowels tense
the heart filled with the
red of the blood
the breasts plump
in the middle the bulge
Venus between them
the rod penetrates
the opening.
The door slams shut
the wind blows through the
the room.
The legs open, the arms
folded, the meadow soaked
Lost in thought the time.
The organ rapt,
in the middle of the vagina
the exit open
the eyes closed
weary the camp,
the day has disappeared,
the night has begun.

Bruno Griesel, Villa Rossa, August 98

The way into the valley
leads over the Βridge
across the river
straight ahead, thought a line
it winds
in reality it winds
to the road.
On the other side
Agnedo - in thought
the little bar, the old
the old woman, the cappuccino
holding my
daughter Maria Sophie
Claudia, her eyes
to the street,
the clouds in the sky
dreamy.
She slept badly during the night
slept badly, the cigarette
in the mouth, the fire
in the hand.

The look in Maria's eyes, the
last kiss, the heart
torn, the shirt
all black - I sit
I sit at the window
Agnedo on the other
Shore,
quarrelling with Claudia,
At the last moment
reconciled, Ivana
closed.
The piazza della Neptuno
a stranger, the sun
so hot, the train ride
back.
Agnedo on the other bank
on the way back two
pears on the right
side of the road in the
garden covered
covered.

Bruno Griesel, Villa Rossa, August 98