Park and Ride

There are awful autumn days
and there are funny and rebarbative autumn Tuesday mornings
with its never-ending rains.
I’m long done with King Leopold’s Ghost
and at the crossroads between Lille and Wechelderzande
with the minutes closing on in the nearest half hour,
comes a noble man
who saves the day,
not in an apple-polish manner,
just an unusual goodhearted and so considerate man,
whose thoughts are noble and blameless.

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Little Princ(ess)

She’s outgrown her ideas
Of whom she had to be
Maybe you’re torn between
The past and the present;
today and tomorrow

So let’s unwind not without wine
And hold unto our spine
like the winds of summer
Abrupt, a comeuppance
For hoping for the sun
So let’s begin the fun

Eyes,
Sealed off by local tapas
And familiar breweries
Taking stock of her pallid self,
On a Friday evening,
Caressing her thoughts to take
the weekend by the horn.

Inferno

Maybe she will be remembered
as the girl from East-Flanders
Courteous and well kept among others
You’ll forever be remembered
as the girl torn between the past
and the present
Maybe I’ll only be remembered
as the chap you held hands with
Or maybe I’ll always come to mind
whenever you see Omar Sy
Not because we’re brothers

She will always be remembered
as the girl with sunken eyes
or perhaps hollowed cheeks
I know, I’m sometimes bad
when it comes to choice of words
I know I won’t be remembered
as the boy who births awkward silences
You promised me,
so I pray you keep your word

She’ll be remembered
as the girl with the entire world at her humble feet and a golden heart
And anytime you think about Venice,
I hope I won’t be too distant a memory
Your heart has fought battles,
won, drew and even lost some
Let’s pray the latter is soon forgotten
But how do you forget
the sound of a bird that sings to
you every morning?
How do you mend a wounded soul?
So, you will be remembered
just like how you left,
in your toggery, with a hurried hug and a forced smile
Swift, and there you went

I will always remember you
as the girl who, while eating tacos kept asking why I aligned
the Coca-Cola bottle and the glass every now and then
Maybe precision was the word
you were looking for
Or maybe both of us were searching for
So anytime I think of precision,
you’ll be next in thought
Inferno

Not For His Words

Don’t fall for his words, poems,
poetry or whatever
Please, please don’t fall for his poems,
they are just unsaid words,
unfinished sentences and sometimes deserted
thoughts
Maybe some day, maybe some day,
maybe some day, maybe some day
he’ll muster all the courage in this world
and pour out his heart to you
Maybe one day, maybe just one day,
he’ll turn the coin on its head
Maybe some day, maybe some day,
maybe sooner rather than later,
maybe sooner rather than later,
he’ll refuse to beat about the bush
Maybe sooner rather than later,
he’ll hit the nail right on its head
Maybe some day,
you’ll finally hear the sound of his gavel
So please, please don’t fall his words, poems,
poetry or whatever
They are just words yet unsaid,
words that lie asunder,
words with no assigned meanings
He is good with words and subtle at heart
So maybe he is just searching for the right words
So don’t fall for his words

Suchomski

Maybe you’re the quintessence
of all our dreams
the perfect picture we’ve been
told about
a breath of fresh air
with a genuine heart and a
pure conscience

As the tides change,
maybe you could guide us to
be stalwart
And vary from our old ways,
of which we’re not proud to manifest

Maybe you are all that we have,
with your resilience, your grit and your kindheartedness
As we are somewhat still in pursuit of more

As months blur into years,
maybe you could once again
just breathe new life into us, Suchomski

For Her Never To Be Born Son

A precarious early autumn afternoon
not too hot and not too cold
if it were to be water,
it’d be called ‘lauw water’
maybe in our sister language

we sing no odes for children
and never dirges for unborn babies
this wasn’t the druthers of Ms. L
as you are the eponym of her
recent talks
but again, we sing no odes for children
and never dirges for unborn babies

so scale the heights wherever you are
Ms. L is aching now and so are we all
maybe you just came to embody
the brevity of human life
but we sing no odes for children
and never dirges for unborn babies
So keep clambering up wherever
you are

(c) Prince Kenny Jr

Park Spoor Noord

Time and time again has it been told
Colossal words will be redundant
to clarify the fact of the matter
Who are we to judge?
You, men of today,
who trod namby-pamby
you natter around like week-old chicks
and tessellate in smaller circles,
to dine away your burdened souls
You are ebbing away,
not into the annals of history,
but as disappearing meteorites

So who are you to judge?
You, women of today, who thrive
on inoccent anthers,
to invoke a ripple of approval
from the present
you tessellate unlike your men
in bigger circles
to dine away your troubled hearts
You are all saying your final goodbyes to spring,
maybe actually to Park Spoor Noord

FORTNIGHT (A birthday poem)

A couple of words, candid and true
It’s a year on, placid as the ages accrue
So no expressions of flattery today
And be that as it may
it’s a year on, all but not astray
it’s barely a fortnight
that Other and Jackie crossed path
So I’ll just allow you to a have an early bath
Cos it’s a year on, one more time
“Happy Birthday” is all what I’ll mime

Are You Writing Your Life ?

It’s been a couple of years
after you asked that question
Till now, you’ve never been missed,
due to the presence of your words,
the unplanned meetings in public transport
and honestly, you reside not far from here
You’ve been spotted going out and about
as days turn into years
Sometimes, picking your noble son from school
holding each others’ hands tightly
along the brick-pavement
You must be a proud mother
The spark in your eyes says it all
You’ve also been seen taking strolls
in and around the public park
others call it a recreational park,
with your belly-full
You were carrying in you either a
prince or a princess or even both,
an unborn monarchy
Lately you were seen pushing a pram
you seemed to be in a hurry
Maybe you had an appointment
with a paediatrician
How time runs!
Nine months have just gone by
within a blink of an eye or did you
deliver prematurely?
Anyway what matters most is that mother and child(ren) are healthy
So be it then
But what happened to your plans?
Are you still on them?
Pursuing your goals of becoming a
journalist.
You speak four languages;
Turkish(your mother tongue), German,
English and of course Dutch, right?
Great stuff
My regards to your husband and children
and who knows, maybe we’d bump into each other some day
either in a public transport
or I might see you reporting on TV
or hear your voice on the radio
or meet you at the nearby recreational park with your children
They may be of age by then and I wouldn’t be surprised if they ask
if indeed I’m writing my life
Till then, I’ll be preparing for an answer.