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maandag 20 januari 2014

Climbing that hill snapshot poem

In a distance, still on the road, a chimney smokes;
the little house all alone as a home
for a hermit with just a cat on his lap
wrapped in a blanket he stares outside
from his rocking chair.

The path slowly goes up, rises in soil
with trees as damaged wood, hit by lightning
stroked by thunder, and now...
a little paradise for shelter
the tiniest on the hill.

Far down in the valley, the town,
just a collection of buildings
that do not belong here, or do
An arrogant over-painting of the green
that always was...

Buildings; a farm, but the farmer has moved
to an apartment, a condo in luxury
bought from what his old housing brought;
too much or too little for them
who live there now, or do business.

Caves in the slopes, holes forbidden to enter
since men harvested blocks to build
and marl to grind.
In danger now, today it can collapse
on those who hide inside...

The valley, the fields from above
colors as a painting in the sun
Still farmland, but for how long?
Will it stay this empty, this loneliness
just for eyes to see and mouths to fill.

The cattle on the hill is gone,
back to the stables
afraid for Winter that does not come
that just Spring stays all year long
and no snow or summer sun...

There is still hope as long as rainbows form
and draw its colorful dome above the valley
and above the hill, in weed-brown autumn shades
catch the grass and trees by the light of the sun
but darkness too soon, too quick

At the top it is only going down;
the only way that is left
back into the next valley

and the village where I live

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