[Seán Himmelb(L)au]

Here is some of my poetry.

This is based on a painting by Marc Chagall, The Dream, of which I cannot find a picture on the internet. It depicts a woman holding a man in the moon, over the skyline of Paris, with the Eiffel tower clearly visible. There is also a goat in the picture, which I couldn't incorporate into the poem, but it is one of Chagall's ssignatures throughout his work.

The placid moon silently reflects
Its silky cream into your Prussian eyes
I clasp my hands around your tapered jaw and we delicately kiss;
Silently in the darkness. The moonlight. Your beauty
The dew drops in your hair, your cold hands.
Reaching for my face, our souls connect in an
Everlasting, infinite oeuvre. Ours. With one whisper
“I love you.” I see a smile.
I cry.


There are loads of references to surrealist works of art in this one.
I'm so annoyed- I was at the Saarbrucken Museum in Germany where there is a Max Ernst but I didn't know!

Closing time at the Surrealist exhibition;
I leave with the other four hundred men in suits;
I sit on a pair of lips outside and light my not-a-pipe;
While observing the beauty of the two full moons.

I use my lobster to call a taxi,
When it arrives it is full of plants;
The taxi driver’s face is a giant butterfly;
I share the back seat with some huge underpants.

Time is getting on; the café clock is melting,
I leave my coffee; there is fur on the cup;
I turn to the table with the talking dog,
And kindly ask him to please shut up.


For me there is nothing more romantic than a walk in the woods with my lover. Presently he is a figament of my imagination :-(

Here’s a snowdrop: White, then green.
Looks so pretty but we mustn’t touch it-
To do so would be a crime.

We walk, we tread the followed path;
Hand in hand, again. I look at you now, with me,
And see the happiness glint in your eye.

There’s birdsong and the sun smiles, I whisper
Sweet nothings in your ear.
We stop, right here, in the trees that protect; and kiss.
I’m glad I exist.


There must be some Germans on this forum, right? This is my first foray into German poetry.

Die Farben der Bäume sind schön;
Der Himmel ist hell mit der Sonne;
Das Wasser liebkost die Ufer von der Saar,
Aber mich, ich bin der einzige eine.

In der Stadt, die Straßen sind leer,
Am Bahnhof, die Züge sind abgefahren;
Die Häuser sind frei von Familie und Freunden.
So ich bin der einzige eine.

Manchmal ich frage:
Wenn Gott mich verschont hat,
Und wenn er mir die Welt als ein Geschenk gegeben hat.
Vielen Dank Gott, dass Sie so nett waren.

Translation...

The colours of the trees are pretty
The sky is bright with the sun
The water is caressing the banks of the Saar
And me, I am the only one

In the city, the streets are empty
At the station, the trains are all gone
The houses are free of family and friends
So I am the only one

Sometimes I wonder
If God spared me for a reason
And if he gave me this world as a present
Thank you for being so kind


Looks lovely to people who don't speak German, but actually pretty basic I'm afraid. And the last line 'Thank you God, for being so kind', doesn't really tally with me, an atheist. But it was written last spetemaber and my views have changed a lot since even then.

I have had some of my poetry published. This may sound snotty, but I see it as a poor relation, because often I have to distance myself from any emotion in order to appeal to the masses. These are the thee published.

The Eclipse

Backlit by the Sun god:
Nature’s diamond ring-
Placed in a jeweller’s velvet cloth,
Displayed on a podium thing.

God decides against a bottle of wine-
Takes an eclipse instead.
Select paying passengers seeking a glimpse;
Circle, moaning overhead.

Concealed in a paper bag; crumpled round the neck,
(or gem of ring in this case).
The world’s exclusive gigantic cinema
Screen right out in space.

Crowded down into the South-west coast,
Cardboard specs at the ready-
Brace yourselves, prepare to gasp.
Kids: Clutch your Mummy; hold your teddy.

It’s the space edition of blind man’s buff.
The moon is black with hiding the Sun-
The eclipse, it happens, and quickly is over,
Almost as soon as it has begun.


The Drinking Game

Back at the house, a bottle is found, and opened-
In honour of those who have drowned.
And those who have not and are stricken with guilt,
Dutifully see that not one drop is spilt.

The teetotallers present give in to demand,
And nobly hold a glass in each hand.
The bottles stack up, and so do the tins;
We slowly but surely are filling our skins.

Dancing ensues; the glasses held high,
We’re merrily drinking the wine cellar dry.
The evening continues, and couples go missing-
As they are called up to practice their kissing.

People who drink wine are now drinking beers-
A sign that by bedtime there’ll surely be tears.
When alcohol fuses cause tempers to rise,
We’ll bloody our noses and blacken our eyes.


Thank You My Dear

Thank you my dear, in less than a year, it’s over-
Weeks had gone by when I lived with the fear,
That what I had to say would sound insincere.

I might be a loser or I might be a winner,
Either way I’m a perpetual beginner;
I cannot manage with all of this damage you’ve caused.

Thank you my dear, for you’ve made me realise:
The one that I knew had such a heart cold.
I can abandon my dreams of us growing old.

I should have woken you, I should have stayed,
Instead I wandered, I went out for a day.
When I left it was all okay. When I got back you had gone.

Thank you my dear.


I think that's me done now.

[Maxim Litvinov]

There's some really nice stuff there. In particular it is admirable that you have written in more than one language.

The last two weeks have seen two good docos on Chagall and Magritte on Australian TV, so I appreciate the first couple of poems a bit more, thankfully. I also have a pipe signature :P

Poetry is, of course, subjective. The biggest problem with some of your poetry I found was the rhyme scheme. It never seems to be quite regular, and when it does the simple nature of the rhyme serves to mock the poetry it constitutes - plants/underpants, cup/up, ready/teddy. Perhaps this is intentional, but it doesn't seem so. So, overall, I would just give up on rhyme if I was you.

Just my comments

[Seán Himmelb(L)au]

So what did everyone else think of my poetry?

[Yeddi]

I think everyones a poet.

but some people are better than others, and you're better than me.
not enough death and mobid-ity. that's what real man poems are about.


please note: drunk, will forget in the monring... hopefullky