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Roland Gaebler

of

Perth, West Australia, Australia

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mloderst@sng.uni-frankfurt.de (Roland Gaebler)


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Letting Go

by

Roland Gaebler

Sometimes I feel like slowing down,
Letting go,
Of life,love,
Money and work,
Just going with the flow,
Like a stick in a stream,
Twirling in the eddy currents,
Or a piece of paper caught by the wind,
Letting it carry me,
Where it will,
Then dropping me,
Somewhere else.


Earth, Wind, Fire and Rain

by

Roland Gaebler

To JOY I give thanks,
To sip and suck and drink of thee,
To quench the fires within,
To spread the pleasure to my soul,
Thanks be to JOY,

To ANGER I give thanks,
That burns and lights a fire within,
That allows me distance from my pain,
That moves me when I would be still,
Thanks be to ANGER.

To LOVE I give thanks,
That fills my soul with light,
That gives a pleasure shared,
Thanks be to LOVE,

To PAIN I give thanks,
That stops me when I would do wrong,
That gives me access to my soul,
That is the prod to guide me on,
Thanks be to PAIN,

For JOY is the WATER of which we drink,
ANGER the FIRE that burns within,
LOVE the very AIR we breathe,
And PAIN the EARTH from which we grow.


Regrets

by

Roland Gaebler

Words lay sprinkled on the page,
Warm and wet and red with rage,
They told of dreams that were lost,
Pain supressed but at a cost,
The child within who never breathed,
The man without who never greived,
The places he had never been,
The many things he'd never seen,
And when the page was read at last,
He saw a man who had no past.


Eve

by

Roland Gaebler

Red lips pursed,
Eyebrows arched,
"Come with me",
She murmured,
And led me,
Down the hallway,
To her garden,
Rolled in scented petals,
Plucking peaches from the air,
Enveloped in a thousand senses,
And knowing you were there.


The Flower

by

Roland Gaebler

Deep inside by Winterwarmth,
Petal folding holding close,
A sheltered soul straining outward,
That with the sun,
Burst forth with brightness,
To drink the light,
To tap the moisture,
Allow the bee,
To stroke the stamen,
And when the colours fully brightened,
Around another gently tightened,
A rose of red and white entwined,
To make a kinder flesh combined.


The Butterfly

by

Roland Gaebler

His body quaked and shivered,
With the need to transform,
A butterfly within,
But the outer shell a norm,
Perhaps if he lay still,
And quiet for long enough,
The carapace would split,
And spilling out,
The emerald wings,
Would fill with breathe so light,
To carry him above the trails,
Of those who crawl at night.


The Willy Willy

by

Roland Gaebler

He suddenly,
Drove through a Willy Willy,
As it danced across the road,
Twirling and tumbling,
Pieces of detrius,
Lifted and rotated,
To another level,
Above their fellows,
Glittering, pirouetting,
Swirling and gliding,
No longer inanimate,
Annoying rubbish,
Despoiling all around,
But now part of a greater scheme,
Dancers upon a stage,
Appearing,
Slightly embarrassed,
At their brief moment,
Of fame and art,
Before the wind,
Giving up it's artistic endeavours,
Leaves behind a splattered pattern,
Upon the road,
And all the while,
The cars,
Mute and fixated,
Drove ever onwards,
And barely noticed,
The beginning,
The middle,
Or the end,
Of the play.

My Son

by

Roland Gaebler

My son lies surrounded,
By the machines of a war,
Against Death,
His quiet resilience,
Bares note to an inner strength,
That contrasts to a silent disquiet,
That crawls beneath my skin,
For when the young,
Seek to leave a room,
Before their elders,
One should be careful,
Not to slip on tears.

And when I felt,
That he, my Son might leave,
My tears became a Torrent,
That flowed into a River,
That tumbled into an Ocean,
Of sorrow and loss,
That covered the World,
So that everywhere I walked,
My mouth was filled with brine,
And everywhere I looked,
Was deep,
And dark,
And blue.