Poems by Walter Palm

Be inspired by the individual poems written by Walter Palm!

English

I’m well acquainted
with the jasmine-scented empty-handed
East.

I’m also well acquainted
with the velvet-handed empty-hearted
West.

East and West
the sea is staring at you.
No wonder its taste is so bitter.

In a spider’s web of streets
where cars roar like wounded animals
there are beehives full of crowds.

Aimlessly roaming herds of masses
lost in a howling loneliness
preyed upon by ruthless crime.

Thousand neon-signs but there
isn’t any sign of human kindness.

The sun fell into the well of the night,
broke into thousand stars.

The moon is
dancing on the water,
kissing his silver bride.

Look at
me Mother Nature
and make me smile.

The velvet touch of a falling leaf:
your look.

Your hands:
like warm, open fire in Winter.

A joyful day in August:
your mood.

Your voice:
gentle guitar in early Spring.

The sun is desperately
trying to dry the sea,

because the aggressive sea
is embracing the island,

while the island itself, full
of bright colours, is drunk with the sun.

She pronounces words
and so does he.
She’s speaking for herself
and so does he.
It’s all in vain.

Now it’s his turn again.
He talks about Sartre.
She answers that maybe it’s going to rain.
The icebergs are drifting apart.

Sailors call You a bare rock
but after all those years
the waves roll me back to You.

Broken hopes and scattered dreams
You smile the scars away.

Was it salty shipwreck
that embittered
the sweetness of your dreams?

Or was it oppressive heat
that evaporated
the arc of your smile?

Tell me, my friend, tell me…

Was it wicked wind
that blew away
the roof of your pride?

Or was it spiny gravity
that stole
the lightness of your feet?

Tell me, my friend, tell me…

Was it icy moon
that eclipsed
the sun of your eyes?

Or was it thick dust
that disturbed
the serenity of your sky?

Tell me, my friend, tell me…
when did the laughing stop?

His eyes full of books
and doubts,
the student.

Tigers and mirrors of Borges,
Lorca’s moon and horses,
the devils of Baudelaire.

Days of “Yeah, yeah” and “Dr. No”.
Winding roads in the desert of adolescence
when he met himself but he wasn’t sure it was him.

It was past midnight
and the devil was running free
when the fast driving car of Dodi and Lady Di
crashed into pillar number thirteen.

The judge said there was a faint curve
and the driver was drunk
but I know what it was
they were simply cursed.

Crushed the ballad of Dodi and Lady Di
even before it properly started.
Fate showed no mercy, had no heart
at the Alma Bridge.