Seven paintings seven poems
A lolly just for me
A lolly just for me
You can beg and plead
And clamour and scream
you'll get nothing -
not a bite, not a lick,
This lolly is just for me
My lolly
my sacred space
my journey
my dream.
You can beg and plead
be kind and scare me,
you get nothing -
not a bite, not a lick,
Not until maybe someday,
when the time comes,
then I'm ready
to give away.
Transformation
Transformation, that is
like dying in life.
Then suddenly you're given
the freedom to live.
To fly into life
Do you hear the call?
Let's follow it.
Up – soar into the air.
He leads us
into the land of our longing,
right there into the world.
To fly -
Do you feel the freedom?
You have always wanted to soar.
Just hear the call:
He leads us deeper into the land
And shows us the world
That we did not know
Which was hidden from us without Him.
I know that I am beautiful
Looking into the mirror
and knowing
that I am beautiful
just the way I am.
To look at myself
and recognise the Spirit of God
in me.
The Spirit of God,
which is in everything.
Thoughts of the cows
The land beyond the hill, we don't know it.
We stretch our necks, we only see its light.
On our hill here we are at home.
We eat the flowers, we don't miss a thing.
Swallows fly above us, how nice they have it:
They can see the land of secrets from above.
The land beyond the hill, we don't know it.
In the evening we see the radiance, we see the light.
On our hill here we graze serenely.
When the flowers are gone, we'll move on.
Maybe then we'll be able to see, like the swallows;
The land beyond the hill is surely beautiful.
Self-portrait
I as a wife and mother -
flourishing.
Me as an artist -
striving heavenwards.
And then - still rolled up -
me as a madwoman, as a witch,
Don Quixote, Eulenspiegel,
court jester, rebel.
Ready, to disrupt the course of the world
Ready, for the mischief of the universe.
The turnip tree
I am a turnip
in slumber and silent growth,
hidden in colour, deep under the earth.
There comes your call, "Wake up, you sleeper!"
I leave the comfort of my darkness
and follow you.
I am a turnip,
a growing and becoming within me,
thus I see the light of day.
My herb turns into branches,
my colour becomes life,
a ripple of blossoms in the sunlight,
in the earth a trembling.
I am a turnip
and became a tree.
The light my home, my new space.
I am sometimes this, sometimes that:
a coming and becoming, a growing and blossoming;
a pulling into the depths, a turning back to the earth
and waiting again, a back and forth.
If you had not called, it would have been hidden from me,
this perfect happiness!