Going Home

I stood at the shore at dawn

and looked at the sea

Tranquilly I watched the waves fooling around
and I listened to their calming sounds

Impulsively I accepted their invitation

Slowly, step by step I walked into the shallow water
I didn’t care that my white skin-tight pants got wet

I just moved on

When the water was up to my knees
I perceived the extent of width
How reassuring the deep-blue appeared to me

I couldn’t go back - I wanted to go further

When the water was up to my hips
I began to unbutton my tight-fitting jeans coat
How smooth the sea was this morning

While I was moving on
I took off the blue mantle
How good it did to feel the water

I dropped my coat on the left
A bit concerned I turned to the coat
I didn’t want to see it sinking

Surprisingly I saw a man in a rowboat
just a few metres behind me

Benevolently the fisherman nodded to me
He would pick up the mantle into his boat
And so I didn’t care about it anymore

I just knew - I wanted to go further

To my left a little red plastic shovel
bobbed up and down on the water
close enough to me to take it

But I wouldn’t need it anymore
I wouldn’t need any tools any more

When my feet lost ground
I began to swim

I’m going home, I smiled

And while the sea was showing me
thousands of tiny stars
I swam freely towards the light of the rising sun

Copyright © 2013 DancingElla

Red Sea, Marianne North, 1880

The Moment of Goodbye

There was a time I missed you

The Black Marble Clock, Paul Cezanne

doch diese Zeit ist nun vorbei
I spent much time with waiting
time which simply passes by
I feared to face the moment
the moment of goodbye

I thought I have to take it
the suffer and the pain
thought really I could make it
if only I were not that vain

I thought it were a good thing
reduced what I call pride
result - I missed not only you
I also missed the voice inside

Still miss the funny hours
as well as the inspiring time
but now I’m out of powers
and memories covered with rime

There was a time I missed it
the chance to say goodbye
but this time I’ll take it
now it is pain which will pass by
Yes, even I still miss you
die Zeit mit Dir ist jetzt vorbei.

Copyright © 2013 DancingElla

_

Fallen Angel

Satan, Gustave Dore

The fight against myself ...
what have I done to me
what have I allowed to be done to me

Crime and punishment ...
wherein lies the temptation?
to follow my own will?

Power struggles
no will to forgive
bad vibes kept as warning
unable to let go ...

The more I tried to be good
the more my clear silhouette blurred
the clarity of my person ...

The original good turned into evil
solely out of a desire to be good ...
adapted
the wish to adapt myself, just to be loved
always to give, to be finally seen

Ultimately the realization
that this was in vain
a continuous bleeding
which can only lead to downfall

A helpless creature I've finally shown
which has now found its place among all the others
in the darkness
in the shadow of those who seemed so much more powerful

I hid my light, to be loved
adjusted my I
and was neither recognized as I
nor loved as the being I figured

The fallen angel
inscrutable
intangible
without center
without a core
without edges
always friendly
but empty
so empty inside

Shame before those who are close to my heart
of whom I think they might actually love me
as the being that I am inside
makes me retreat further
makes me seek solitude
and again
I’m swallowed by the darkness of my shadow.

Copyright © 2013 DancingElla

_

Through the Bars of my Cage

Frequently Asked Love (The Cage)
Felicien Rops

by Ingrid Prohaska


Viewing the world through the bars of my cage
Starving, and longing for freedom in life
Paying attention that the bars don’t get denser
till the moment
I get rid of my costume and lay down my mask

Easily I slip through the bars in a harmony
My dreams like the sun are warming my soul
Lightly I dance through the fields of my wishes
to a place which I simply call paradise

Friends are waiting here for me
using the origin language
and all words are forgotten
to express how I feel

Copyright © 2012 Ingrid Prohaska

_

Empty Time

by Ingrid Prohaska


Another week

Old and New Year
Cover-Table Calendar for 1905
 Konstantin Somov

ran through my fingers

With strong wind
Shoulds and Musts
rolled over the weakened
But-I-Want

Busy weeks let me feel
I haven’t lived my life
Servants count
my days, my hours
try to persuade me
you use your time

Too many impressions
no chance yet to assimilate
Too many impressions
ups and downs walk hand in hand
Too many impressions
neutralize each other

Nothing's left
except the feeling of emptiness

the emptiness of time

Copyright © 2012 Ingrid Prohaska

_

At the Station

by Ingrid Prohaska

The Station at Sevres, Alfred Sisley

For decades I spent my time
with waiting for this particular train.
Years passed with waiting
but my train didn’t arrive.

They had closed the railway line - years ago
not a single train rolled on the abandoned tracks.

Weeds, even young trees conquered back their land
grew over the slim but strong rails
broke through the asphalt of the platform.

Amidst this scene I sat on that wooden bench
on sunny and on rainy days
Braved bitter cold and scorching heat
Longed for a life

A wrapped gift beside me,
something I would have loved to show him
wrapped in a way of which I assumed
the packet would please him.

From time to time the rusted sign
“Welcome to Parenthood”
squeaked lonely with the wind.

I fed myself with sweet bites of hope
too less to live, too much to die.

But on that one day
those bites of hope tasted rancid
A bitter aftertaste let me know
that they had turned to illusion.

It was a sunny afternoon that May 17th,
when I realized that my train wouldn’t arrive anymore.
He wouldn’t come to pick me up,
to protect me and to bring me on my track of my life.
He wouldn’t come to give me love and security, not even support.
I would never hear - I’m proud of you.
Yes, I was sure
He wouldn’t come anymore.

I unwrapped the packet beside me,
and found a kind soul in it
like an abandoned child I held it close to my chest.

I stood up
and dropped the shrunken bag of self-deception
into the rusty trash beside the bench.

A sudden wind gust brought some voices close to me.
There is life outside the station.

I’m sorry that we couldn’t find each other.
I said
and left

Copyright © 2012 Ingrid Prohaska

_

He

by Ingrid Prohaska


It was pouring outside

You turned on the light
and I could see you

I heard the warmth in your voice
saying - Isn't that better?

Give me your hand, you said
and dance with me
this one single dance
to the melody of your life

Copyright © 2012 Ingrid Prohaska

_

The Vehicle

by Ingrid Prohaska

So I stand here
abandoned and alone
outside of any civilization.

The sun burns through my cracked windscreen
draws strange pattern on my empty interior.
What kind of life is this? I wonder.

I was a reliable one for centuries

powerful yet economical in use.
I transported many goods
even when the weight was heavier
than I was built for.
They called me their good fellow.

Old-fashioned they called me one day
and not fast enough.
I was not useful anymore.

They brought me outside
and parked me somewhere in the nature.

Gangs found me on one of their rambles.
They took away what they thought
could be useful elsewhere
the front seats, the steering wheel,
even parts of my engine.

Weeks later they came back.
The girls used my mirrors to make them look better,
the boys hit my body with heavy tools.
They smashed my side windows
just for fun
and cut my backseat into pieces.

My skin turned pale with the sun of years,
my tires lost air
I sank to the ground.
Passersby threw waste in my inside
made jokes about my look.

One night some guys set me on fire
a one night wonder so it was said.
And I burnt out - completely.

Now I stand here
as a burnt out chassis
What kind of life is this? I wonder.
Just waiting
that the rain
finally
corrodes me to dust.

Copyright © 2012 Ingrid Prohaska
_

A Little Rhyme ...

by Ingrid Prohaska


I spent some time
in a little rhyme
it's not a secret
just written by Ingrid

about a flowing river
and a light shining silver
about a colorful meadow
and a being with shadow

about a day of living
between Christmas and Thanksgiving
about thoughts on a mind
a pair of eyes sometimes blind

about hundreds of gifts
and a life in shifts
about a breath after all
and the rediscovery of a goal

the cook is very wise my dear
and far beyond every fear
shadows are sometimes very near
but I refuse to disappear

want to be in my own light
need a lot of energy for this fight
I know there is a way for me
with my own tools I'll take it easily

Copyright © 2011 Ingrid Prohaska

_

Desperation

A reading in addition to a little piece of dark poetry I wrote almost two years ago. - I hope you'll enjoy it.



Thank you for listening!

_

Lightyears Away

by Ingrid Prohaska

"Falling Stars" Mihaly Zichy

Sometimes I wonder
why a person like me
can be so sad.

And then I wonder
why people hurt each other
and why they hurt me.

People,
once very close
and still they are
deeply connected
in a certain way.

Near me
but unfortunately
lightyears away.

Copyright © 2011 Ingrid Prohaska

_

Helix

by Ingrid Prohaska

"Jacob's Ladder" William Blake

I see myself
moving on a helix
from the bottom to the top

Unfinished matters
I meet
again and again
just seen with more distance

I guess that's the plot.

Copyright © 2011 Ingrid Prohaska

_

Recreation

by Ingrid Prohaska

... and with a smirk
he ran a knife into her dream.

"Ulysses' Dream" Nicolae Vermont

Her images flew out of their frame
drop by drop
they fell to the ground
to build an unformed puddle
abstracted
still undefined
not yet comprehensible
just to be felt
colorful
powerful
and strong enough
to be a recreated lodestar in her life.

Copyright © 2011 Ingrid Prohaska

_

Final Act

by Ingrid Prohaska


His eyes were closed
he couldn't see her beauty
His ears were plugged
he couldn't hear her melody

"La Blanchisseuse"
Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec

His wings were clipped
he couldn't join her dreams
He hurt himself
and so he hurt her
he damned himself to a mediocre life

She opened her eyes
and had to see
that she filled her love in holey bags
She unplugged her ears
and had to hear
shallow rehearsed phrases
She healed her clipped wings
was ready to fly
but going to drown in her own tears

With her last entry
she had her exit to the right
silently she closed the door

Time for the final curtain

She let him in the spotlight
with the applause of the crowd

Copyright © 2011 Ingrid Prohaska


_

Scene at the Edge

by Ingrid Prohaska

"Still Life with a Dead Peacock", Jan Weenix

I stood at the edge quite a long time
and couldn't see an answer.

Finally I did
what should be done
I pushed my dream into the abyss.

I felt relieved
for a few moments
till emptiness replaced my dream.

"What for?" I said
"The heck with it!"

And did one step.

The right one
or just one too much.

Copyright © 2011 Ingrid Prohaska



_

The Fall

a dark poem
by Ingrid Prohaska

"The Triumph of Death" (Detail)
Pieter Bruegel the Elder

Dark sides
dark impressions
dark poetry

I feel that I fall
and I fall
I fall

Hands are reaching out for me
offer me their help
but when I try to take them
I have to see
these hands are bones
of dead
or undead
I feel the cold
and I'm scared

So I fall deeper
and deeper
deeper
into a universe
where the sun doesn't shine
and no flower can bloom
where tears freeze into sharp stones

An unknown land
without any light
where one can't see
and hardly breathe
dark feelings are stronger than ever

My inside cries

But in my scream
there hang the words
for me to hear

I will survive!

Copyright © 2011 Ingrid Prohaska


_

No Wonder

by Ingrid Prohaska


Standing at the edge of the abyss
staring at my goody two shoes

a field of thirsty years behind me
with the constant effort not to fall

wonder I
if I'm ready to fly.

Copyright © 2011 Ingrid Prohaska


_

Broken Mirror

by Ingrid Prohaska

"The Broken Mirror"
Jean-Baptiste Greuze

The mirror broken
a smash on my soul
a chapter closed

Scars on my face
a tear
just one
the last one

Then she turned into stone.

Copyright © 2011 Ingrid Prohaska


_

Part of this Living Meadow

by Ingrid Prohaska

"The Garden in Flower" Claude Oscar Monet

I'm not a rose
nor am I a daisy
I'm not a tulip
nor am I an aster
you can not see me
but I am here
part of this living meadow

I'm not tall
nor do I have a special scent
my color is undefined
and I'm even not sure
if there is a tribe for me
but I am here
part of this living meadow

You don't see me
and you won't miss me
but I am here.
And I want to bloom
with all my power
till the moment I die
to make this place
a beautiful one
because I want to be
part of a living meadow

My name?
Hm, I'm not sure
if there is a name for me
I usually say
well, it's just me
with the strong wish to be
part of a living meadow

Copyright © 2011 Ingrid Prohaska


_

Dance of the Words

"Dance in the City"
 Pierre-Auguste Renoir

by Ingrid Prohaska

When feelings are playing a melody

words come to ask for a dance with me

phrases are easily put together

the rhythm I tell you couldn't be better

in major or minor sounds the band

the words flow eagerly out of my hand

all the steps of this pen dance accord

a smile or a tear joins the final chord.

Copyright © 2011 Ingrid Prohaska