Mark Boog Poems

Salt seeker - seeing tall waves with wide eyes,
not knowing how to catch. But in the stagnant
the selfish only find themselves, and of silence
...

Water, aspirin, you. The sun burns!
The wind strikes holes into the leaves!
It grips! Time crowing ticks
...

Small house, but throw a ball through it some time
and it becomes quite large. See all those metres,
aren't they ours? And stroll perhaps as if
...

So it must be:
as - no other way! - trees in the city
reaching for the sky, as we are for the evening,
as time passing us by, as we to each other.
...

With ever greater playful ease
I counter the attacks
on my hard-won indifference.
...

Old fortune (not for sale)
in old rooms. Isn't that wonderful?
...

Somewhere, one of these days, arose in perhaps a far land
the steamroller driver who is now searching for
the steamroller in the corner of this room,
...

It must have been visible:
the execution of the sentence upon us,
slowly now, still not completed.
We soon shrivelled up, ahead of realisation.
...

It's all there, everything, but not wholeheartedly. It
apologises: every painter would have done this better.

To me, softy, to save the day.
...

So without worry are we,
making this house a place of refuge,
following with just a glance
...