From time to time, I write poetry and would love to share it with you.
You can find more of it here:
Stranger
Be the stranger.
Uphold the sparkle of the first glance.
Be undefined.
To be known and be loved has a slim chance.
The things familiar make me want to move.
Comfortable habit makes me feel tired, and fooled.
Being more or less awkward is my thing.
The common reaction — not worth mentioning.
Nevertheless, I don’t have a choice.
I never meant to choose my own voice.
Now — standing out of the crowd is my typical zone.
Not fitting in is my familiar home.
Giving each corner just a brief touch.
Leave a small print on each creature; not too much.
But the nervosa from being on my own
drives me weary from the inside out.
It’s the engine that pushes me, yet tires me out.
My cozy nest merely a silent deep sleep.
My tranquil home merely a hole to which I creep
when the risk of my face, the one cut up and bruised,
to be revealed is too great. It would only confuse.
Kristiana Roemer
2014
Home is where the hurt is
Sending a silent hymn
to a cavern still haunted.
An old distorted kinship
keeps the child in its crib,
and lets it weep; keeps it lit
with a dream. So solemnly dim.
Time to gather the nest
of memories ruefully taunted
and finally lay it in an alley.
What a thrill of consolation
when a small history has died.
A victory over a nation
only you carry inside.
Kristiana Roemer
2016
Bury My Heart
Bury my heart
It refuses to die
Bury it quickly
before it can ask why!
Bury it deep
No – even deeper
Let its bloody stream
slowly seep deeper
each distraught scream
let it creep deeper
and with it, my heart’s dreams –
let the depth be their keeper
Until dream by dream
they can all pass me by
But my heart will be silent
It won’t ask me “Why?!”
for down in the moist,
in the warm, in the soft,
in the smooth and the massive,
in darkness
it lies
Bury my heart
It is easier when dead
But give it a grave
it deserves a warm bed
It’s bound to weep
and will keep weeping
down in the deep
while pathetically beating.
It will meekly weep
until it is sleeping –
one last haunting beat
before it curls up to sleep.
And its soulful flutter
will eventually freeze.
Then that powerless heart
will no longer seize
all of my intentions,
my mind, and my functions,
(my desire for vengeance) –
but grant my sentience
lethargic peace.
Kristiana Roemer
2013
Realitäts(ver)Lust
Ein seekranker Fisch.
Die Menschen sind Computer.
Programmierbar, installierbar.
Nichts ist Wirklichkeit,
nichts ist stets,
sondern alles bleibt anfechtbar.
Alles eine Frage der Auslegung,
der Idealisierung,
der Emotionsführung.
Die geglückte Konstellation
von Begebenheit,
Wortwechsel,
und Kondition.
Es ist die menschliche Natur.
Aber diese Banalität.
Diese Banalität
dieser Banalität –
so banal.
Ich greife in die Welt,
aber ich greife ins Leere.
Ich fasse keinen Halt.
Somit kehre
ich
in mich
hinein und verweile.
Blicke raus,
alles ein breiter bunt bemalter Nebelstreifen.
Eine Halluzination im eigenen Haus
in Endlosschleifen.
Kristiana Roemer
2015
In The Frame
In The Frame
Alone in this apartment
with the echoes of his breathing
with his books of wild imaginings.
Songs of secretive passions
for old familiar flavors.
I dive into the pages
I plunge into its soul
devoured by the messy tongues
of travel; thought; craving.
I lose the ground under my feet
and like a bolt, they shoot up into me
pumping my body from the inside out
throbbing my skin.
It’s a dance.
A mutation
into something completely new
that I have been all along.
The scenes still swim in my mind’s lake.
I was there -
He was lying sprawled out on the bed
floating in the bed frame
keeping the room centered.
The room’s bones firm and held tight
by his naked body pumping gravity.
Motionless silent power.
She stood in the doorway
leaning on the frame
her eyes fixed on him
looking out for every movement.
His seed still shyly creeping down her thighs
and dying in the spicy air.
Melting into the door frame
she became one with the frame
sipping vanilla ice cream off a spoon
she is digging from out of the box they bought together.
Time stood still.
Neither she nor he was breathing
but the lungs and groin of the house’s body –
they were rumbling.
The walls became liquid.
The air became hot and heavy.
And he fell into her pages
he sunk into her soul
devoured by messy tongues
of travel; thought and craving.
All the songs of secretive passions
for old familiar flavors
with her books of wild imaginings
with the echoes of her breathing.
Alone in this apartment.
Still Here
Still here. Recalling the sun
burning down the fire escape
where I’d sit, read and sip
my coffee. See your face
through the glass
writing that masterpiece
you so vividly long to encase
while my own mind is chasing
towards its own grounded space.
Still here. Beneath a hollow thud
of quiet amplitude.
It’s deafening,
remembering a world
in which I believed I wandered
only days before
upon arriving at your door.
You took me in
into a home you already owned
and life began to show me things
between the pages of your spirit.
Life’s little cravings and belongings
hidden among the artefacts of the room
which I longed to inherit
and silently melted into.
Still here. Gravely,
mourning the baby so precious
you pushed off the edge into nothingness.
In its absence I still hear its screams and cries
filled with heartaches and smiles
from that moment in time
when the tip of the vine
it climbed was cut down.
But, very likely,
that baby was only mine.
Yet,
still here. Vaguely,
I feel the force of a source far off
or merely a hint of what it was
for it is lessening with the tide.
A moment in time
I am to greet with gratitude
but it is threatening to leave me.
Has it already?
There’s a vicious solitude
crawling all around these new walls.
Once a pond of healthy soil
from which the seed’s been ripped out,
it is now smothering in a moor of bland acid.
I was unprepared for the drought
now to face where your edged voice continuously calls
and is reverberating from inside these damp halls.
Enjoy it while it lasted’
is something I well know.
We had something created.
Now I’m stuck in the heat.
Holding just a faint trace
of a world from days ago.
Still here — yet
I refuse to forget.
The sun was just rising
from behind your head,
letting its rays of fine thread
slither past the left side of your chin
and lace my thoughts with cohesiveness,
its incisive needles puncturing into my skin
and thawing upon the bed spread
we created for ourselves…
Two seagulls found on a burning cliff
to mate for the season
and take this moment once and for all
before they depart.
The female inhaled all the air
that she believed she could hold in her heart
for she knew this may well be a brisk piece of fine art
which beyond this one day
might keep them
still here
together in the fold
each, one tear apart.
Kristiana Roemer
2016
Prospect Park
Whispers in the night.
As they lay in the clearing,
she is being eaten alive.
Insects preying on her skin.
She’s to be freed at the same time
by a dream she carries within.
She forms it in the clouds
just beyond his face, revealing
a thick and heavy shroud.
Lost from the body it was concealing,
it disintegrates into flakes of dust
and rises up towards nothing.
Naked, she tries to humbly let go of his trust
and welcome all that this lust is becoming.
It was a fleeting few days
that felt like eternity.
Reunited with his ways,
a shadow hidden secretly
had appeared among these two lovers long parted
and found peace in a haven
for a time being. Truly, wholehearted-
-ly, she laughed and laughed
for the treasures she once gave him.
Unforgettable path
between reality and heaven,
so afloat and malcraft-
-ed, it would not eternally enslave them.
Now, the shroud disappearing,
she lies calm. Her dream is alive.
The child will survive.
The two merged in the clearing
inside the deep sky, she knows.
And her soul smiles and rests alone
with the young embryo.
Kristiana Roemer
2016
Virgin Soil
In the heart of the meadow
we said our goodbyes.
Our sun here had been gutted.
Our fruit here is dry.
No more life left, nor thought,
but the cue that it’s time.
So you plunged for your freedom.
First you jumped —
Then I.
I awoke…
to a place of sweet, sad acid trips
A bustling oasis
Dreams licking their lips
Highs of vast stimulations
and a fierce solitude
Lost in bitter isolation
among shrill altered hues
Muffled grunts of the herd driven to the back row
along with the moths of our barren meadow.
I search you in the crowd
but you’ve fallen elsewhere.
And I, I must go on swimming
through this grand athmosphere.
We both found our theatrical paradise.
But beyond physical logic,
by fortunate ties,
I know we are bound.
In dream-state I know
that we have common ground.
I remember a place
a sere distant glow
not a touch
without sound
our meadow.
Kristiana Roemer
2014
Fragility
A utopian fragility that could withstand
the emersion of a world for two,
the tangent of two consciousnesses
allowing one foggy common land.
I’d been feeding off your minutes.
There was no more time for mine.
I expanded my cloud of existence.
You would not have it. It was not my time.
I was happy to be your guest.
I’ll let you execute the rest
alone, on your own.
You know what is best
for your next hour of journey.
A utopian fragility
so liquid as to morph and so sure as not to shatter
is what such bond would require.
I’ll remain your desire
right where you keep me:
on the shelf in your future selves’ antique store.
Value me and sell me for
the price you see fit.
(Do I hang some minutes more?)
You’ll cherish me for the minutes
you feed me over time.
And I, I’ll have the space, enough
to guard both yours and mine.
Thank you, little diamond.
Go and sparkle as you would.
Remove the dust,
brush off the soot.
Leave me at the coffee table
of some strange nearby café,
out of the way
of your mind’s seas
you so truly
dream to rule.
I’ll linger close. –
the scent of coffee-breath kissing your nose,
my fingers’ tips’ prints on the keys and floors.
Scattered in my own mind’s walls
will be your phantom, still, that calls
me, I’ll come to assist at your social endeavors.
I’ll come speak a toast
and blow you a kiss
whenever it feels clever
to you. Our souls are not limitless.
You’ve set your borders.
The night I asked for a little more
of my minutes in our time
those borders of yours
slammed shut and
time stood still.
Nothing’s there to make undone.
I have a voice.
Did you have a choice?
I won’t know.
Exploring a new open sea
that I’ve now fell upon,
you’ve decided to sail on
to where you consider yourself free.
I was drunk on the bubble.
No sip left for me now.
I’ll see you on our dates.
They’ll be sweet
and banal;
charmingly incomplete.
What more to hope for
than to use today’s time
for more things to explore
for my own antique store.
You’ve closed your door.
But if one day you can open it
you’ll find me on the step.
Or at least a small echo
in the case that I have left.
An echo more grown up,
matured on the hot cement.
Once born in a garden of fleeting dreams
it has learned to accept
to sew up its own seams.
When you open the door,
you’ll hear it ring a smile,
a kiss,
holistic and worth-while.
It’s a shame,
so heart-wrenching,
to know,
no tears will be drenching
our eyes. No,
we’ll be content.
Kristiana Roemer
2016
The Bell
You shall be it
My serene space
My mental cave
Be the ward my sickness needs
but in which I move freely.
I’ve had a love, a plenty a few loves
but if our psyches will pay a cost
then you be the beast’s institution.
I choose you, Paris, dove
You, I will love
until the day that I am well
and can return and never tell
that here my soul had rung alarm;
but rather watch with wiser charm
the bell has throttled its walls so to crack.
The beast is gone.
And now, from dust to dust
on softest touch
to snuggle in united embrace
we split, too, to
millions
become one
silently falling past and down
to graze the ground
of the home we loved.
We groaned and inhaled
to the extent of our minds to rise
too far above our woven brains.
So be it to us to be held down
there on the ground
‘til blown apart
as dust we lie
the belle and I.
Kristiana Roemer
2015
Run
On the chase
Constantly running after something
Out of breathe
Pounding down my feet
Stomping deep into the dirt
'Til my heart thumps a steady beat
to maintain the pace
Caught a trace?
Perhaps I'll never reach what I am searching
In any case
it feels good to run
Clutching hard onto the breeze
clamming my way through the gum
into the next phase
In a craze -
Crashing down a liquid road of guessing
A million ways
merged inside the heat
What was and will be are the same -
There’s no difference there to seek
One thick, boiling haze
Some random place
Call it what you want - except for nothing
So definitely
see a face
This is just the young beginning
Kristiana Roemer
2016
Kristiana Roemer
2016
Between Normalities
The lines are blurring.
I’m caught between.
No longer do I know how to decipher.
Or was I not able to from the beginning?
The lines are thinning.
The blur grows wider
until what is I cannot see
and patterns are not reoccurring
What is gold
and what is dust?
Is it the dust that I must chase?
Anticipate, hallucinate
the simmering rush
of growing old.
The questions that I had once asked –
I’ve laid them with the moths.
Judgments are not mine to make.
I choose to drown them in the lake
of many million trails of thought.
For none of those I thought I caught
decoded truth from cause
or displayed how to be masked.
Kristiana Roemer
2015
Das Nebenzimmer
Im Nebenzimmer höre ich dich atmen.
Im Nebenzimmer spüre ich dich lauschen.
So gehe ich in die andere Richtung,
ins Arbeitszimmer,
und setze mich an meinen Schreibtisch.
Der Stuhl ist noch warm.
Ich kann mich nicht konzentrieren…
zurück in die Küche für eine Tasse Tee.
Es huscht hinter mir.
Ich rieche deinen Dunst.
Es ist stickig und der Raum wird eng,
hier ist eine Menge geschehen.
Im Nebenzimmer höre ich dich scheu herumlungern.
Im Nebenzimmer bebt deine Hitze.
So entscheide ich mich, mich schlafen zu legen.
Raus aus diese Welt - hinein in eine andere.
Weg von dir!
Ich gehe ins Schlafzimmer und lege mich ins Bett.
Du stehst hinter der geschlossenen Tür.
Ich habe alle Vorhänge zugezogen,
aber du findest einen Spalt, um hineinzuspähen.
Ohrstöpsel rein, Augen zu, hinein ins dumpfe Schwarze.
Langsam wird es unter der Decke wärmer.
Du hast dich endlich herangetraut.
Du kommst immer näher
verlierst immer mehr an deiner Scheu
und nimmst mich vorsichtig in deinen Arm.
Mir wird rundherum wohlig warm
und ich will vor Erdrückung meine Tränen kullern lassen.
Du drückst sie aus mir heraus,
du quillst alles in mir heraus
und ich schluchze leise
vor dieser Leerung und Erstickung meines Körpers.
Langsam gewinnt das kuschelig-warme Schwarze
und ich schwebe davon…
Ich wache auf, schweißbedeckt!
Du hast dich in der Nacht in deiner vollen Größe
zu mir unter meine Decke herangekrochen!
Mir ist so heiß...
Du hast mich innig umschlungen.
Ich schluchze nicht mehr.
Du hast mich in deiner fürsorglichen Umarmung
sorgfältig fest eingepackt.
Mit geschlossenen Augen ist es halb so schlimm.
Die Unbeweglichkeit ist fast tröstlich.
Du wirkst gar nicht wie ein Übeltäter.
Du passt bloß nicht in diese Welt hinein.
Aber ich,
ich muss in dieser Welt agieren.
Ich muss agieren!
Sofort !
Endlich finde ich die Kraft.
Ich reiße meine Augen auf,
zwinge ihren Blick gegen das hereinstrahlende brennende Sonnenlicht
und auf die glitzernden Dachdielen der Nachbarhäuser.
Du zuckst ein wenig, überrascht,
und lockerst deine Umschlingung.
Ich nutze die Gelegenheit
und schwinge mich aus der höllischen Hitze heraus.
Schnell, an die Kaffeemaschine!
Das Koffein prescht in mein Gehirn!
In die Dusche!!
Das Wasser gießt den Schweiß in den Abfluss und füllt meine Poren.
Ran ans Fenster!!!
Die Tagesluft umarmt mich.
Ich atme teif ein…
Ich erinnere mich, wo ich hier bin.
Ich erinnere mich, dass ich am gestrigen Tage auch hier war
und dass ich Gedanken und Vorhaben hatte.
Ich fühle mich kiloweise leichter.
Ich bin dir entflohen, denn du,
vom Tageslicht geschwächt,
hast dich stumm verkrochen.
Im Nebenzimmer höre ich dich atmen.
Und warten.
Kristiana Roemer
2016
Faders
The worst part is
You didn’t tear
You didn’t rip
You didn’t yank
my throbbing muscle into strips
of falling blood clots
But you let me fade away
Let me dissipate into space
My memories wearing thin
My mind failing my conviction
Another layer peeled each day
Clearing up one more existence
Clearing the way for perfect shots
To blow the cells of a tired spirit
And make them fly, fly, fly
Jump, crackle, sway
Dance!
Dance!
Dance!
A spasmatic festival of gloria
Until morphed into the dusty pollution
Sucked up into a black hole
Swallowed
Kristiana Roemer
2015
Little World
Waking up to my demise
It was a well-scripted movie.
Waking up to beneath his disguise
the one with which he’d accrue me.
Waking up in whole-gutted despise
towards the life that’s supposed to pursue me.
All dolled up in leeches
deep clean-cut gold breaches
for a life that needs me. –
To feel worthy?
Waking up to "go follow",
but I don't.
I hear the others holler,
I won’t. Instead,
I wake up
To my own violated mind.
To heed it had been my only duty.
I inhale its kind words,
stringed with a demon’s curse;
but they say,
good things stay
for better or for worse. –
And this mind's always stuck with me truly.
The demise of a youngster
calls the rise of an elder –
so wise so not to fret
over Little World's peril;
so tired so not to let
her little fits impel her.
Waking up to not caring
to ever defeat.
Let the damn baby cry;
make it loud, her deceit!
We’ve all been deceit –
through her! So, quiet!
"World, give us a break.
Set us free from your trial.
Go and scream in a cavern
or some cave to yourself
until you feel you have found
a place deep deep down
to help. Don’t cry
to us, World.
Don't taunt us critters.
Our fragility’s high,
don’t cause more to splinter.
Little World, you baby girl,
so confused and so lost
from your purpose and cause.
Then, now – stop the fuss!
And the cry, will you! Hush!
Even you, you can rise
to wiser beauty and splendor.
Wake up, Little World,
breathe deep and sit.
Don’t promise me passion,
glory, and all that shit.
You have nothing at all –
only love to give." (Thank you)
Close my eyes, to the serenity of our own minds.
Close my eyes, to his smile I see from far off behind.
Close my eyes, to the passions he fused with mine.
Close my eyes, to his disinterest in pursuing – this time.
Waking up, to a beautifully laid out suicide.
"Wake from the madness, World!
Breathe deep. Calmly sit.
World, awake from the illusion
you carry since birth.
Crashing into this well-defined hazardous pit,
I know it did hurt. I know
you might hurt even more
when the time comes to split."
Life on Earth has been good;
life on Earth has been barred.
"Forget the madness, World,
don’t try so hard.
Give us your love.
Give us your beauty."
That’s all we are
truly
in need of.
Kristiana Roemer
2016
Seelensprung
Dein Fenster ist weg. Irgendwo dort in der kühlen Weite.
Dein Haus auf dem Felsen, wo ich mich dir vereinte,
verliert sich hinter den nebeligen Wolken.
Ich fühle es gehen –
aber sanft ein stählerner Faden sich um mich legen.
mit dem dumpfen Schlag dieser betäubenden Stille.
Jetzt spannt es sich fester
und ich halte kurz inne.
Mir wird klar,
sein Zug wird mich ewig verfolgen
bis ich endlich begreife
und folge dem Fluss.
Und mich endlich aufspüre.
Mein Wesen, meine Lust.
Es ist was ich tun muss
mich mit diesem Fluss voll und gänzlich erfüllen.
Und jetzt, entschlossen ihm weiter zu folgen,
kann ich endlich hoffen,
am Ende des Weges wieder in deinen Hafen zu rollen,
um mich noch einmal mit deinem Sein zu umhüllen
und so zu tun als könnten sich Seinsarten vereinen,
auch wenn wir sie doch nur miteinander teilen,
dort - auf unseren gelassenen Wellen –,
um schließlich an deinem Fels
in tausend Perlen zu zerschellen.
Kristiana Roemer
2014