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Seven paintings                 seven poems

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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, that is

like dying in life.

Then suddenly you're given

the freedom to live.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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I as a wife and mother -


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.

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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!

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