Friday, 28 January 2011

Timeless rapture

You enchant me with melodic Escher staircases,
scintillating all the way up my spine into my brain.
I walk around in bewilderment so that again I have to tie my shoe laces.
Brilliant and powerful and passionate, perfect is the harmony train.

Where the notes play a strange kind of algebra;
the rich tonality echoes like a rainbow in my mind,
displacing even the darkest of shadow in the mind’s umbra,
where music, poetry and mathematics are intertwined.

Colour and light expanding mind, making room for geometrical thought,
and causing a riot with my passionate sensibilities,
evoking true love to be sought,
calculating all the probabilities and possibilities.

That your music has lived on,
that your compositions can make thine spirit alive in me,
even though thou art long gone,
that still today it can be.

Even though your heart is in an urn, in a pillar, in a church,
and no longer beating in your ribcage, in your handsome frame,
but in the ears of the mind of the beholder’s search,
your music lights mine heart aflame.

It teleports me into the past, at a time when Delacroix painted us together,
where I was an imposter in a man’s world,
freeing myself from all forms of tether,
so that my spirit could be unfurled.

In the dress of men I was free and unrestrained,
men’s clothes aside I was such a womanly woman,
your melodies unchained.
So remarkable was our acumen.

I, a French novelist,
imparting the first kiss,
always looking forward to our tryst.
I was the love of your life; eternal is this bliss.


Quirina Roode-Gutzmer

Friday, 21 January 2011


What it is, to inspire,
reaching up to the skies,
powerful spear structure,
beautifully starred spire?

What does out of this arise,
tis not a guise,
but sublime allure,
sovereign rise?

What gives to assure,
speaking words wise,
there is a cure,
lofty aims for sure?

What it is to infuse,
gazing soul's eyes,
golden azure,
hearts and minds fuse?


Quirina Roode-Gutzmer

21 July 2009

Thursday, 13 January 2011

Tea of life

Lament lament — my beautiful little Taiwanese teapot.
What it meant? In it steeped leaves of tea — elixir for my sleepy soul,
waking heaven frontiers — from clay, mindfully wrought.
Breaking after seven years — seeped tears — an err from a blinded soul.

Every morning — this ritual of mine.
Grievously mourning — scattered unseen shards — amongst the stench of trash.
Potion it contained — virtual shrine.
Notion explained — badgered sheen in cosmic graveyards — for it is now proverbial ash.

Exclaim delight! I discover something peculiar.
Ending plight — Japanese, beautiful little teapot — within, a scaffolding mesh.
Special pot — handle and spout, perpendicular.
Thrilled at my lot — ease this has brought — restoring the flesh.

New passage — this middle path taken.
Knew the sage — a new leaf turned — fresh leaves to brew
Gleam in sight — in my new-found enchanted haven.
Glean insight — lessons of life learned — finding what is true.


Quirina Roode-Gutzmer

22 August 2009