Chapter 1: This is me and my colours

Mr. Coward and Prof. Poet

Thoughts crossing my mind as storms and gusts of wind, though I’m sitting here in a simple sofa, in a room in a house in a street. The colours all faded by tints of grey and only brightened up by some colour in my socks.

That is the time I decided it was time to write, not to be poetic about the things I feel or poetic in the way that I write. All I want is write down what happened.

What happened? Actually it is still happening in a way you can not imagine.

If you look at me from a distance you would think I’m ok. I’m blessed by two gorgeous children, have a gorgeous house, have a good looking wife, two amazing dogs and a company that is really doing well and two new Mercedes’s on the drive way …

The American dream in Belgium as you could say …

Though what I feel is that it is never enough, nothing is ever enough, and now I have come to a point that it is all to much or something like that. I have friends I have people that love me I have people I love, but I just don’t say what is really in my mind, or actually I do say what is on my mind, I just silence my heart. As I think it has no rights, it is not allowed to do anything else then beat and pump blood in my body, bring oxygen to my organs, muscles, brain… and love my kids. Why do I feel like it is not mine, why do I feel so ambushed, so cornered so lived, or am I just a fool … I’m a coward and hide it with poetry.

So let me tell you about me, not because I want you to read, but as I want to write, and make an attempt to become Me. If you wish you can join me on this short journey of colours, stories, fantasies, dreams, and tears, emotions, and the lack of them in poetry and in plain text.

You are welcome, though it is me, my ideas, my life and you can always join…

Chapter 1: This me

This is me

I have a big heart,

I love with everything and only fully,

once in my heart I can’t let it out again,

I have no hatred,

I can never say no

I live for blue

In a pink way

So all is purple

Painted

Colours

Filling sight touch, hearing

And every day

With a rainbow

As yes

Raining

Thunder

And clouds

I have to

In a bright world

There is no mediocre

There is no average

There is everything

Or nothing

There is me

All pink

Sex or orange is one of the most constant factors in my life, that and cigarettes, though I had sex before I smoked and I still have sex now I have stopped (thx to Blue).

I have slept with more women then I want to remember and I never had enough, I have a libido that couldn’t be matched, so I always had more then 1, and often more then 2 lovers… I dream about sex, I lived for it… it was my life. All I ever thought of was that, if I went somewhere I was always on the lookout for it, chasing it, hunting. And that from a young age…

When I was 14 I was very insecure, I was good at sports, my mom and friends of the family said I was handsome, and that I would be successful … though me I doubted every second of my life, people didn’t know or very few do. If all of this makes no sense, don’t worry as it makes no sense to me neither … why am I even writing … god knows… I will come back to this later I guess

Fantasies, that is a better thing to write about, and as an example I give you one I wrote a couple of years ago:

I walk through the hallway of an old Victorian hotel, looking at the room numbers in orange gold, I find the number I’m looking for 269. I knock, the door is gently opened and I’m received by your two sparkling eyes, you wearing a black dress, the one I admired as it shows your lovely figure.

 Our lips meet as the door locks behind us, the kiss is taking us away from the world from the world. Whilst kissing hands gently glide over the texture of our clothes feeling the reaction of the touches and kisses on our bodies. You push and guide me further in your room till I reach a chair, strategically placed in front of your bed. You gently push me on it unlocking our lips. Our eyes meet I see you biting your lip and I feel like someone is sitting on my chest, breathing becomes harder.

 You come closer and sit on my lap, wrapping your legs arround me. Our lips meet again, my hands gliding slowly down your back, fingertips moving Inch by inch. Reaching the bottom of your black dress, the fingertips reach the border of your dress, a frontier to cross. The discover the satin feeling of your skin, and fail to discover the lace, the silk of your underwear. The discovery lets my heart my heart to skip a beat. You look at me with a cheeky smile, discovering my reaction to what my fingertips just failed to find. Your eyes sparkle the color I don’t see, just the sparkle, as our lips move closer, I close mine, entering your world again. I feel your hands crawling over my body, towards my hands.

You guide my hands to a black zip of your dress, zipping it open it reveals the red and blue lining of your dress, you stand up and you let the dress slide of your gorgeous body. I follow the path of this with my eyes. Unlocking my eyes from your sparkle, I see your cute nose, followed by your sensual lips, as my eyes pass I see how you sensually bite these. I continue passing your most elegant, even royal neck.

I stop, I need to rest, something or somebody just sat on my chest. Your dress reveales your naked shoulders, and never before I realized how much this was arousing, your dress stops. It might have only been a fraction of a second, but fell like minutes. The shape of your perfect breast was half revealed, the rounding, the valley and the other steep climb, a climb I would always venture. The dress was slowed down, by the summon of your perfect lovers. The pink revealed and not revealed at all.

The dress fell down, stopping just below your flat stomach, Your hand reaches out and lifts my head up. our eyes seem to be locked to each other once again.

I still admire the beauty of your body, not by my eyes, my fingertips taking up the feel of your satin skin I experience, as they explore your body, their path mappedby my eyes before. Moving from your neck slowly down your chest, ever so gentle, tasting the touches to my soul. I kiss your breast once my fingertips explore them. The feeling has changed, the air got thicker, breathing has now become different for both of us.

 You stop me, look at me again with this magic sparkle as you are biting your lip. And before I realize it, you have tied one of my wrists to the chair, still baffled in the moment the other get tied up as well.

You get up, and I realize now that you are wearing these Devine black pumps with hints of red. I let my eyes roll over your body while you go past me, and put your hands on my shoulders, and let them gently move down towards the buttons whilst kissing my neck .

Once your gentle hands unbuttoned my shirt you came back to the front, opening my belt and buttons of my trousers. I feel your fingers touching my skin, your lips touching my chest and see the surprise as you discover I don’t wear underwear. You pull my trousers slightly down , your lips moving towards mine, and to not kiss them at the very last moment, there is that cheeky smile again, I grow to love. You kiss my neck following your silk fingers on a path down. I feel them slide down, bit by bit, brushing by my revealed parts, discovering my ticklish place, you look up, I feel your fingers around me, moving with gentle movements, your lips bringing the excitement to a top, I bite my lip of enjoyment. You stop, get up and look at my hunger, my longing for you.

You put your hands in your neck, and let them glide over your body, slowly, extremely sensual, my eyes follow your hands and look up to your eyes, I see the joy in your eyes as you see the excitement this is bringing to me, you get on the bed, you slightly open your legs in front of me, and close them again, you let your upperback and head rest on the pile of pillows on your bed. Your eyes locked on mine, my breathing is impossible, my heart is jumping out of my chest, your obe hand moves Now from your lips, over your chin, over the gorgeous neck, as I see it go further down, over your chest, your breasts your nipples, belly, to reach your secret place, I see the reaction of your face and body as you touch yourself, I see the quick movement of your hand, the sensual game you play, I’m going mad, your breathing becomes louder, as you throw your head backwards, your body moves more and more excited, It is as I feel what you are feeling.. Your body tenses up, the breathing has changed into gentle moaning .. I see your body tremble, the expression on your face … Your body relaxes a contempt smile appears on your face, followed by that cheeky grin…

This story I read out loud to one women, though plenty other have read it, I think this story tells one part of who I am, shows the sensuality, the colours and part of me. A part of me, I lost a bit for the moment.

I wrote this story in time of travelling, in a time of broadening your view, your life, and now I’m here, stuck in a country in a life, though it is my choice to do so. In life you decide everything yourself. The fear of deciding is what makes you take the wrong turns as then you are lived. What you need is dreams, is adventures, is someone that gets all of this.

MY CITY

Is a city where they speak words you don’t understand and

feel more at home then you ever did,

is a culture that is not yours, but

where you are part of without knowing.

Is like walking in a street for the first time

and feeling like you have never done anything else in your life.

Is smiling to people when everybody is crying

That city is a real city, that city is a reason why I started writing again, is a reason I realised there was more in life. But still, I’m not sure what that is…this describes it a bit…

A dream in so many ways in so may forms, though is just one I plot down…

Looking out of my window I see the Moscow street lights, some people running around in the white carpet the night has rolled out. The designs and motives being added by the people walking over it, creating lines creating paths, crating so little and so much, it makes me dream away, as I look at this white carpet and the white feathers that keep falling from the sky.

It is amazing what goes through your mind at times like this, absolutely nothing and still so much but nothing ways on you, it is just the snowfeathers, the sounds and a bit of peace. Be it brief be it an hour it just made my day, and the day had hardly started.

The red digits in the room showed the time being little after 5 in the morning, and as usual I could not sleep, the 3 hour time difference stirred with the excitement of Moscow just makes it a waste to go asleep here. I turn around and look into my room, the golden armchair with bright red velvet like fabric, the curtain in the middle of the room, the high ceiling , al makes it my favorite place, I feel like a character in one of Lermontov’s unwritten novels. I feel a French talking aristocrat, with a military uniform, be it with a mac as a gun and a montblanc as my sword.

 The hotel national, be it an old hotel, with some old hotel bar and not the most fancy design it just makes me feel welcome, makes me dream and I love it, it brings a smile to me when I walk into the place It has some magic to it. And will always have this magic like a lost summer love that you remember occasionaly and always wonder about, when she crosses your mind. Although none of these still wonder through my head. As I’m looking at the bed I see the sheets like a topographic map, colours and shadows interweaven over and down a body, a gracious woman, a friend a lover, or maybe nothing, all I know is the smile that comes to my face when looking at her face, peacefully, contempt and sleeping with the tiniest smile.

I close the curtains in the middle of the room, ever so gentle and slowly, my eyes scattering the last bit of light on your face as it disappears in the shadow, behind the curtain. Turning toward the window to open it, just to feel the touch of my favorite mistress, my Moscow My love, as the window opens I feel the geltle cold breeze stroking my hair my face, waking me up even more, dropping some of the feathers in my room and on my face, as exoctic kisses. Once the cold runs a shiver over my back, I close the window, and decide to go to the lobby and smoke a cigarette.

But before I go, I left a small part of me next to my sleeping beauty;

 

You might be yellow

You Might Be White

You might discover violet

And go for green

You might awaken to silence

an empty bed

one colour is not enough

as you make me

every day

all night

into the rainbow

I am

 

I drew a little smoking face next to it just she would know that no one had left.

I placed the paper on top of her iPhone as that is the only place I knew she would look at first.

I closed the door behind me, gently. I stood still for a second to look at the door, the corridor, the thick carpet, the blond lady walking out of a room not far from me. She looks at me for a second, her eyes cross mine, and I’m surprised by how empty they look. She walks away.

Deciced not to take the lift, I walk to to large stairs at the front of the building, wide covered with a thick carpet, guiding you down and making you feel like Vronsky. The darkness is still outside hugging Moscow, with it’s white duvet, and Moscow keeps cuddling deeper and deeper under it. I descend past floors past the solitude as I feel all by myself, only some staff around, the city that doesn’t sleep has not woken up here yet.

 My feet touch the white marble in the lobby, I look up to see the glass roof covered under snow, snow that is melting away slowly by the heat of the bar. I sit down at a table overlooking the bar, the television, and the back elevator. I like being able to see that one, as I think that I get asked by elena (her name tag telling me she is called elena) if I would like something, I ask for a fresh orange juice and a cappuccino without cinnamon. As they like to put it on everything here.

 The cigarette is lit, a nast habbit, that gives me a strange feeling of joy, a moment to reflect. Looking around at the empty bar, I observe the staff, they look overly active for this time of the day, and smile at you whenever they look at you, a true definition of what the hospitality staff should do…

 I get my Orange juice and I just dream away, put my cigarette out in a clumpsy way, and get ash alover the table, a bummer. I decide to lit a second as I see the mess I made. I take my iphone to play around with a bit, go to facebook , try to write a post that will be liked or get some comments, this by taking a silly picture or sharing a funny article. Read some lines of Eugene onegin, and realize I read the same over and over again.

 Some activity at the elevator, a young women walks out, her eyes down worth just walking out, the two girls at the bar don’t take any notice of her. A young men walks in, with young I mean a 34 year old like me, as I’m getting older every day, I keep denying I’m getting older as I am young for always, and nobody is allowed to say differently.

 

My thoughts go their own way, time to write a poem in the iphone notes;

 

Hidden

Hidden behind a hat of blond hair

Eyes down

Just the marble

Cold and gracious

But walked on

Walked on by all

 Just pretty

 But no more

 Though strong

 Unique

And never known 

Just hidden

 From her

 From the world

 Or just

 Just a persons choice

 I will never know

 

As always the writing didn’t take longer then 30 seconds, it was just a way to write some thoughts down.

The orange shirt, drew my attention, the color vivid and warm, linked to blue, linked to yellow and all in a moment, a moment sometimes brief, sometimes long, but always ever lasting.

Everlasting in a word, in a rainbow, never to fade as pink and blue, as a bracelet on an arm, in a picture as bits of lace, hidden and shown, as in a coffee in the morning, as in green and orange, after a walk, in a big city be it cold or at the virge of summer, be it now be it yesterday, always here. Never to fade.

To fight or not to fight, to upset or not to upset, all is close. All is near just like the first December day I ever set foot here, saw the Bolshoi went to the skybar, and felt the magic, when walking 40 floors high, a hidden touch, overlooking the Russian capital, with all it’s sparkling lights, it just all happens, and keeps happening, as the first time you read bulgakov, find the yellow flowers and learn more about all these things, feel the things rather then know, experience, rings and buzzes all happening, now and today.

More and more I discover, more to explore more to share more to live, more that is missed and more that is gained, no idea what is all going through my head, why I write what I write, no idea why I’m in love with people as Vronsky, Alexander and Lermontov’s Captain. It just is the way it is.

 Loving at home ,loving away, loving children, it is all parts of my life, and I Live it, a dream of working with what I want with who I want. But one light is brighter more vibrant then all, it shed light, it warms me it is there whenever. It is shedding a yellow light, with royal blue and heavenly orange, creating fuchsia creating the big part of my rainbow. Keeping it up in rain as it is the light that creates it, the colors it brings, it is the sun in a Blue sky, it is what I realized.

I’m brought back, by the sound of heels on the marble, creating a melody, slowly my eyes listen to this, trying to find , trying to hear, but they stop at the sound, the sound of piano music. My eyes close, as my ears now see, see the art of this devine piece, see the the music, bring it to me, inside me. I lit another cigarette.

And dream away, awy to a place deep inside me, dream about a satin silk skin, about hours of senses that are triggered slow and fast, about square millimeters opening a heaven so big, about connecting without NFC and RFID, no receptors and with a reach larger then any campaign, just a connection taking you to a different universe.

Feeling these lips as they where on mine now, feeling the skin roll under my fingertips, seeing the white satin path, feel a shiver when touching, connecting, feel the path being layed out over and over again, discovering a world, not know to any sense, to any neuron, feeling like a xmas morning, as the smell of the first rain in the summer, as the moment you look in eyes and see a sparkle, feel your breathing getting heavier, your hart skipping a beat. Feeling, a body move feeling lips being bitten, feeling eyes kissing the sky, feeling a curl, feeling the tremble.

Feeling closer to heaven.

 

Writing with no coherence no plot no ending and no beginning, what is the aim of a book like that. Of a story like that …

In my poetry I have hidden many messages, many names many people, there is people I truly love and wrote about, there is a colour that I dreamed of that is a person but I did not know at one time and people that became colours and others that lost their colour. Most people only have one colour, and a lot have only have very faded colours like a black and white picture with a colour filter over it. Though people that last are people that shine bright and have that one more colour … people that don’t fit in the grey mass.

My colours

Blue:

Is always there

With clouds

Without clouds

During the day

Or at night

With a sun or without a sun

Smiling or raining

Crying or dry

Always there

Always here

The warmest part

Warmest part of the fire

The blue flame

Lighting my fire

Pink

Difficult

Though worn by real men

By ladies

And barbies

In the morning

Or at night

With a sunset

Or a sunrise

It tells stories

Not completely red

Though soft

Though sensual

Capable

Or maybe not

A coward

Or maybe not

A lover

Hidden

Under so many layers

It is bright red

Hiding as white

But to bright

So all is pink

Pure love

Though shy

As you would not believe

Green

For many a tree

For many bio

For man youth

For many spring

For me

It is you

Or maybe you

Or maybe not at all

It is not me

Sometimes loved

And often hated

As a reminder

Of French hills

And bleeding hearts

It is a light

Telling to go

It is sign

At my feet

Telling purple

Is there

Yellow

Yellow is light

Yellow is bright

Yellow is me

Yellow is them

Is those little angels

Is little hope

Is the light in darkness

Is a star

Is a sun

Is a good day when it rains

Is so much

And still so little

It is crazy

And is blunt

Is a couple

And in alone

Is always there

Is always blue

And often pink

And often orange

Is the world

With just you

And your smiles

Red

Red is love

Red is blood

Red is stop

Red is not scarlet

Red is not good

Red is hiding

Red is me

Red is empty

Red is so much

Red is undefined

Red is just

Just …