Snow, Falling, Street, Light, Telephone

All this time probing

Turning each and every stone

Kicking up cans in parabolas


What do I know?

I love you

And I like snow

Help Me Make It Through the Night


Gladys Knight (1969).jpg Bron:wikipedia


I took that ribbon from the ground

Still around

Sometimes lost and sometimes found

Still life of a friendly ghost

In a drawer somewhere



So many great versions of this song, but I like this tender and heartfelt one the most:

Inspired by:

Gladys Knight,  Help Me Make It Through the Night

William Topaz McGonagall, worst poet ever.

William McGonagall.jpg picture source wikipedia 

Lately I’ve been doing some thinking. I tend to think a lot. It’s what I do. And since you stumbled upon this page, maybe you do to. It really doesn’t matter actually, how you ended up here.

But a question remains lingering in the back of my mind. How did this man ended up as the worst poet ever, and was he really?

And let the rich be kind to the poor,
And think of the hardships they do endure,
Who are neither clothed nor fed,
And Many without a blanket to their bed.

Surely you can detect some bruteness in what you just read, but is it really that bad?

Should we not look back on this writer as misunderstood? Or maybe his time ahead?

A visionary relating to past, present and future with heavy heart and some victorian melancholy, but above all a gentle soul in a world that couldn’t care less.

‘His clothes were thin and he was nearly frozen with cold,
And wholly starving with hunger, a pitiful sight to behold.’

The above  lines from this Christmas long gone seem familiar, don’t they? Remember them Christmas to come.











Feliz Navidad 2032 (dutch version)



Nergens bijzonder, ergens in Spanje

Elke kamer opgemaakt met franje

Gevuld met kleurrijke warmte


Buiten spoelt de fijnste regen

Restanten van de dag.

En in een donkere hoek

Zit Señor Rajoy

Zinnen wat zoek

Alleen, zoals hij dat nu al jaren doet


‘Misschien dat er vandaag nog iemand komt’


Maar de zusters weten beter

De verpleegsters weten beter

En de bewoners weten het helemaal zeker:


Hij die met stalen tucht zijn kinderen sloeg,

Voor het stelen van ocharme een koek,

Krijgt hier op het eind nog maar zelden bezoek


Zo gaat het steeds, en zo is het best goed