A collection of English-language poetry
J.P.E. Willems
Between White and Black
My fingers drift
across ivory white
and deepest black.
Every touch becomes a heartbeat.
White keys open into light,
black ones keep your secret.
Together, they spell your name.
The melody breathes the way
J.P.E. Willems
More Than Coach and Client
I thought you liked being there,
among our sounds, our melodies,
between the moments that came together
and those we still had to find.
I thought that, for you too,
this was more than just work,
a place for joy,
J.P.E. Willems
Begin!
Begin!
Yes, come. Begin.
Write that magnificent piece,
that spellbinding poem.
Come on.
Get started.
The world is waiting.
It hungers for you.
It wants to devour you.
What are you waiting for?
Turn yourself inside out.
J.P.E. Willems
Just in the Sand
In the middle of the beach
I let the sand
slip through my hands.
Hold on.
Let go.
Children build sandcastles
at the edge of the sea,
while time quietly
walks through them.
I close my eyes.
Seagulls. Waves. Wind.
J.P.E. Willems
The Questions You Never Asked
I carried so many questions
that there was hardly any room left
for anything else.
I tried to explain to you
how everything had gone,
but the more I spoke,
the further you seemed to drift away.
Your silence
J.P.E. Willems
Before We Knew
We were old already
before we knew it.
If only we'd done this,
if only we'd done that.
We had it good.
Now our bodies are old.
Hard to admit.
Even the mirror
would buckle
if it could see.
Like a dress
heavy with r
J.P.E. Willems
Space
I only wanted to tell you
how good it feels
not to be alone.
So much difference
and yet so little space,
as if we had to make ourselves smaller
just to fit beside each other.
They forget who they are,
yet cannot bear
those who r
J.P.E. Willems
A Quiet Place Here
Leave the tears where they have fallen.
They were never something to hide.
A rain-soaked sleeve, a quiet moment —
a storm that passed through, not one you had to fight.
The lights outside may glitter,
but you have seen th
J.P.E. Willems
The Dirty Old House
----------------------
The dirty old house stood older than memory,
its walls having long forgotten the difference
between breathing and surviving.
Sweat, blood and tears were never metaphors—
they seeped into the wood grain
J.P.E. Willems
We Are the Blessed
---------------------
We are the blessed.
No one knows.
We do not reveal ourselves.
We love and live,
eat and work
like everyone else.
Today I tell you.
Tomorrow you will once again
stand with those
who keep
forge
J.P.E. Willems
The Night
What is it about the night?
Do you become another person then?
Do you still trust yourself,
or do you finally become yourself?
Do you remain the same,
night after night,
or do you change each time,
like the wind when it chang