The poem below has the difficult task to keep up the myth that I am not selling my garage because I write in it, and that I am no more neighbour-socializing because I am doing business with writing, publishing, and trying to sell my products:

To Turn A Prophecy Into A Plan

‘Go, write,’ dispensed I now am
to do creative poem writing
in places mine, but to world’s plans
a prophecy that I’d have nothing

I’m getting to know my real me,
as if myself an acquaintance
who must be seen as left, right, winged
clad in perception and comparison

It is May Day, a celebration
as old as are springs or threats
Between a prophecy and life established,
we measure nature’s period threads

I have my memories that mention
events that flapped my left-right wings
Between the plans and celebrations,
time, place, are varied in length strings

A left sway old, new, combined,
can give up stable comfy life,
and mass-lead to all promised finds,
to make men build their latest hives

A right sway of the common lads,
from their farms derived and led,
reinforces the constructed lands
new-found, cultivated, fed

Now natural investigators,
don’t grope in the lands dark, strange,
but wedge through soul’s darkest places
and sell the news to each blank page

Now natural defensive factors,
don’t fend off enemy attacks,
but turn into life’s tough attackers
onto the people of all ranks

All is an effort or a product,
the news are paid for with life fate,
the pictures taken are rewarded
with authorship and the fees paid

The walls that were built as division,
demolished stay, in records kept
The plazas that welcomed the pigeons
are free of them, just pictures left

The wars that promised celebrations
of methods, or of grouping means,
are now plans past of times ancient,
each side to gain from its wins

A left sway old, new, combined,
is claiming business leadership
A right sway of the modern finds
is taking root through gifted means

‘Go, write,’ dispensed I now am
to do creative poem writing
in my place which world’s former plans
had prophet-told as their something
V.P.T. 1.05.2008