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Voor Emmy

Zijn het pluimen of bladeren
die ontsnappen uit je binnenste hartkamer
of is het de gloed van de kleur van kloppend bloed
hunkerend naar de stilte van rimpelloos

Als haar handen vloeibaar worden
krijgt de piano vleugels op het doek
Een boom verbijt haar vergezicht
In de diepte luisteren wortels verrukt
naar de zachte braille van haar bestaan
Tuinen hangen van de wolken
omlaag, omhoog groeien vreemde bloemen
uit een ingebeelde notenbalk.

Guido Vermeulen
14 november 2011

Muziek bij de video: Claude Debussy

zaterdag 28 april 2012


Image from sketchbook by Heleen de Vaan, The Netherlands

Text: GV

De boom staart met het hulpeloze kater-act van uilenogen naar het domme gansje.
Blind voor de waarschuwing zal hemelsblauw wellicht
veranderen in zombieroodjasgraan.
Ik sla het raam dicht tevergeefs.
De omkadering straalt een veel te sterk licht uit!
Helaas vergat ik mijn zonnebril.

vrijdag 27 april 2012

A door is not always a gate, sometimes it is a well, dream

Small painted envelope I made after I wrote a text on some of my own dreams:
Envelope mailed to Lisa Perez in the USA

Dreams that occurred to me at dawn: 
One of my cats changing into a rabbit and firing a tail of fur from his back.
Second cat changing into a tiny small piglet, disappearing in the walls of my study.
A little boy that looked like me when I was young, begging for an escape route, I had to move my bed and he disappeared into the wall, thanking me for acting on his request.
Someone lying beside me in the bed and stroking my hair, calming me and I was confused: was she a lover or a mother or both?
The shadow of an indetermined animal running to the garden when I was in pain on the loo.
Opening a door to find a well, opening a window to find something I do not remember now but that was definitely not a window view!

donderdag 26 april 2012


Katerina Nikoltsou, Greece

JJ Alltheway, USA

Martha Aitchinson, UK


Guido Vermeulen, Belgium

I can hear the blues of a tree

I can hear the dying juice

and the squirell committing suicide

in the giant redwood I can’t see.



the frame of rosewood and ebony
empty till the eye fills it with the image
of a man sitting motionless on a bench
as the falling leaves slowly bury him

another man sees blackbirds grubbing
under the elms after a hard rain
beaks spotted with acid drippings

old men see the whispers of ghosts
pass from life eternal to a myth
etched on a Byzantine silver plate
they crawl across vast flats of
eroded stone till their hands
swell and blur into the far horizon

a woman saw a colored music there
a figure receding in the tapestried
hall of an Eastern lamasery

after death the victim would remember
how the frame showed the shadow of
the blinds cut across the killer's face

April 24, 2012


by Mark Rossmiller, USA

Tue, Nov 16, 2010 at 8:05 PM

in the darkness of a
drive-in car wash,
i can't find your
hand to hold onto.
between the seats
with a bottle of
caffeine concentrate,
i can't unlock the
doors. i drink,
then feel the pressure
of the car closing in
around me. i want to
scream, but there's
no air for me to
make a sound.
i hold a crowbar
in both hands,
but cannot find
the strength to
shatter glass.
so i just hold on
tightly, imagining
it's you.


#pocketpoem #antiart #mailart #dada #fluxus #art #awesome...


From Theresa Williams, USA
and Alicia Starr, USA

ODE to I’m not certain what

From Cheryl Penn, South Africa
References to some Beatles’ songs


Small painted envelope for Martha Aitchinson, UK
SONG: Show me the place by Leonard Cohen, album Old Ideas

maandag 23 april 2012

In the rings of trees
the circle of seasons sleeps;
when we are awake we lack
reminders of sudden memories.
The loss is so terrible and overwhelming
as what we can’t achieve in comprehensive dreams.

around art work by Jill French and Laura Podob, USA

Ragh, argh, Gahr, grah, and so on

Visual POEM against the persecution / discrimination of gays, lesbians and bisexuals
From Neil Gordon, USA

Death in the street according to HORUS

From Julian and Dan, UK

A Mexican POEM

From Emilio Carrasco, Mexico

The descent to hell is happening now, oh Dante!

Small painted envelope for Neil Gordon, USA

maandag 16 april 2012

Jackal ready to resign proof

Collage with painted fragments around the JACKAL poem by David Stone

«Proof,» said the jackal,
«I am turning in my chart,
ready to resign.»


About a single stone
listen to the silence of the earth
keep quiet when you open
the mouth of seasons because
the distance has no importance at all ...

April 2012

zondag 15 april 2012

SMALL THINGS: a revisited kiss revisited

Small painted envelope for Theresa William’s project on small things
Tribute to Gustav Klimt

Text contribution:

10 smal things to make life better

1. A revisited kiss revisited
2. The smell of earth after some heavy rainfall
3. The reflection of wild cats in your fiery eye balls
4. The growing of the first green grass in another spring
5. The golden waves hiding under your winter skirt but not completely
6. Hugging a tree when climbing a sacred mountain; any mountain, any tree
7. Nipples hard and soft as rocks in the palm of aromatic hands
8. Sunrise, sunset and in between and what will follow
9. The promise of another tomorrow, even when we resist this
10. Mail art from your belly-button jumping to my throat

15 April 2012

At the North Sea where ENSOR lived masks were as common as fish on the local market place

Small painted envelope

The angry blackbird

Large painted envelope for David Stone, USA
Project: Blackbird
Starting point: the poem ANREDSAM by Paul Celan (from LICHTZWANG)

woensdag 11 april 2012

On daffodils

From Jill French, USA, connected with this poem

A daffodil
in the presence of a stone
invades the kitchen

a haiku that is not a haiku but more a haiku than most haiku I read, thank you Gill

Boom boom boom

New poetry booklet by John Bennett,
Last image by John and C. Mehrl Bennett

Without knowing me, my pain was a shoe

New poetry edition by John Bennett, cover art by Guido Vermeulen

Original hand delivered tiny mail

From Art like Art, around a quote by T.S. Eliot
I grow old, I grow old
I shall wear
bottoms of my trousers