Ball of Crumbs


one by one he collected

his crumbs

yellow, orange, blue crumbs

coarse green crumbs

he looked at broken statue

let it crumble in his hands

little sparkling crumbs

mixing in with coloured crumbs

tiny last crumbs


fell inside the wooden box

covering the bottom  nothing more

 little coloured some sparkling crumbs

he closed the box

as a silent tear wrinkled down his cheek

he walked outside in misery

went down the garden path

with a trowel in hand

slowly but certainly he dug the last resting place

of crumbs nothing more then crumbs

he opened the box for the last time

to say some final words


when he picked up some crumbs to shape a ball

inside the ball of his hand

slowly turning shaping adding

more crumbs

the ball grew inside his hands

until no crumbs were left inside the wooden box

he stood up with the ball still rolling inside his hands


inside he placed the ball on the south facing windowsill

 looking at all them coloured tiny sparks 

table was moved in front of the ball of crumbs

took his typewriter sat down

with a white piece of paper winding down inside 

he stretched his long skinny fingers out to the sky

started writing letter by letter a changing letter

after Subject: came the relieving word


with closed lips he whispered towards the ball of crumbs

thank you

for my sparks and colours in my vision

letter by letter he wrote, patient polite words

left with his hand-written name and signature bigger than all letters

he left to start again

a ball of crumbs



stained glass window
showed her  strange effects
making darkness shine



it al became right
inside likability
turning behind display



she won’t be cast of
electric catch


while walking the spiral


concentrate not on feet

taking away




The Place

This is the place where we can leave noises from society behind us

Here we don’t need to run
Here are no bills
Here are no lies
Here is no money
Here is no achievement


Here you find beauty
Here you find survival
Survival we forget but can not ignore

that Place we all need
that Place we are looking for
We don’t know what it looks like
We will find it


We fight for it
We cry for it
We don’t know what it is
We all will find it all in our own Way

The poem was written in September 1986 and
one day it will be a part of a novel
no title yet

A book with proza, with memories, with forgotten stories

If you wonder yes, i found the Place several times in my life

Roos Zwart will have an open Gallery at her home/office
showing you some photo technics you can try yourself
make a date with her on
2 and 3 October
9 and 10 October

Roos Boekjes


set it free


even niets
silence in your ears
concept in your mind
seed trapped green
purpose ZOMAAR
under that one, on top this one
surrounded by your spot your vision



trailed underworld

like a spider inner web
hovering Dentante
wind blows single shout
tetering under clouds
still tentacle
all is FINE within silence mind




found it

it has been a while but have reach my space in a certain way
I am living away from major cities close to several national parks
Meeting myself again

i only need to cycle 10 minutes and i am in a forest and when going the other direction it is even faster, say 7 minutes and trees surround me and my bike and best of all nooooo cars
Yep surrounded by forests and as you can see on ‘found it’ heather and even some small hills.

Perhaps you missed me, maybe not, but, i missed myself and so glad to have found her again.

seeing is lOOking

seeing you

to perceive that concept
you need to see
spy with your eyes
underneath your view

shit is where you find it

make sure of wet knees
determine worm glimpse
sleep underneath your lips
velvet observation

hidden glories

consider no evaluation
just look what you see
receive no consultation
walk to interview with eyes wide open 

over and out

distinguish what lays behind
your vision
notice that slightest sight
catch espy


appreciate your flight
sheltered love
within your fathom

Perhaps, maybe, possible, you need to see before you look
inside photography
perhaps not
Morning light sure helps to ease ones mind.

on a personal note, i am moving house going away from city persuit, leaving behind an other garden for somebody else to enjoy, creating more gardens on ground force, going north to a house on floor level.

see you soon

Keti Koti

so much more

1 july 1863
perhaps but not yet
wait in chain
untill we demand
you yes you
did build what makes me rich
you yes you 
did cultivate what makes me rich
you yes you
made this country grow
you yes you
paid with blood sweat and tears



too late

perhaps its too late
maybe not
it wasn’t me
yet i see
what i got
lets make it into
what we have
gedeeld verleden gezamelijke toekomst

Keti Koti

Today Holland and the rest of the Netherlands remember our 
slavery past and what we did and didn’t do
On the first of July 1863 slavery was banned from our colonies
Suriname and the Dutch Antilles
Today the mayor from Amsterdam said she and her council take responsibility
of what happened in the past and what was done by past councils and mayors.
Nobody alive now in Amsterdam has the blame but they took responsibility.
So she said I appologise for what was done and for the effect it had and has

THANK YOU Femke Halsema for taking this step.




outline what
the indefinite
or perhaps nothingness

absence of act

theoretical yes
practical no
functional never


notion of noticeable 
conceptable image
creating unreal reality
infront of the lens

best subject for this
which is already an unreal element
hard ice, liquid running, soft snow, 

see through
drift on
reflecting storm
all colours
WATER has it 
to experiment with

second book ready
third book