Leaving details

As a part of an exhibition in 2010 with the title ‘GreenbloodRedblood’ i created some images.

GreenbloodandRedblood 2010



red blood in green

The amazing veins in a leaf searching for that river trail.

How does it flow.

For only a moment.


leaf labyrinth

from green to


it never stays

it goes

leaf remains


half digested by time

one step


its gone into crumbles


leaf white bones



of it goes

into soil

to spread the wings of

new leaf on the wind


In a forest lays the hidden reality, de verborgen werkelijkheid, realidade occult, Realiti cudd, versteckte Realität and so much more.
These photos are experiments with filters and framing the coming months there will be many more experiments.

The camera is fantastic in macro photos and has several possibilities for filters like: fisheye, sparkle, reflection, fragmented, pop art, soft focus, pale light colour, grainy film, pin hole, diorama, dramatic tone.
Not sure by any of them, it can give a mixed reality which i like to achieve in some way. Let the photos be in such a way that people look and wonder what is……….

There will be several series, several stories to tell and one will be the story of a leaf.

The way to show? Perhaps as a collage. Perhaps as a leaf. Not sure, i have plenty ideas.
The roaming balls, the hidden holes, the forgotten tunnel just to mention 3.

The dead leafs are on the path for just a few more weeks so no time for experiment more time for that one moment of seeing.








So here we are, feet passing by, feet standing stil, feet in shoes, shoes over feet, touching concreet, not seeing, not feeling.



stand still


Stripes of past measurements!
There is no need to wait, there is no need to expect, moving feet, talking,  without saying, the popularity of a shoe.








Talk to me, so glad, so filled with nothing, shadow on the wall, giggle in the air, we say yes, we nod no, catch the moment,  that moment, which always pass. i don’t need you, your talk, your walk, your subdirection, heard it all before, the kind ways of going nowhere, leaving nothing, chasing shadows.





Don’t mind unprocessed photoscape, staying, speaking, no meaning inside please buy mine. i don’t care, please pass by,   i can see you, no phone in my hand just a wooden pencil to feel wood to write a moment over feet standing, wandering under no seeing glassed eyes, its nothing to mind.
Lets sit down, its good, no, but its good, whistling back home game.



effe zitten ja


let me hide hide away from it all, let me, let me HIDE as it becomes much much. Human appetite for being best better best, hunting sadness a sad expression of, what, want to be. The final decision of that one person wearing the shoes, the steel smile of me and me, let me hide please walk, by, the sadness, not here, not there, hide away.


Realisation Fluctuation of art, enjoy what is not there, avoidance becomes a well known factor inside compilation, surrounded corner. So good to see a true smile, a wandering speciality, once again once again.



pas die schoen


Shut the door with lights in eyes no not again a situation to escape hiding in a glass hollow vision, with blue glow in hair from ten thousand movements. There most be a way out of here, beard attraction, tears in eyes differentiation problems, walking, seeing, get some sure visuality!


taking part in an art fair 



While wandering around the Sculptur-Projecte 2017 in Muenster, Germany i stubble on the most amazing concrete poetry, called Tender Tender by Michael Dean.


love locks

It might be inspired by the many love-locks you find around in the city, but no explanation was given, which makes it even better.  Looking at it from one site or the other site, you see what you want to see, it plays with seeing and reading.

tender viewing holes

see through

What do you see while you are reading a poem, or a story, or just one line.
The poem is juxtaposed around all over and in the sculpture. At times shredded and than it is crumbled and even painted or hidden behind a wall on the top floor.

tender verscheurde woorden

hidden words

You can see it from above like organised chaos, but perhaps thats what love is, organised chaos.
Only to shred that idea when you see a printed danger tape with frecksake fucksake. Yet while on your knees you see love.

tender concrete

you can see that no need to say more

butte why than, yes why than, all the fists hmmmmm ok that one goes with the crossed fingers so why.
well one thing shows through it all the meaning of concrete, right there, everywhere, but don’t follow me just see it yourself and go on your knees to see every detail and than go up into the air to see it from that different angle.

tender fingers

maybe tomorrow yes perhaps tomorrow


OOOOOh and when you spy through that screen don’t be surprised to see love you should not see.


can you see it

however i just and i mean just LOVE it it made my day and even month finally creative writing a very creative love song butte it is not a love song


poetry printed and printed again and again everywhere

lots of love


and more





do you see that word a silent word
hanging from every stick, from every line, in every circle
it says noting that word of stilte
would it be something you know, something you said, something you saw, while you question your seeing

lijn en line

untrusting minds wander along the glister trail
shimmer movement, no wind, no rain over sunbeams entrance
one site, other site, underneath a drop rainbow arrange itself for your eyes


any footstep will make it disappear
unhurry for that tiny moment of seeing, listen to no words
don’t let me show you, don’t let me
be surprised with wandering words, under silent feet, conformation of nothing
the river flows, a drop bows, unpredictable show

goede morgen

als de betekenis van het gesproken woord weg is op het moment het wordt gehoord, laat staan als het wordt herinnerd
ik kan het niet zeggen als jij het hoort




read before you like *_*

silver eye
…………………  purple line
…………………………………………  yen yelp sky

purple line

purple line

nymph creates a
…………………………….  last myth
from an oyster one
……………………………….  ending posy
python tells us a
…………………………….  final Rye

sycamore shows
……………………………………  ultimate Syringa
typical variation of
…………………………………….  extreme Yuppie
gypsie reveals an other
…………………………………………..  supreme hysteria

silver eye

silver eye

purple line
…………………………silver eye
………………………………………………….yen yelp sign

i am sorry but wordpress is not much good to work with in making visual poetry therefor the dots…….
a question i played with some words, can you see what the word play is???

looking forwards to hear from you


sponges start
to crack underneath
in the lee of ice golden sparks
emerge on eyes



distant morning M6
roars on like a never
ending journey
lets go down and stand still

broken root

broken root

underneath frost from the past
lays the dew of the
not showing what
eyes see
appearing images of illusory stillness
expectation falling from
let the mind dream a broken



squaling frozen leaves
conceal tramping feet
when the sun hits the ground
it all falls in drops
curl the toes while hanging low



the bow churn the way
cast iron pointer
shivering realization
into the body
down the yellow rose
the oak grows out of the owl




while walking down the tow path on a early frosty morning
thoughts that wander


At the moment I am working on two small poetry books which will be sold along the canals.
The question came up: should poetry be self explanatory, so people will read and understand about what you are writing? Shall Poetry be made according to the rules and regulations of language – grammar and spelling  – or can the poet just play with words?
The discussion came about due to a line in one of my poems were it looked as if the word “leave” should have been “leaf”. My answer is: it can be both, both meanings, whatever you want. When you read it in the context of the poem it even can be both, but I spelled it as leave meaning departure.
Leave has several other meanings like holiday, farewell, exit, goodbye and leave as a verb has similar meanings; depart, go, retire, pull out, set sail, abandon and next to it you have ‘leave out’  which means exclude.
In the poem:  “Where the leave touches the stream” followed by “soft reflection drifting into a motion of no direction” So it cold be both a leaf from the tree just fallen in the canal, or a departure or even a holiday. That makes it, in my opinion, special; that makes it literary art created with words, being creative with words.
If text needs to explain something you should not be creative with words but weigh the meanings of the words and use them in a clear matter.


old text Cathach of St. Columba

The druid in Celtic society, as the wise people, memorised their knowledge in the form of verse and poetry. These poems are not self explanatory but a way to train your memory as the Celts didn’t use books or script to store their knowledge like the Romans did.
When we look at these old poems, specially those that were written down in Ireland, we will be puzzled as time changes language. A language is not static, so the text can’t be a true text and will always be interpreted. Even more so when a text is translated in an other language.
We use language mainly as a form of communication. Art can become a form of communication but also can be open to the imagination, poetry can be imaginable, being dream like – even unreal – that shows the beauty of poetry and language: using words in a dream like way to stimulate the readers imagination.
Language can be just like a picture we all see it in a different way, as Rene Magritte said: “this is not a pipe” under a picture of a pipe.

My poetry will be with a photo but the poem doesn’t explain the picture, both will show a way of seeing. The human imagination comes in many shapes and forms and we shouldn’t be afraid of it. Some of my poems show how I see the photo, or the moment the photo was taken this doesn’t mean that you should see it in the same way as me. The title of one book is; “the little book of drops” yet every drop shows a lot more than just a drop of water.


Dusky glimmer in the rain     
gives a dashing stroke without a brush,  
to avoid the flashing witty twinkle

The dropping becomes the prism without the cutting edge     
The colour palette holds the Rainbow against the light

The beast gets a revelation on her hair   
No more hiding away in the dark corner

She slowly wander to the glowing ball of water,    
hangs on while it falls from the movement of her legs,     
a lost tick


What do you think?