Disconnection

Disconnected,
heavily defended,
I avoid you
when I pass you in the street,
our eyes don’t meet,
like empty shuttles
they seem to be travelling nowhere.

Disconnected,
heavily defended,
I hear the music play but don’t take time to listen,
see war scenes on TV but don’t take them in,
judge and
blame others.
I hurt the people closest to me.

Disconnected,
heavily defended,
my eyes are staring into space,
truth is not grasped,
beauty remains unseen,
I rush from one thing to the next,
life is just a word.

Disconnected,
heavily defended,
over my head,
I hear singing in the air.
There must be a God,
There must be a God,
There must be a God somewhere.

2003

– –

Poems chosen from an anthology of poems called ‘For Crying Out Loud – Voice of an Exile’, published early 2016.

Bettina

Bettina John von Freyend-Peterseil was born at the end of the 2nd World War in Germany. She exiled herself early on, travelling the world, never able to settle anywhere for long. She now lives in the West of Ireland, where she and her husband built their home, raised their children and tended the land. She has been teaching, writing and in the past 15 years creating her collage work.

The poetry compilation ‘For Crying Out Loud- voice of an exile’ comes at a time when globally people are forced to move on a large scale. Bettina offers a personal account of the mindset of a self imposed exile. She reveals her disconnection and her longing to belong mirroring a world also steeped in separation.

Ouevre

There is a time

Poetry by Bettina

There is a time to hang on and a time to let go. Now is the letting go time, the ending time, leaving the shore time, handing over my will...

Still children seeking their way home

Poetry by Bettina

We are grown people we claim. To prove it our lips form a tight line, our faces show wrinkles which remind us of years of living, striving, surviving, crying after...

Who was I?

Poetry by Bettina

Who was I before I forgot your face? Who was I before I forgot your name? Who was I before? My mother’s face, my father’s face, my brother’s face. Mother...

View all Works by this Author

Anthology

All That is Given

Poetry by Frank Golden

Hard wind on the turn at Cappaghmore. You drive on, on the cusp of light, along the old road past Mortyclough. To think it’s taken me a lifetime to cool...

Declension in April

Poetry by Frank Golden

Lacking an ordained task, I sit in the blue chair facing south, rain on the circular field past Ballyhaine, rifts of blue opened by the wind, a taper of baling...

I Sit Silent in My Chair

Poetry by Gaurav Mathur

I sit silent in my chair Poised with pen and paper All eyes and ears Waiting to catch a glimmer Or the faintest whisper Of the Eternal Nothing And all...