The Poetry of Friedrich Nietzsche

The Harbor

Today I do cling to a crooked branch high above the hills and sea a bird inviting me to stay I fly with him with little wings beating sea sleeping my bed i put to sleep pain and hurt deep forgetting my aims harboring depth losing fear of praise and penalty I am a bird flying

Stepping one after another what is Existence? Such pacing such stirrings such tiredness won’t the wind lift me away I resist thee not love-wings glide me to distant shores

The reasonable tongue stumbles I seek a new artistry and flight there is more beauty in the world than mere business games and jokes

In solitude I find myself


I am Lambic

An Angelic ship am I a maiden steered towards whirl-winding love-making flag-waving handsome captaining helm-puffs and flame Covet me I am lambic did you think all that barking spewing forth fire and steam was devil-dare-dreaming?

Once I was the whick-edness now I am the candle-wax base and night-stick four steps a little leap a swift kick kitten-feet and I’m off paw-man-ship at helm


She Lies Goat Eyes

I am eaten by buggery it is light outside and noisy they dance and prance I’m sick to my stomach she wants me to come away with her I wait like a dog How she lies running away goat-eyes

What’s the use for staring at her silken breasted-shirt? I might as well be a ram living in the woods curled up poisonous love how you beseech me like a toad growling lowly in glowing gardens of consumption the seventh hell smells like Onions to me!


Church Spider-y

Monk-me god will understandingly let me in of this I’m sure youthful blushing whimsical I am surely god’s plan not to be old graying tomcat not to be caught up in Church spider-webs not to offer false curtsies and departures I stay pious I am a pretty maiden


No Poppy Pillow

I could not sleep no poppy or pillow could have its way with me I fought tossed turned ran in the moonlight the Shepherd is sleepy What year is it?

What’s it to me? There will be another boat in this harbor of sleep I’m sure


Morning Rise

Why are you distraught fair playful darling? Is the Sun not enough company in the morning? Your silent tears stream my consciousness is listening



What keeps the bird aflight? Is it his wings or his might? Forever gliding the victory and the victor towards the starry heavens I am envious



I murmur to myself under a dark tree hearing a faint heart beat I am angry I make syllables fit my needs laughing suddenly repeatedly am I a poet or a woodpecker

you tell me



Pforta the nicest most pleasant place in the valley near Naumburg there I stood verdant hills sunset beams green dressing meadows undressing before my eyes their white mist reminds me of a better time guarded by angels low orbital sentiments abound glistening in silence and dew-dim shapes like lightning and countenance

How could I forget Pforta?



I know neither fear nor trembling when I’m traveling to distant lands on horse-back feeling the wind in my face who would dare tempt me with existential concerns in such a moment?


Marinade Time

The voice calls me I look upwards to the sky I have basked in the marinade of sinner-speak I struggle to untie the noose around my neck I desire but to do his service


Homer of Basel

In Basel I cried for Homer Poet of Old to tell me a love story and all the church-goers told me to go home


Hermit Thought

I sit like a hermit thinker on a tree stumped over pen-raised prepared to right of melancholy my frequent visitor the vulture greedily stealing its way over my valley

I am a rotting carcass I am a mummy the clouds see me approaching and quake with thunder

I am an avalanche a stony bed a flower yearning for the kiss of a butterfly better left to rumble and stumble according to my own storm-table I stammer forth a song but alas my ink is gone



Weather-brew overcomes my atmospheric ethos with flashes and streaks though I meet it halfway with my own jolting thunderous eye-brow raising chain mail weaponry “Hear I am!” Now you tell me thunder and lightning will you be the victress or a tigress warrior princess or poisonous Oaken tree either way you shall feel me


Port Fortuna

Columbus trust not the Portuguese stare into the deep blue sea go forth to what is to behold new world eternal return death awaits us all but only some meet Fortune


Closed Wheel

This book my last bridge to burn I am an anchor weighing down the world I am a wheel off course



The past preys on me I pray for the eternal present



I will be the Sea if you will only traverse me


Vigor Wiggles

You greet me with cheerful words bowing your head even acting clumsily like old friends vigor wiggle and twirl poor little girl I will be your friend but I am not like the rest of the world


Boulder Beholder

I grew to great heights once pillow now cloud-fights gigantic head beholder of well-said I seek to be lowly like an animal once again


Late Night Sweet

Night delight for the wandering walking under the moon’s-beauty too me singing sweetly the troubles of my heart I lure a female from the hills come stand beside me while the flute plays a moment to share in this eternal haze



Happy is he who has made his way home the journey is long winter doesn’t help The World a gate of words a wasteland of silence You who are lost curse the smoke-lands curse that bleeding heart of Ice whirl away from the city I will meet you in the countryside



Noon of life my summer garden I am a grey glacier slowly melting my rushes and weeds spinning in purview bird-me what can I do?

Who will taste my honey? Who will be my friend?


Net Worthy of

For all our senses we are senseless 5 misguidance cast me in pull me out net-me for all I’m worth I’m worth nothing unless I listen with Love