The Great Story of Greeningen Let's start with poetry

On a frisk October morning
Coming from the East
One can experience the glittering of crystal golden meth in ones eyes

This is only a foreplay
Proceed further with the speed of a cyclist
And one will be rewarded

In the heart of the city
By the sight of the Golden Office
A market space, accessible to everybody

Lies designed and made
For you
A person with the pace of a human

Cicaden, ten times a church clock like a drum bell
Boys on the street
Neighbour girl in bed, Windows checked by mom

Anne Meike is over ten
Twelve years ago when I started living right here
I hadn't seen nothing of her yet

Thin, blond, creative, darling and daring
And she already cooky
Something I don't do

Are you coming?

And once you have been here
The wind. The wind moves by cars and sounds of tires on tarmac
Wintersport

Night, father driving, mother, sister, brother sleeping
Me, looking through the front window
Feeling no sleep

It is the rythm of the night
And endless black lava road
An airstream going south

To the white powder
To Austria or Switzerland, to poetry, beauty, oblivion
To crystal white blinding

SO, Alexander Slobbe, are you
Home, or what!
Or is there something you need from Gert?




Sarah Mijnsje Anne Marie Sival van Andel van Groningen
7 th July 2015, early morning