We meet for 9 sessions, cost 225€ including materials
Starting September 3rd until November 5th, 7PM (19:00 hours)
Location: ABS Bar, Gottesweg 135, 50939 Cologne, Germany, subway: #18, stop: Sülzburg Strasse.

Contact: +49 (0) 1525 6455 719
eva@evaschuster.com

Hannah is a queen of beauty and success
encumbered by such flailing sparks
of wrathful thoughts though subtle
withering each step and progress.

From a deeper source she forg’s an even,
wider step, burning, melting
ore of past regrets, of
coughing pains and walking cuts.

She had a mare of steady means,
That mare of hers was gentle,
colored calico and whitish pawed
had set her on a watershed.

Now Hannah pulls her oars,
fittings made of iron
solid on the boat
with welling thoughts
of presence and each act.

A long ride this one:
my prime of 22 years
July 1 1989 until May 2012
for the good fortune
to birth the new religion
under your guidance.

The young ones wheeling
the caulking guns now
building puzzle pieces,
and islands
to weave the new meme.

I’m off now to follow
my own predictions
in the river of language
with the guidance of
knowing my own.

My night was hard,
will the day be tart?
Come word, lie by my soul,
be good to us all!

My soul from side to side,
swinging rootless in the hole,
my middle hollow and wide,
but from spirit’s knoll my gaze is whole.

My soul hangs low,
I push her up by sweat,
her roots hang in my gaping hole,
I’m rising to her care.

My day wants to be chipper,
but my soul can’t find her breath,
my gaze low, is bitter.
Listen though: some days are more or less.

Spirit came to rescue
what couldn’t find its breath;
grounding what was rootless
dropping one whole sheath no less. Then anew!

From where I’m looking,
you must be booking
your next flight to –
Christ, what heights!

Hans, my uncle, left his eyebrow,
left his swing. Without a gaze,
the war took him to his death;
without a word the river’s kinking since.

To my rootless soul a sent, divine and calm,
entered a Mercy, I name Jesus/Lord,
not only of this world he is and stays each day anew.

A new wave to source us women from a deeper well,
since we found ourselves a quarrel,
for unity amongst us sisters
to build our future step.

Then I traveled,
my rootless soul leveled
my daily deeds
to count out
balances on the ledger sheet.

A cat, or two,
counts more than 5 kanguru,
but my love is a gnu
and of course,
I love You.

Soul’s wind fanning my spirit
forward with a purpose,
less bizarre as she lifts my elders weight,
she stands and strides straight.

Early with her purple face
towards sun’s rays,
perfectly she stands
in a line of sisters
peace between them
like Christ’s lamb.

Walking toward the deeper well,
searching for the true appeal,
what might be the dirt called: home,
not a version of ‘Me’
spelled a-l-o-n-e.

Rootless soul speakths today:
I have a river though, there you must go.
So discerning by love’s word,
straighten your path and I will flow.

Says Today: enough being rootless.
Says Yesterday: no way!
Says Tomorrow: with love and forward.
Says Today: Yes I’ll stay.
There is time.

My time comes to my good dirt,
walking strong and certain,
sowing happiness and spring
to my soul.

With lasting rhyme
you spun a thicker weave for my sail.
That wind, my soul, carries gentle
to my moorings
me
amidst the morning sky.

This good day soothes my quest.
My canvas bulges in the winds.
I am beholden to nurture those at hand.
Thus glides my soul.

It is I, my windblown one,
who steps into your might today,
to teach my student paths not worn.
And still my needs shall stand therefore.

Not sure of this day, with friends bending
towards the path of lesser loves;
come sail be subtle, and the breeze
will glide my soul.

I’ll stay on the surface today,
cupping my soul’s fine spring green,
no leaps on a day of lesser communion.

I can vaguely make out the future,
mist of lost hopes glossing over this Sunday;
still with rudder and rhyme I’m squelching all panic.

It’s simple: teach language, write poems.
The soul is like a kitten, the more you speak to her
the more she responds. Thus she awakens.

As dysfunctional as the bosses
dreaming about the great key accounter
who left months ago
are visionless hours in private offices.

Her little right-hand fingers
clasping the red bucket’s handle tightly,
as her left-hand palm is clasped tightly by my fingers.
Very well.

Stepping off the predictable
with only the red bucket as home for my soul,
stepping lightly, my 3rd life launches.

Fine day for a start-up:
layering reassuring English grammar, email acronyms, and collocations
in my red bucket, such is my venture capital.

Her soul not mourning her loss of wholeness
wanders down the aisles of complain-ment,
a desperate wife lacking the hope to file for divorce.

Summer’s first promise comes on chestnut tree flower cones,
sweaty upper lips, carrying jackets;
a happy crowd grass-laying by the river.

Being a finalist left wordless
I sit by the quiet window,
early soft blue oozing thru indigo clouds
holds firm promise of love and insight.

Hey my Master,
Hey you women
Hey all men!
What a glory,
what a birth
in mind and spirit,
what a bang in consciousness!
Today it happen’d
twenty ‘n six
all those years ago.
Look the world is
thinking deeper,
spinning to
a higher sound.
Let’s keep walking,
moving, flying
forward in one step,
“arrowhead” is our mission,
leading force with
guts and spirit,
joining forces with each willing mind.
Freedom to all women/men
thus the future we create.
Glory to this day, my Master,
Glory to all women/men!

Weg/Path

Der Weg

kam gerade von A nach B,
aber ich wollte mit ihm
sprechen, denn A schien mir
viele Kinder zu haben und
B war auch nicht eins.
Insgesamt waren A und
B sowieso kein anderes
Ende meines Weges,
sondern derselbe Punkt
im Prozess,
dieser hinwiederum hat
seine Richtung, und
ich bewege mich
fort
von nichts zu allem.

The Path

came along
from A to B,
but I question it,
A seemed to have many children
and B wasn’t alone either.
And anyways A and
B weren’t opposite
ends of my path,
rather the same place
of the process,
which has its
direction, and
I’m moving
forth
from nothing to something.

In der Höhle

wo der Zweifel tötet,
singt mein Vogel,
wo der Mord geschieht,
die Mißgunst tötet,
da lacht mein Garten,
spricht mit seinen Rosen
und läd zum
Kaffeetrinken ein.
Sodann, die schlimme Schlange,
sie tanzt im Farbenregen,
läßt Blüten und
Düfte in die
schwarze Höhle rein.
Da flieht der Zweifel
und verbrennt im Sonnenschein.

Baumfrau

Meditation

Da noch nicht
kein Wort
vor der Zeit,
doch ich bin da.
Und Du, mein Gott -
bist Du bereit?

Meditation

There is no word
yet prior
to the burst of time,
though I am there.
And you, My Lord -
you are where?

In meinem schwachen Stäubchen
geht’s heute rasend zu.
Schwesternwald, ihr greift mich
um die Mitte stark,
dass mein Stamm
in diesem Winter
vom schüttr’n Schorf
zum starken Streber
meines Gottes
wird.

Ihr Platanen, mit dem schwarzen
Zeichenstift
im Weisgoldhimmel
mir versprecht,
was eure wahren Wurzeln
sind; so aufgenommen
eurer, in hoher Mitte
kann mein Schwächstes
sicher blühn.

Herr du aber
gibst mir Wasser,
dass mein Stäubchenseele
ein Teppich sei
in deinem Dienste, und
dein Fuß gewärmt auf dieser Erde
steh.

So wird zum Baum das
Schwächste meines Steins,
das Stäubchen, wo
du stehst aus tief’rem Stein.

Werdend
drängt mein Blatt, dein Sinn
ausnahmlos zur Welt
sich hin.