top of page

Poëzie & Proza

Op deze pagina vind je mijn gedichten.


Er is dus hoop   

Hoop op geluk en mooie dagen

Er is dus iedere dag een nieuwe mogelijkheid om er iets van te maken 

Waar begin je dan, op welk moment?


Ergens ligt dat punt  verstopt 

onder al die lagen van dagen in zwarte mist.

Help me dan. 

Help me alsjeblieft er doorheen te komen,

 totdat ik het punt vind 

van waaruit ik de dagen kan openmaken

 En er overal licht door stuift


Thiandi Grooff, 10 december 2011

In Between
in my body nothing makes you notice the desires of my soul.
a body thats moving because i reach boldly, a longing for someone to reach boldly back.
my desires linger in the space between you and me.
like the scent between the daffodil and the honey bee.
nature shows us the miracle of relativity.
the importance of openness and sensitivity the bee flies better when the temperature is right, and adversaries are gone.
both will be rewarded. 
i want to be a bee.
bee's get attention now that they extinct.
we speechless people try to survive.
we need the flowers sending their scents.
letting us know that as their friends we are most welcome to interact and to contribute to the happiness of the pact.
The in between space is a fact.

A custom made poem for the Re-Peat festival 2021 by Thiandi Grooff. Voice and editing Saskia van Engeland.


Hoe veel stukjes ziel  
kan een mens verliezen  
voor ze sterft. 
telkens weer afscheid  
als een boom die een voor een 

Haar bladeren verliest 

En sterft 
door droogte  

En niet door de herfst.  
Hoe kan ik de kracht vinden 
om door te gaan? 
om weder op te staan.? 

Ik zie hun foto’s 
ze stralen 
hun energie  
vol vertrouwen naar me toe 
en helen mijn gebroken ziel. 

Zodat ik zo bezield 

Verder kan leven 

En weer kan geven, 

 Wat immers de zin is in dit bestaan. 

— Thiandi Grooff, mei 2023

Image by Biel Morro


Night is black

Night is quiet

Night is not been seen

Night is thinking


I imagine  myself, unbothered by the day

Walking and talking

Happily and in total control


The night is me

 Without this body

Night is what isn’t and never can be


Fantasy and dream

I can make it,

I can take it 

as I please


Night is living


Night is mine.


Thiandi Grooff


I want to belong

without belonging

life is not living

but waiting till it ends.


energy lost in fear

my body dynamite

tight like a booby trap

exploding without control


let me fire

instead of waiting

fireballs of love

that take away 

my tears and fears


Thiandi Grooff

Image by Patrick Hendry
Annotations: Night, Belonging, Freedom


Vrijheid is geen individuele zaak.

Vrijheid geef je elkaar, door naar elkaar te luisteren en elkaars behoeftes te vervullen. Mensen, die, zoals ik niet kunnen praten maar wel communiceren, hebben vaak problemen om gehoord te worden. Luisteren naar hen, is de eerste stap om ook hen vrijheid te geven.


Freedom is not only a personal issue. It is very interpersonal. You give another human (or animal) freedom by listening to each other and fulfilling each other’s needs. People who, like me, cannot speak but communicate otherwise, often have problems to be heard. Listening to them is the first step to give them freedom.


I wrote this poem in a time that I felt very depressed because felt so lonely. It is difficult for me to relate to people because I cannot speech nor control my body well. I wanted to cry out loud but nobody understood me of course because in this sadness my body even more is out of control. Making this poem helped me to get rid of this sadness.



In my dreams, awake or sleeping, I live in another reality. Everything is possible. Daylight brings me back in the reality where I cannot speak nor control my body well. I am very dependent on other people and good physical and social infrastructure. At night I forget my frustrations and is my fantasy limitless. Therefore I love the night.

The lassie and her load

The lassie in these lines


Undisturbed by her load

Mirthful, radiating like gold,

Bravely through life

In spite of  barriers

Which sometimes act like knives.


I feel like that lass

I carry the load, but not alone

I see the people near my home.

Willing to share my load

And,  as a team on this capricious road

to learn how to modify the weight

into a valuable and precious freight.


My  team, the neighbours from around

included those, with whom it rubs on other grounds.

commit their better half and clutch

to give a helping hand without a grudge

because everyone can use a nudge

to thrive in  dignity

ah, such a  beautiful symphony.


As such the lassie with her load

Forges the neighbours on her road

into a community

with a joined grand potency

Which helps me to progress

as a strong, proud-hearted lass.

©Thiandi Grooff dec 2021, translated from Dutch Jan 2022.

Original title: De deerne en haar dracht.

Foto: Sculptor Angele Noort 

Schermafbeelding 2023-05-03 om 16.23.34.png

The Present last too long

October 2015

The Present last too long

 In every moment hides the Past

 I want to go forward

 In the living of my life


 Tomorrow is far away

 A dream I'm craving

 How many times will it pass?

  I want to hold it!

Camping with the neighbours

small tents all around

eating, running, chattering

neighbours together


feel and praise their park

the beauty of birds and bush

the fragrance of the limetree

I wrote these two haikus during the neighbourhood camping weekend. This is organised in the local park each year in order to familiarise with the citizens of your neighbourhood , and to provide for a small holiday out of your house. Tents, if needed are provided, and for children and adults there are many activities, organised by the locals. I organised a Haiku workshop where I myself wrote this poem.

Rode bloemen


I am mud I muddle I mutter I mumble and grumble I grub and grub and grub

In the mud with my feet in the mud,

my muddy feet on this muddy earth.

I love the mud.

Queer hands

I was sitting gloomily in my favourite cafe. The beer didn’t taste well and the whisky was too strongly flavoured. Yak, I didn’t want to drink some apple scotch. I wanted some plain firewater. The cafe was small and dark. Only one bartender attended his regular customers. Strangers had to earn his attention. It was not very clear for me which conditions the bartender required from the solicitors for a drink. Maybe some queerness?  I had seen only extraordinary people in his small kingdom.   The air was hot and smoky. I yearned for some air. But I could not order my bones to move. They were glued to the table.  Perhaps the bartender did not clean his tables on purpose. Was that allowed in this country?  

               Creek.... The door opened and a ferocious looking man strode inside. “ Are you still serving?”  He asked, as it was nearly midnight. The bartender pretended not to hear him. 

“Only when you sit next to me”, I shouted to the stranger, so the bartender would hear me as well. 

 “Thank you my lady. I am desperate for a drink”, answered the stranger.

“What is your business in this neighbourhood”? I asked him.

“ I just performed in a play and now I want to relax with a cigar and a drink. This is the first cafe after many where I could smell cigar smoke.”  

 A queer thing happened. Did I dream or did he just take of his arms and hands, just like his coat? “Are you ok?” the bartender asked friendly?   “Your face just turned white with blue stripes”. 

“It is ok. I just saw a body disintegrating”, I assured him.

     “Do not panic” spoke the stranger. “I just took off my extra hands”.

Now the bartender got interested. “ Show me again”, he said, “and I will bring you some ale and a cigar”.



      “No problem” answered the stranger and repeated his action. Then the bartender sat down at our table and started to remove his legs. Their eyes turned expectantly to me. I threw away my speaking Ipad.  The stranger immediately picked it up from the floor. “I want to hear your stories”! He said and returned it to me.

 “I get you more drinks,” the bartender said. “By the way I am Jimmy and this is Gloria. How do you want to be called”?

 “Just call me Freddy the freak”, Freddy answered.

          ‘Why are you calling yourself a freak”? I asked.

 “Because I am proud to be a freak. I show the people it is liberating when you are not expected to behave as a normal person. Calling myself a freak takes me out of the box of normality. People like that because it is very boring and fatiguing to behave normal all the time. And then, in my performance I surprise them by performing in a special and also superhuman way. I do have a black belt in karate you know, and I use it in my show. I am excellent at it. Just as I am a famous drummer in a rock band. But what about you?”, and he gazed intensely at me with his beautiful blue eyes. 

        “Well, I hide out here often when I have some energy left. Jimmy is taking good care of me. In my work as consultant I train people in the care industry to get human again. That is difficult because most survivors in this industry don’t get the support they need to feel really human. Though the care workers try their best but get paid to be efficient in a business model based on economic values only. But I don’t want to talk about this frustrating work. Tell me more about your creative ideas. It is good to hear from a different world”.  

         “What do I get in exchange”?  

“Well, a bite in generous meat”. 

 “Deal. You know what?  Come to see my show tomorrow night. And we have dinner before. I will make the audience shiver and laugh at the same time”. 

“How will you accomplish this”, I asked him inquisitively.” 

“You have to wait to see”, he responded with a conspiring tone. 


The next day I was waiting for him in cafe Koosje near the zoo. They know me there. The food is delicious.  It was crowded as it always is on Friday afternoon. The cafe is the hangout of the university across the street.  Freddy entered the cafe. All eyes focus on him as he is dressed in a superb Italian suit. He walks to the bar. Then he sees me. One moment I think he is going to do another strange act, but instead he just orders a drink. He is laughing at the bartender who is preparing our drinks. At the moment the barwoman hands over the glasses he holds down his hand in order to take them. Just as he takes the glass he drops off his hands. The sound of the breaking glass penetrates the entire place. The bartender is shocked and stares at the hand on the floor. I feel a big laugh is coming up. It remains silent for ages. I can’t oppress my sound any longer and begin to giggle at the same time that Freddy says; “Oops, stupid hands! And he starts to laugh as well. The crowd stares at me, and it seems like I’m the only one who makes a sound. Then everybody burst out in laughing because of what happened. In this moment it is like the laughter relieves all the customers. 

   Freddy says to me: “this is why being handicapped isn’t always as bad as it looks. You can make people laugh. It is my favourite trick to make a connection with other people. Laughing at my own stupidity convinces people that I am not afraid of the stupidity of others or themselves. This puts them at ease”. 

‘Well, you are my hero now. I wish I could screw of my head and replace it by another one. I could use a joke like that to get some connection.”



       “Just start thinking about it. What would you do when you would be a clown in a circus?” He keeps silent.  Jesus. He makes me think seriously. 

       “I could use strange voices to get attention. And with those voices I would make a fool of myself. Some ridiculous voices; some very high and some very low. But then they would never take me serious”. 

      “Don’t deceive yourself. They would rather listen to you when you play the fool and they know you are pleasing them with this role. When they cannot make a connection between what they see, your movements and noises, and what you say with your voice machine they will not listen”.  I was shocked, but then I realised he was right. I had to find a way to become a clown. Being a clown isn’t the way I see myself, but I could try. A red nose and a crazy hat will do the job normally. In my case I had to think how to be funny without raising too much feelings of pity. 

  “Hey let’s dance”, Freddy yelled at me. Normally I refuse because My muscles are quiet anarchistic. They don’t like being bossed around. But Freddy was very challenging. My muscles acted wilder than I had expected. I felt weird, my head dizzy, my stomach queer and butterflies in my belly. My mind lost in reality. I felt like a bird, like an eagle high in the air. I could see Freddy and me swirling around. The music is wild. My muscles vibrate with the music; my heart hammers dangerously in my chest. I gasp the air quicker and quicker, and the eagle flies higher and higher. It is quite a sight. Freddy cannot hold me very tight with his short flippers, as he calls his hands. Or do I hold him? 

Clash…….  We fall apart. I bump into a table. Glasses tinkle and chips and courgettes fly through the air. “Shards bring luck,” shouts one of the guests on that table laughing. And they rush to help us. “Is everything ok?  You must be crazy to dance so wild”.

     “Well we are crazy. It is so much fun. I am fine. My name is Freddy and my friends’ name is Gloria. This is a splendid way to start a conversation. How may I call you?  Gloria, are you still in higher spheres?” 

My head was still dizzy. My eyes saw stars and stripes. I felt wonderful. I couldn’t think. Thinking was not necessary. I felt one with the environment. “Great” I replied. “Never felt better”.

“Gloria, these nice people are”….. “  This is Peter and I am Emma. Lets order champagne to celebrate this dance”, replied Emma.

“Let me hang out on the floor for a minute, till my soul is back in my body, I uttered.”  After a while I got on my feet with Freddy’s help and grabbed the champagne to show my consent.

“It is so nice to meet you in this special way. You are tourists or do you live here”? 

“We live here. I’m teaching Spanish and Peter here teaches economy. And what about you?” 

“I work as a consultant in human resourcing. I have my own office with 2 colleagues. And this freak here, I met him only yesterday.” I replied.

Freddy seized my hand, saying: “Yes and as I recognized her as a fellow freak we decided to get to know each other better. Maybe she can become my partner in my show. By the way I would be honoured, as you two would visit my show tonight in the Bellevue theatre. It starts at 10 pm”. You can join Gloria.”

    “What is it about”, Peter asked. 

Mostly it is a comedian show together with some friends. We play the freak and make fun of ourselves”. 

        “Isn’t that confirming the prejudices”, Peter asked concerned?

“No, I don’t think so. I show the audience that there is nothing wrong with playing with stereotypes. It helps me enormously to develop and adjust my own identity. Am I the stereotype? Or am I someone else? How do I like to be? What do you think Gloria?”

          “Well, I never really thought about exposing myself to the public for money, as you seem to do. But maybe it is good to show that you are not afraid of the outside world and even wants to start a conversation. And when we can all laugh about ourselves, the gap between them and us will disappear.”

         “The only other possibility to create an unity is starting a war against another other”, Emma added.  “Laughing is more civilised”. 

“Well, then my conscious tells me that it is ok to see you”, declared Peter solemnly. When do we leave”?     

     “I have to leave now to prepare myself. You can come half an hour before the show starts. It is not too far. Take tramline 10, and get out at the Leidseplein. I will tell the director to keep 3 tickets apart”.  And off he went, my beautiful gallant friend, showing off in his perfectly tailored Italian suit. 

It was quiet for a while, all sunken in our thoughts. 


Let us go to the theatre”, my Ipad suggested. I will call my personal cab driver, Juan. After 10 minutes this ‘guapo’ young man, with a very short body, entered the café. “Bike taxi for my bella amiga”, he shouted through the café. Outside stood a beautiful antique riksha. In gold and green colors. Luckily it was dry and warm weather, as the riksha didn’t protect against rain or cold. 

“ Do we all fit”, asked Peter anxiously. I mean, are we not too heavy. Can it bear our weight?”

“Thus far this bike has carried hundreds of people”, answered Juan on a light tone, “three more will she carry as well, no problemo. Bella show your friends how to get aboard.”

I stepped aboard carefully. Emma, as short as I am, followed. Now it was Peter’s turn. Peter waited. He was a huge man, very muscled. He stood there like a statue. At last he Cautiously he put one leg inside, waiting for some squeak. “Hurry up coward. The worst thing that can happen is that our carriage falls apart”. Emma shouted. And then I will protect you against the street with my body”.

Ok and he shifted his weight inwards, pulled his other leg onside. At the very moment the riksha started to swing dangerously with loud creaks and noises. “ Don’t worry, these are my good springs you are hearing. They need a moment to find the balance”!

  “Astonishing to see that Juan is so strong” said Emma, as the riksha started to move when we were all inside.  ‘Yes, he is fabulous with his short body. I feel very safe with him.’just enjoy the ytrees the river, the canals and the people. It is a nice ride towards the Bellevue Theater. The riksha passed the Stopera, the combination of the city hall and the opera house. Then Juan made a sharp left turn to the fright of some cyclists. “He jack ass, look before you turn. There are more people on the road then just you”. Juan only responded; sorry. Then he came to a stop. You have to get out for a moment. This bridge is too high”. 

“I have a better idea”, answered Peter and he jumped out of the carriage and started to push it.

 “Hi amigo, gracias. You are a good friend”. At the top Peter of the bridge went aboard again and with high speed the carriage rolled towards the “Magere Brug”, the Meager Bridge. Juan started to turn, as we had to cross it. The springs respired heavily and loudly.

We swang from side to side. Even I got a bit terrified as we raced towards the railing of the bridge on one wheel. “Get over to the other side quickly”, Juan cried. But it went too fast. It was impossible. 

Crack, whack, we bumped into the railing. Juan flew through the air and plunged in the river. Peter bumped into Emma and me. A series of cracks followed. The wheels of the carriage broke apart, as did the wheel axis. And the floor of the carriage sunk on the surface of the bridge. 

“Everybody ok”? People rushed to help us. I guessed I was ok. Peter and Emma started to disentangle. Fine as well. And Juan? Where is he? Some old folks pointed at the river. He swam towards the riverbank where the café was. Apparently not severely wounded. An old lady started to laugh. What a slapstick, like in the old days”! she laughed. The bystanders and we joined, feeling lucky that we had no personal damage. But Juan? It was his antique carriage. Dripping he got out of the water with the help from a nice young lady who was as tall as he was short.

“O Juan, we are so sorry. Your beautiful riksha has fallen apart! What can we do now”?

“My friends, is doesn’t matter. I just found the love of my life I think”!   Look, my guardian angel who came to rescue me. What is your name my angel? Or shall I just call you angel? Hell you saved my life. I will buy you anything.”  The tall lady apparently didn’t understand him but laughed at him with her ebony face.

“But we are in a hurry, Juan. The show of Freddy starts within 15 minutes!”

  “Well, call a cab. I want to stay here to get dry feet again, to get to know my new friend and to solve the problem of my broken down treasure.” 

“You don’t mind us leaving you for the show. We will return after! Okidoki. Peter call one.”  And Peter obeyed quickly. It is so handy to have a voice. In those moments I feel very jealous. 


Finally we arrived near the theater. The doormen showed us in quickly. “I waited for you. My friend Freddy warned me that you could come late. Follow me”. And he brought us ton ice seats on the front row. The theater was dark already.


The show started. Nice rockmusic filled the hall. The spotlights started to shine. There was Freddy. He was the drummer in the band. Wow. Sweeping music. Louder and louder. Violent hits with his sticks on the drums. A volcano that erupted eated rocks.

 Suddenly silence and darkness again. What could we expect now?. This time two karateman occupied the floor. One of them was Freddy. The other was a giant with muscles like a price-winning bull. They started to fight. I couldn’t watch, grightened as I was that he would be knocked out within a second. But no,  the public kept shouting ; “Move around, Freddy, as fast as you can”. 

 I opened My eyes. Freddy was running in the ring and mister Giant couldn’t touch him, let alone hit him. Now the giant stood still, out of air. Freddy stopped as well.

“ Are you afraid of me, Goliath, do you give up the fight”? he adressed the giant. “I will keep my position now. I won’t run away”. Goliath took a deep breath, moved with his feet like an athlete before the start and propelled towards Freddy. Freddy pushed out a foot and  Goliath stumbled. His face glattered against the floor. Freddy quickly landed his foot on him as the victorer. “Hurray, hurray for Freddy!” shouted the public.

The curtains closed again. Quiet whispering surged,  gradually getting more exited and even exalted. 


The bolero of Ravel started to play. I like that music inmensely It pulls me in a beat, in another world where the realm of chaotic reality no longer exists; only the beauty of order with pure sounds and rythm. 

The stage enlightenend. There he was, my Freddy, dressed up as a cowboy. All in black and pink colours. A black leather hat ornated his head. Sharp boots with golden spurs covered his feet. Two revolvers and bulletstrings shone over his pink shirt. Knives in his belt. His coat was printed all over with pistols.

He started to dance in the rytmh with sharp, abrupt movements of his body and head. He threw of his hat. His long curly hair appeared in all his wildness. He loosened his shirt, untight his belt. Swung with the revolvers in the air and lost them. His hands played with the knife; He showed how dangerous he could be. Then he threw the knife in a wooden board. Djong. Followed by his shirt. Wow, what a torso. Lean and muscled like an athlete. He kicked his boots off. He waved with his hands and , yes, of course, they flew in the air as well. Now he only had his flippers. Could he untie the belt and the zippers of his trousers? All eyes were glued to his flippers. 

Why did I wonder? Of course he managed with his flexible body.  Off the belt went, zip, there felt his trousers on the floor. He jumped out of them.

Jezus he was naked. How did he dare? He, a cripple. He didn’t give a damn! He was very sexy and knew  it. I was mesmerized by him. I felt like I was all alone in this magic world.. 

I felt so proud. My hero. 

Tickle, touch. I felt a faint touch. someone touched me and then squeezed me. It was Emma. Reality slowly trespassed on me . The public cried out  lustful shouts. “We want more!”  “I want you” ! 

— Thiandi Grooff.  Final assignment Creative writing. 


Vrijheid is vluchtig

Wij moeten haar omarmen ,

Stevig voor ze vliegt.


Ijs is kou voor mij

Geen pret met schaats of sleeen

Maar glibberig en glad.


De bomen zijn kaal

In mijn tuin geen vogelzang

Wanneer breekt de lente aan

In my head hundreds of things, 
millions of things 
hold my body in place 
But in my body there is a kind of might 
Though I try hold it in 
Try find out how I move 
Nobody more motionless than I”

— Thiandi Grooff, 2023

Black clouds
in the Alps

Black clouds of grime
steal the light from life
on our earth
Factories vomit their filth
Stoves spew their soot.

Why does nobody act? 

Car’s roar on speedy roads
in dusty twilight in the middle of the day.
Above the sunlit Alps
soot clouds sway amidst the mountaintops

Is this our future?
A rusty rug in the clouds
that hinders the sun to comfort us
and makes life so bleak?

Thiandi Grooff, de Franse Alpen,
december 2016

Lieve Mark en Chalene,

Onzichtbaar ben je daar     

In mijn hoofd gekropen.      

Uit je hart gekomen.             

Met een ongekende vaart.    


Steun snelt me tegemoet.   

Ik tast in het duister.             

Jij kijkt waar ik niet zie.          


Neemt onzekerheid de overhand. 

Dan is daar je kracht              

Komen de woorden niet.              

Juist dan pak je mijn hand.          


Altijd weer op avontuur.         

Opeens een grap.                  

Je gaat niets uit de weg.       

En zeilt op elke wind              


Met een glimlach op mijn gezicht. 

Stevig verankerd                    

Samen sturend...                    

Geef ik jou mijn rechterhand. 

Thiandi Grooff  -  15 juli 2016

Invisible you crept 

Into my head

Surged fro out of your heart

With lightening speed


Lost in darkness

Support flies towards me

You watch where i cannot see


Is insecurity overwhelming

Then your power is nearby

If my words don't emerge

You're there to grab my hand


Always on adventure

Suddenly your jokes

Nothing scares you off

Every wind finds you sailing


With a smile on my face

Strongly anchored

Steering together

I give you once again my hand

Je voelt de stilte aan

Als een verlengstuk van mij


Vuur komt dichterbij

In het water brand het

Blussen gaat niet meer

Het is overal nu


Tentjes in het rond

Eten rennen roepen,

buren  met elkaar 


Ik bezing het park 

De schoonheid van haar vogels en haar groen

De lindes geuren

Missing baby found alive inside watermelon

Mother Polly was desperate. Poor Polly, where was her baby? She remembered going to the mall, excited to see all this new fashion and colours. 


How miserable had she been in all these months of confinement in the hospital bed. She had not wanted this baby. She had tried to throw it up in order to regain her freedom. Then she had eaten all kinds of seeds to evoke an abortion, as her grandma had told her to do.  But even that had failed.

She only got high blood pressure from it. And the doctor had ordered her to stay in the hospital.

How she wished that she had listened to her grandma. “Do not mess with strangers that will create disasters. Stick with your own people”.  But what had she done wrong? She only had chatted with that cute boy from the city. Her father had spotted them though, chatting, and had been out of his mind from anger. “Let these niggers never touch you”, he had shouted. Later that night he had come to her and spoken softly towards her. He had caressed her which had felt strange and at the same time wonderful. She started to dream. The ebony beauty from the city loved her and made love to her. She woke up alone in her bed, feeling as if a second creature had entered her. 


She had escaped the trailer during the World Series and had taken the truck to Lubbock, the city on one hour driving. The baby was with her to keep the baseball watchers undisturbed.

She was flabbergasted. Had she really been away from real life only 9 months? It seemed like yesterday that she had eaten hot apple pie with icecream on top of it in this same mall with her friends. And there she had seen the ebony boy again. But that had been in a different life. Now she was tight to this all white baby boy. 


Oh, look at these elegant dresses! Would she be slender enough to fit them? “Go and try them on” said the sweet voice of an angel.  “You will look so nice in it. Watch yourself in the mirror, over there in the corner. And see those pearls? You get them half price.”     Why not?  She could not take the pram in the fitting room. The room was just too small for the pram.  Well leaving the pram for 1 minute only would bother nobody.  Baby boy was fast asleep. Swiftly she got out of her worn pants and big T shirt and tried the black dress on. Yes it fitted her! Where is the mirror? And the pearls. Of course she wanted the pearls to go with it. What did the mirror tell? Was it a stupid Texan lass who watched herself? No, it was a beautiful young lady, slender, elegant and intelligent looking with those pearls. On her way to a lunch meeting with her boss of the bank. Yes, wasn’t the lunchroom upstairs?  Hurry, her meeting is nearly due. She sat down in the launch. Her boss had not 


arrived yet. The waiter waited on her.  The ebony boy again! What did she want for a drink? She could not speak so he left her with hesitance. Had he recognized her?

  “Hi Polly” cried a voice, “Is it you? Where is the baby?” Kelly, her friend from Loop crossed the room to sit with her.     Polly flashed back to reality. “O God, the baby! I left it at the fitting rooms. Quickly, I must go there.” She hurried to the escalator and within seconds reached the fitting rooms. But no pram, no white baby boy. Desperate she cried out loud. Who could help her? Kelly came to help, breathless from running. And yes, the ebony boy had followed her as well, having understood her panicking. “We will help you looking,” both said. “Because this mall is too crowded for one person alone.” And they went all over the mall, she with the ebony boy, and Kelly with another friend.  The ebony boy grasped her hand so they could run faster. Sweet hands he had, warm and tender. And his voice, from heaven it seemed. She got into a trance again. What where they doing? Hide and seek? Like in her happy youth? On and of the stairs they went. Now they reached the market stalls with fruits and vegetables from all over the world. A large crowd had gathered around a Haitian stall with huge watermelons. From the biggest one she heard a baby crying. Her baby had crawled into it, thirsty as he was for water! “It is mine” she cried, “my baby boy. He is fond of watermelons!  He eats them all the time!” “Give him to me!” The crowd cheered for her and for the baby. At last they had refound each other! She quickly seized the melon and took her baby out. Her baby, transformed in a beautiful, hazelnut brown baby boy.

— Thiandi Grooff. Assignment 1 Creative Writing. Missing Baby Found Alive Inside Watermelon.

Een groen tapijt onder mijn voeten

Nieuwe buren en vrienden alom

Gezelligheid gegeven.    

Passie voor poëzie

Letters poezie paraat.

 Politieke onrust in mijn hoofd.

in de politiek besta ik niet

In poezie verhef ik mij


ik wil leven ik wil leiden.

ik wil politiek bedrijven. 

 poezie helpt 

emoties worden  politiek 


poezie maakt mij krachtig,

 niemand krijgt mij klein 

letters zijn machtig 

,opper krachtig vol venijn


ik kan zeggen wat ik wil 

, deletters zijn gehoorzaam.

 ik mompel mijn emoties 

 ze verschijnen op het  vel


Het metrrum verdiept de strekking

Het rijm het gevoel

Poezie is mijn passie

Poezie is politiek

De bomen geven schaduw

Ik zie nog steeds geen zwaluw

Maar in de heerlijke zon

Voel ik mij lekker gezond

tuin achter Bakkum 15-4-19.JPG

Nu is uiterst kort

Nu is uiterst kort

In ieder moment schuilt vroeger

Ik ga vooruit

In het doen van leven


Morgen blijft ver weg 

Het is nog slechts een droom

Hoevaak kwam iets voorbij

Ik wil het grijpen


Op de lange weg wil ik zijn

Het is niet moeilijk te gaan maar om te blijven

Dat ga ik achterna 

Morgen, nu, vroeger


copy right thiandi grooff oktober 2015

bottom of page