Prose and poetry by Leen Raats
It’s the music that saved me
on long days underneath the roof window
of a drafty row house on a street
where no one wanted to know me.
At night I dissolved into crowds
like sugar in coffee. Invisible
but everywhere my shadow slipped
along facades, over thresholds where riffs
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My room is calmness. Here, in the haze of morning
contours take shape, in this gray year that slowly
lets go. My short fingers caress the frayed hems
of worn-out days.
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Earlier this month, my poem "Ripple" was shortlisted for the 4th Anniversary Contest by Canadian publication DarkWinter Lit. Now, my poem "Asphalt" is on the short list for a British contest, by The Poetry Lighthouse, an online and print magazine and publishing house, that will also publish my bilingual collection Drijfhout/Driftwood.
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I never speak ill of the dead
it’s those who are alive
I worry about.
The sun, giving too much warmth
for the time of the year
and how we never seem
to fully enjoy it.
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My poem is on the short list of a poetry contest by Canadian magazine DarkWinter Lit.
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Yet another one to be proud of. My poem Cambium appeared in the spring issue of Belladonna's Garden, a cozy little magazine featuring poetry, stories and artwork.
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From me nothing is born
My hands solely create
what already exists
waiting for a shape or form.
A hero, I am not. Side character
at most. Bit-player in my own work
soulless gateway.
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When I do not understand
a language, I listen to voices.
read faces. feel sounds
dancing on thin air.
I live in fragments. call me visitor
vagabond. wanderer. child
at the wrong house. Where I am
is where I’m supposed to be.
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Today, one of my poems was published in the online edition of Amsterdam Quarterly. It has also been selected for the annual print anthology, set for publication in December 2026. This marks the magazine’s 45th edition. The theme “climate overshoot” was a perfect fit for a little poem I’d had sitting on the shelf for years: “When the Levee Breaks.”
Yes, like the Led Zeppelin song. Although, as every blues lover knows, that’s not the original version. This blues classic was written in 1927 by Memphis Minnie, a singer and guitarist who composed over 200 songs, many of which are part of the collective blues memory.
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Grief is a mountain. They say I have to
get over it. So I climb.
Breathing is nearly impossible. Dust fills my lungs
the air is hot and lifeless.
I dig with broken fingernails
in the darkness surrounding me.
Thick like gravel.
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Flakes seem to soften everything
but I don't feel it. Hide my pain
behind scarves. Cold seeps
through my skin like memories.
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Leen writes 