Archive for July, 2011

Thoughts at six in the morning on a windy quay

Maybe you need to be somewhat crazy to understand  life.

I haven’t been crazy enough to comprehend what there is to grasp.

Reason has nothing to do with existence.

Well, my reasoning hasn’t made me any wiser, that is, nor any more existing, for every answer gives more questions made to shorten life,

like : Why can’t I catch a ferry on a stormy day and still think I am asleep safely in my bed?

It would make the journey so much easier. We humans can think anything we like?

But I can’t.  Not convincingly.

So there is the next question: Why do I think stuff like this? At bloody six in the morning? On this windy quay? Before my coffee?

I don’t understand life and I am feeling seasick already.

I should have stayed safely in bed.  All with a good reason: too many questions emerge at six in the morning!

What is the right word!

Where are the words to fully say

what we mean when we are  loving,

in the most  natural way?

Is it making that we do

when it all is full surrender?

What  is the word for how I feel

when you touch me very tender?

Can’t be passion, we’re too lazy,

Hiding in some language that we miss

there might be a good expression

Of the craziness it is!


The trade

You prayed so hard while we made love

but love did not came from above,

it is a trade, in bed it’s made

as far as you cared anyway then.


The moves, the moaning and the end

an arcade of some bodies bent

a violent action following erection.


To you that was what made the trade.

You came and thought that love was made,

you called it:  heavens satisfaction.


Your  love was not sent from above

as you would throw me down to earth

and made this trade an act of dirt.


How could you call this making love

when you wanted to pay me off

the truth was more than you could bear


You left in tears and went somewhere

you had enough, I didn’t follow.

The trade of making love is just an art of sorrow.

It was a sunny day

Through  the dark green pine tree tops

the wind whispered your name. It was a sunny day.

A black bird sang a tune not heard before,

another joined in far away.

Suddenly the wind was gone,

the black bird done with it

A never deeper silence came

and time to throw some sand

on your wooden coffin’s lid.

I won’t forget your name.

Better things to do!


let’s just go to bed again

forget the day, it’s going nowhere

back in your arms under the covers

let’s just be two lazy lovers

let’s just go to bed again


pour just coffee in a mug

screw the day, it’s getting nowhere

in your arms I want to hide some

from the ugliness outside

come let’s  go to bed again


inspired by Santana’s music 🙂

Oslo 25 July 2011

The seagull cried over the square in Oslo

where people gathered round

and broke the silence of the mourners there

with all their grieving


in that one forsaken  sound


Join hands

To Lie

No I can’t come to the door now

I am other wise engaged,’

said the husband

to his wife

and he put his feet up on the couch.

He was living the good life

lying by omission

A Sonnet

Those memories of evenings with a friend

need nothing that the memory would spoil,

no  sign that this warm friendship was to end,

not  while we both  did burn the midnight oil.


There was just laughter as I loved your wit

And you liked mine, the jesting puns  intended

with flick’ring lights as  candles all were lit,

the full round moon  just made it splendid.


Then  you no more returned  after that Summer

though  not a quarrel was the guilty part

A heart attack, that really was the bummer

apparently you had a weakened heart


Mem’ries don’t want tears to spoil their grace

Now  you  just faded to a different phase


in remembrance of my dear friend Corrie , who died 23 years ago

This poem had a former edition, that didn’t have the right flow/rhythm. To rewrite this poem, I had great help and advice from  BelfastDavid (David Agnew) , for which I thank him very much  🙂 !

I am not sure this would be a Shakespearean Sonnet now.  Maybe it is a Sonnet? 🙂

entry for thursdays rally

My view is a corridor of shuffling feet


Now there is no more mind in me

My view is  a corridor of shuffling feet

Even my name has gone from me

Where  days go by in  painful beat


My view is a corridor of shuffling feet

So much I do know : I am here

Where days go by in painful  beat

This is beginning or my end is near


So much I do know:  I am here

Maybe someone will come to see me

This is beginning or my end is near

I do not think that they would leave me


Maybe someone will come to see me

Do I have family that you know?

I do not think that they would leave me

Maybe tomorrow home I’ll go


Do I have family that you know?

There probably was a misunderstanding

Maybe tomorrow home I’ll go

I will just wait for them here on the landing


 There probably was a misunderstanding

Even my name has gone from me

I will just wait  for them here on the landing

Now there is no more mind in me


 My mother spent the last years of her life in  a home.

I don’t know  what she and the other people there thought as they forgot the words to speak

but I think it must have been something like this.

Not gone


Everything you  did


and will be kept inside our memories

safely tucked way for ever

Of all you said and all you made

nothing is gone

Only your presence here

is done


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