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

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