Few can pronounce it
Unless Scandinavian.
The r's are all rolling,
And the letters all sound...
More or less not as
In English.
Just let it go, it's a 'twister,
I know.

My names are all old-norse,
Not modern Norwegian.
(Viking-speak sounded
More close to Icelandic).
Sverre means "spin like an arrow",
Expression for being untamed; un-
Controllable; wild-man.
G is for Guttorm: "Where Gods
Seek Shelter"; a fortress for those
One thought needed one least.
Holter means "edge of the woods";
The end of the forest (or where it
Begins).

The Wildman Where the
Gods Seek Shelter at the
Edge of the Woods.

My friends call me Sverre.
It is a name I've shared with
Swordbearing kings.
I am equally proud
When addressed.

The touch of her hand,
skin on skin, warm, soft,
and then she was off,
bell tolled, she walking

away, returning to school,
as was I, yet how to shake
off the feel and warmth
and softness? I walked

the corridor to the next
lesson, mind in confusion,
half back there on the field
with her, half with me, one  

foot one in front of the other
kind of thing, dreading lesson’s
bore, wanting to be back on
the field with her, wanting more.

Even though I was there in
the room sitting, listening or
seemingly so, it was she I
thought of, her lips that held

me in awe, not his, this teacher,
sprouting some yarn of a far
off war, some kingdom lost,
some one’s head chopped off,

while the half of brain and thought
on she of heart and mind’s hold,
taunted me from far away field,
in imagery, seemed all love and

kiss and such, but meanwhile,
I here with dulled brain half,
could only sit and stare at where
I had been kissing her there.

I'm waiting for you to come.

                 There's an open sore on my heart.

                                                         ­          It's bleeding profusely.

                                                 It's beating quite uselessly.

                                I feel my skull cracking.

                                                      ­             My head's split in half.

       My spine is bent backwards.

                                                There­ is no love afterwards.

                                                    ­                                                                 ­                         I fall silently into the night.

                                                         ­               I call quietly to hold you tight.

                                                         ­  I try mightily to do you right.

But still I find myself crawling.

sitting before the curtain of my heart,
i feel the ripples of what some might call fear
for what is about to unveil.
behind me sits an audience that can only  be described
as a sea of songs long since embedded in my brain,
waves of past lovers and lies and the
silhouette of a solitary sickness.
then suddenly, the lights go dim
and i am overcome by the previews
of the present moment.
caught between the sea behind me
and the curtain in front of me,
is all that i am
all that i love
and all that i have yet
to be.

i am trying
to convince myself
that we are
immortal

uʍop ǝpısdn pǝuɹnʇ pǝddıןɟ ʇoƃ ǝɟıן ʎɯ ʍoɥ ʇnoqɐ ןןɐ ʎɹoʇs ǝɥʇ sı sıɥʇ ʍou

Her horoscope was ready, and she wanted to read it.
It was 12:30 AM.

She's a Scorpio.
I'm an Aries...


*but a Cancer at heart.