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formen på et teenagehjertes begær
en streng eller
        en klat eller
et levende, pulserende væsen
                der bevæger sig i en hvilken retning den vil, på jagt efter ofre, snylteplante, plet på væggen, på lungerne, på himmelvævet

  smagen af et uskyldigt
strejf på kinden

varmen fra en hånd

    på ryggen, lænden, en længsel

lyset fra forvirrede følelser,
    genskæret fra de forvirrede signaler

gadelampen, dine converse, vores stemmer

LYDEN: en banken - vi er her virkelig. det er virkeligt at vi er her - det er lige her, vi er.
dine fødder danser.
dit sind gnistrer

        dine tanker løber i vand, dit hjerte brænder

    dans gennem morgenduggen, kærtegn
                      stjernerne og fuglene og søen
og sølvskæret og
                           der er   L Y S    i dine øjne, løber løbsk

en frihed,
    ét individ, en glæde,
  en skamløshed
The wood lay quiet as I passed
those thin wan trees in semi dark
their twigs are missing due to lack of light
they stretch up high to see the sky
a chorus group in brown
perhaps atop they have some leaves
when it is summertime

but now they're entertained
by flowers of blue and yellow celandine
when winters gales take hold
they're made like instruments to knock and crack
or through their branches
winds create a sound of mystery
aeolian harp  

I do not know
but when I stand and sense their presence close
they seem to whisper peace to me
those strands of coloured trunks
and so I meditate in line
as if I too were one of them
on the fence inclined

Margaret Ann Waddicor 7th April 2016
I had to go through this little wood, leaving the road with its rushing cars, sensing the stillness of these trees in contrast, and it was just before doing Tai Chi, it seemed to fit the mood.
Martin Dove Dec 2018
I feel exposed.
my insides are crumpling up like a stricken peace of paper
it feels like something rotten is crawling from my bones to the skin.
is it my ego deflating, my confidence derailing?
No, it's just one of my depressive moods coming up to say hello
it wants to chat and is unwilling to go
like an unwelcome guest
a nuisance!
obscuring my attentions view
It's begging for notice
Does it have something useful to say?
Maybe I should listen
to the thought that cut so deep
I don’t know.
It could be just another random swing
but i think its more than that
Its my brain telling me i need to think
to do something different
to alter my ways
i need to continue evolving
changing and morphing
adapting the pattern
to fit what is needed.
think too much, think too deep
but i want to keep this flame -
to hurt me till i'm heeling
The old me has to die
a new one has to emerge
Birth is a painful process
as we both should already know.
en skikkelse som aldrig forlader dig

den er der altid, ja, dér
intet harmfuldt, ikke en overvågning

blot for at sige
dette er kun nuet

der er meget mere der ligger bag dig og endnu mere foran dig
S  May 2015
Nr. 365
S May 2015
A year has passed and I’m still looking
for pieces of my mind in the books
in the furniture, in the vents, in the mirror
It might’ve fell behind the wall
It might’ve gone down the drain
I can’t remember when I lost it
Just as I can’t remember when I lost my first tooth but
I can’t live to tell how it is without it
Or how the sounds are getting louder
Or how the food is getting worse
Or how the nights are getting longer
Or how my skin it feels rough
Or how I need it all to freeze
So I can find my mind
And be what they call a citizen.
S  May 2015
Nr. 8
S May 2015
After a while my
place smelled like a motel room -
not mine anymore.
en summen
       i dine fingerspidser
   som først forsvinder
når du rør ved noget du elsker

      og den vender tilbage
så snart du helt har glemt følelsen
topaz oreilly Aug 2012
The inner city is relocating
every day there's new direction,
sash windows replaced by double-glazing
robust masonry sandexted,
the muffling of the bespoke past proceeds.
Yet Parties and boom music,
testify to weekend strain,
Sometimes we get more than we need !
How I have longed to reside in Catsfield
nr Pudding Hill Lane
amongst  the 888 parishioners
and live with a Battersea rescue cat
a victim of London neglect,
someone's got to live with  Phoenix  rising, I suppose.
nat Sep 2014
I never cared for
Broken things
They seemed so pointless
I never saw any worth
Because what good is a guitar
Without any strings?

I never saw any worth in myself
Because I hated broken things
I believed the idea of no hope
That I couldn't change anything
But your hand in my life
Has helped me to see
That maybe, sometimes
It's worth fixing.

nat Feb 2015
Do you drown at the thought
Of finally being happy
Because its been so long
Since you've seen the world in color
Spring doesnt seem to come around anymore
Your sky is gray, gray, gray
And flat, like the curve of your mouth
And whenever you try
To play piano like you used to
The keys all sound out of tune
But you've gotten used to them
Wrong seems normal
And being happy scares you

Nicole Joanne Mar 2016
tears will fall from your eyes beyond your control,
you'll hate to tear away from his touch for the first time in a month,
his voice will sound like the song of a canary,
and his smell will bring you back home,

but when you don't have to clutch your heart
because you don't feel your lungs collapsing,
or your breath stopping short in your throat,
or your veins flood with anger and shake your body,
you're on the right road.

his eyes will be safe-havens you turn away from,
and you'll want to embrace and hug him
because you never know when it will be the last time,

when he's walking away,
and you don't feel your feet trying to follow,
or your hands trying to grasp and hold him back,

know, he's already lost you;
know, he doesn't have all of you anymore
and you're gonna be okay, kid.


— The End —