She worries about her weight.
Pokes her fingers at her own
Sides and shakes her head at
Things in shops with her
Name on them, saying no to
One more inch to cover up
Confidence.

And the fact that she was more
Pride and less woman before
Is as uninteresting to me   
As anything other than the
Process of being revealed unto is
To the man on her bed that has
Nothing more to reveal himself,

So stop with the fingers. No more
Covering up behind your arms.
Stop with the excuses and the
Headshakes; yes, I'll go to the
Gym with you.
Tomorrow. Today, I have a menu
Full of enjoyment to offer,

And I will not rest until you
Need to, full and content, loosen
The buckle of your displeasement
And lean back, exhaling softly,
Warm and drying in the soothing
Autumn breeze from the cracked
Window; content. Confident.

Nothing tastes quite like a
Freshly stolen apple from
Outside a very expensive house

After someone you're in love
With has just laughed into
The first bite of it,

Hands it to you
And whispers
*Thanks. Thief.

You smile at me
Tired eyes that
May not really
Mean it

I'm a very little
Boy
You could slap me
To death

And
Not
Really mean
It

Ed Sheeran, wine, candles
And cheese.

It doesn't -by the gods- get
Better than this, I think

To myself. So she clears her
Throat quietly, and

Sings. Softly
Along.

We skipped the movie.
It rained hard and
We didn't want to
Change out of our

Slouching clothes
(She'd bought me a pair of

PJ pants, as comfortable
As pure
Warm
******).
So,
Full of sushi and
Wine

We reclined in a pile of two
On the sofa.
Flashes of lightning on a

Horizon growing
Darker with
Each roar of its
Brother
Thunder.

Even the gods are
Celebrating us,
She whispered, raising
Glass towards the
Open balcony
Door; then me.

Happy one-month-
Anniversary,
Baby.

A poet, still baffled by the
Straight forward, no-poetic-bull-
****-card she'd written me,

I raised mine back, caught a
Glimpse of a bolt
Splitting the
Sky down the
Middle like a

Sudden
Snapshot of
Some
Celestial open-heart-
Surgery,

Glanced at her
Beautiful hand in my
Not-so-beautiful one, and

Replied, exhausted with
Young infatuation and
Equally

Exhilarated:
I'm so ******* in
Love with you, girl. I
Give up.

I am.
I do.

What? A poem that's
Not about me?*
She says with a smile in her eye.

There are bigger things than
Us in the world.
Can't all be about you, I lie.

She leans over, her head
On my arm.
And ocean of crow 'gainst my face.

I turn and inhale like a
Man fresh from jail; an
Astronaut homecome from space.

I love how the wind can
Smell of the snow
That yet isn't flakes in the air.

But ******, I never was hooked
In this way; I cannot stop
Smelling her hair.

It is cold, it is raining.
But no, I don't care.
A matter of hours,
My girl, and I'm there.

We'll sit under blanket,
We'll watch the rains fall.
Sipping at glasses, and
Sharing it all;

The sound of the storm
As it dances around.
The skyfuls of water
That pound at the ground.

Come winter and wind,
They will not see me frown.
An interesting thing
About weather, I've found:

I never get cold, whether
Rainstorm or snow.
Within it with you,
I'm the warmest I know.

City full of buildings
I helped raise.

I stand outside one
Of my eight floor brick

Babies.
The concrete

Behind the
Walls

Of your apartment
Were the walls of my

Workplace for a
Year.

I have stories
From your home

You'll never
Hear.

Not welcome here.
Stranger.

None of my keys
Fit her

Doors anymore,
Now that

She's been
Given

Up for
Adoption.

I fear no living thing, nor dead.
No monsters hide beneath my bed.
I've heard and seen my share
Of ghosts. I find them harmless;

More than most of all that
Walks and thinks and breathes,
That carries blades or guns, and
Bleeds. But all I find a fright to be

Is resting deep inside of me.
There's Weakness there, it's hiding
Well, it's cunning, slippery, strong
As hell. There's Fury too; a

Juggernaut -awakened by a single
Thought. But enemy to them is Soul,  
Its agent's name is Self Control.
It cages them with Love and Care,

And ties them down with
Self-Aware.

Skies, open your eyes.
I don't mind the overcast,
But miss the sunlight of
Your iris.

In the end, there's only one.
And the other.

I have never seen anything that
Deserved to starve.

No child, no animal.
No tyrant was born evil.

Let's dance, I say, though
None of us really can.

So we try, we try laughing,
And the walls, the ceilling, and by God

The floor laughs with us,
As we fool around like

Tiny Godzillas kicking down
Tinier skyscrapers, holding hands;

Dipping and twirling like the  
Innocent idiots we are.  

Playing. Like a god would create
Another to play with, and they   

Dance worlds into -and out of-
Existence. Not a single bacterium in

This room understands. So let it keep
Not understanding, and as we tire from

Moving and settle down together,
The rain has stopped doing its

Thing, and I point without pointing;
Say without a word:

*Look at that drop, hanging from the
Twig at the end of the branch of that

Willow. And the other. That's me. And
Me. Look until you can look no

Longer. I saved them both for your
Eyes.

Right now she's one hour's
Drive south of where I
Miss her from.

Stepping out of the shower
Just about now, perhaps
Catching my scent

On her towel and cursing
Me through a wet smile for
Always grabbing the first one

I see. She'll look in the mirror
And remember that time I
Walked in and stood behind

Her, brushing strands of black
Away from the back of her
Neck; making room for my

Mouth to render it nearly
Impossible to dry herself with
Eyes narrowing; closing, her

Towel already wet from the
Shower I had taken
Earlier.

I carry.
I carry care.

I take it with me
Everywhere.

It's as heavy
As the air between

The feathers of a baby
Bird that finally

Lets itself
Fly.

I carry.
I carry love.

Always free.
Always above

Fear.
I carry care.

*Meet me
There.

A time for togetherness.
A time for missing.

I carry with my hands.
I carry with my heart.

Such difference between
Grip

And
*Embrace.

That died fighting
To free itself from
The cobweb

Inside the ventilation
Shaft between
Fifth and

Sixth floor still
Has its
Colours

I remove what is left of my
Work gloves
And sit down on a pallet of
Tiles to
Drink water

Project Manager walking by
On his daily survey
Stops
It's a comforting thing to
See a break taken

That is well earned enough
Not to call for
Hiding behind a corner
I suppose it says
What it says

Heartsplit*

A measure of the time
Between one part of a relationship
Not caring as much
Anymore

And the other responding
The same way

Slightly longer than a heartbeat
Slightly less than
Love

Perhaps being aware
Never takes us
There

Eyes as blue as the North Sea,
Hair black as the soul of a crow.

Smile like that of a child
Seeing a bicycle finally

Unwrapped and shining, smelling
Factory fresh and prestine.

She'd beat the life out of any fool
Laying fist on my flesh, she says.

I trust she would.
My western Norwegian Shield Maiden,

Born on the coast where seagulls are the
Size of dragons.

She has one foot on top of the world,
The other rested on my lap,

And we're team more than lovers.
Lovers more than people.

Eyes as blue as her hometown skies.
Hair as black as the absence of light

Itself. And I, pilgrim.  
Rest.

My concerns for us weigh
As much as the neurons
Firing the thought
Of
It.

I rub her shoulders; like
Softening mahogany.

Hands ruined from decades
Of construction and boxing

Do her too little good.
I'd give her my back; it's much

Better than hers. Keep my hands
And my stitched up heart with the

Ticking aorta valve of titanium
And granite (such contrast to its

Otherwise volunerable softness), but
I'd give her these shoulders.

They can carry worlds, the full weight
Of a grown woman  

For miles, across continents if so.
They have carried everything except

The ability to lend themselves. As
Useless as beauty to the blind.

I could be a dog left out in the rain,
Hungry and counting every minute
In sevens.  
I'd wait for you for days, through
Nights, never giving up.
Raising my wet head at every and any
Shadow passing. Hoping. Hoping.
Hoping.

I'll wait forever for you to trust me.

I could be a single seed, windborne,  
Then dropped in just enough soil
To crack open and whisper myself roots
As faint as mere thought at first.
Growing, drinking, bathing in sun,
Bending with the movements of
Earth and air.

I'd grow forever until you trusted me.
I'll wait forever for you to trust me.

I've hurt as many people as I've shaken
Hands with in this life.
Nearly every important choice I made
Was a bad one.
I take full responsibility.
So trust me.

I'll never lie and say I'll never make you
Cry. I love you too honestly for
Truthlessness. No cloak and dagger,
No lie less white than Girl, these flowers  
Are not for you.
I am as disappointingly human as
They come.
Men.

I'll let you down, I'll make you wonder,
I'll see you question your own
Judgement, and taste in men.
I refuse to pretend to be more than I am.
I'm too old to fake.
Too old to care too much for  
Opinions and impressions.
So trust me;

I'll shake my wet fur on your new coat,
I'll jump up and lick your face,
Leave strands of hair and smelly
Wet smudges all over you,
As happy as only a dog can be.
Trust me.
Take the leash and walk me home.

I've been waiting forever for you to
Trust me.
I'll wait forever for you to trust me.

I'm not even tied to that pole.

It never ceases to amaze me,
The way a woman can be at her most
Beautiful
Naked,

And yet feel so
Insecure; covering up with arms
Even as she tiptoes into
The

Livingroom for a
Towel to
Eclipse herself
With.

Every day with a woman
Is the one
Before
Christmas.

What? Are you HERE?*
She's on her phone, waiting for her suitcase.
Girlfriend, I live twenty minutes away from the

Airport. Now get your luggage and run out
Here before your roses start
Stinking.

She's through the arrival gates in five minutes.
Swapping flowers for bags and a kiss,
I cannot for my own life grasp

Her surprise. Not used to being treated
Like a woman?
She smells her roses, fresh from 7-11,

Click-clackety-clacking down the airport
Tiles with less to carry than
Ever, this day.

She answers, and I
Feel so ****
Giant.

What a drawf
World it has
Become...

The prices of food in Norway
Are so high now, an honest
Construction worker has to

Rummage around in expired-  
Dates bins and good value
Shelves

Not to get broke on
Pay day.
I used to hate it; feeling

Poor. Now it's a sport.
Working Man vs.
System.

Thank God my father
Makes beer and wine.
He grew up in post WWII

Norway. Flee market ninja.
Never seen a credit card bill.
Chain saw samurai.

We grew up warm in winter.
Never went to bed
Hungry.

Not too many toys.
Patches on the knees of all
But our Sunday best pants.

Thank God for the high
Prices in this
Country.

They teach us to calculate.
To treat foods and things
With the respect they deserve.

For once I take steps
Without waiting or
Chasing.

So much easier now
To walk hand
In hand.

The less concerned with your
Own well-being you
Are,

The more others
Will be with
Yours.

It was a good bonfire
Leaving the autumn pasture

Covered in light smoke
Like some medieval campsite

Knives sheathed; leaning on our
Newly whittled staffs

We spoke of fathers; how some
Keep on living long after their souls

Leave their bodies
Leaving their wives with less laughter

And life than they deserve
If we ever become bitter old men, he

Said, directly to my eyes,
We have to... we have to cut

Our women loose, before we pull
Them down with us

The wind changed, blowing smoke
And ashes through the trees

Point it out if it happens, I replied
We shook on it

I love the city this time on a weekday,*
She says, looking around at the
Empty shadows between orange
Streetlights.

Her first business trip, only
Stockholm this time.
London later.
I carry her suitcase.

After kisses and goodbyes,
I head back to
Her empty place.
Could catch a few hours of

Sleep, but I know I won't.
That bed needs her in
It, to be justified as one.
I'll write instead.

I never feel as  
Alone as I am,
When
I do.

Others slept.
We sat with a bottle
At the kitchen table

The way men do
Who deserve to
Talk.

Outside, the embers of
The dying bonfire
Flung sparks

Into the dark, and as
Men that need to cry
So very often

Don't, the night, the woods
And the cabin kitchen
Formed a tear

Just our size. In which
We sat. And sometimes
Spoke a

Little.

I scroll down your pages,
Each line making me hungry for
The next.

Father Eagle, wings spanning
Across multiple decades
Of strong life lived.

How many poetlings have you
Hatched from the cold, solid
Shells of their insecurity?

How many hearts have you
Guided from the darker corners
Of creativity, and

Into the light of a broader sprecrum
Of impression and expression?
How many lives

May just have been saved by the
Firm foundations of the attitudes you
Gift us with?

Keep challenging us, uncle Joe.
Keep soaring above the landscapes
Of ink and paper, of fingers

Painting themselves through keyboards,  
On nights where sleep has to yield
To the force of inspiration,

And remember...
You will live forever in the hearts
You have touched.

Long after your work is done in  
This world you made more beautiful and
Meaningful to so many;  

Once you become one with the trees,
Flowers, fields and woods that you
Love; even making those

Landscapes with which we all must
Merge more wonderful with your
Own perpetual grace,

You will be thought of. Spoken of,
Written of, reminisced about.
You tremendous man,

Friend, inspirator, teacher, creator.
May you live forever. A king cloathed
In ashes; humble.

A god, wearing Man, loving every
Strand of grass he graces with
His footprint.

You hold a thousand pens. You conduct
Legions of observers and transmitters.
You are the leaf you asked us to

Write about; at its most beautiful in
Autumn. Yellow. Dry enough to leave
Its tree and flutter through

It all. Unattached.
Unconcerned with
Winter.

Girl of imagery, of MacBook and Photoshop.  
In a Skype conference with designers and
Project Managers across
Europe,  

Smiling to me when I enter the room
Quietly; she's working. I was in Sweden
With the guys. Bragging. She's good for
You, they said, raising

Beer cans around the fire. Woman
Accepted, dear brother!
A little too drunk, I felt, to phone her from
The hill with reception. No need. She'd

Texted me: Sverre, I am perfect for you;
As you are for me. I adore your energy
Around me. The thought of you
Dances around in my head

Like my last marble, playing pinball with
My insecurities and confidences,
Scoring, then dropping, being
Thrusted back out, making PINGS and

PONGS, and my knees weak. I love taking
Care of you, between all your cares taken of
Me. By Odin, I love you, my one true
Man.

Woman, you turn down all other
Volumes, leaning back with eyes closed
When I read for you. Naming me poet,
But I see now; there's not a medium in

This world you cannot tame and utilize.
I've painted with you, now write with me.
You are a rock star superwoman.
All I can teach you, is that attitude.

That old man working the fields outside
His old, windworn house.

His granddaughter in her light blue dress
On the swing in the garden,

Cotton flowing behind her like some tail
Tracing a comet of innocence.

Her dog, only twice the size of the
Two squirrels climbing the trunk

Of the tree her swing swings from,
Yapping at her, either for attention

Or in appreciation of the love she
Must, must feel for it.

Two seconds, and they're gone.
Driving on.

My girl inflating her yoga ball
On the living room floor, throwing

Her hair back and smiling, dizzy from
Oxygen spent.

She passes it to me, you do the rest,
But I'm too busy writing about her.

She laughs with her whole self.
Stares back at me when she catches

Me staring first. What? she'll giggle, and
As she stands up and moves towards me,

Still
Staring,

I see that this poem is ending. Two
Seconds.

She's still
Here.

She jumps up when my key turns,
Leaving her sofa;
Greeting me like a puppy would
Its owner after

Twenty one dog-days.
I drop my bag and guitar,
Swimming in the scent of
Woman straight

From shower. All is home with
This girl. No palace of gold, no
City in the clouds,
No exotic boat ride on

Green waters, no top of any
Mountain, no bar, casino or
Cabin in the world where I'd
Rather be than here.

After we've sat -nearly on top
Of each other- for a while, she
Asks what I'd like to do now.
Anything that includes my

Girlfriend, I reply, and she hugs
Me for the seventeenth time in
As many minutes.
Can't stop touching each other.  

Her hair is a unicorn's mane
Against my hands, skin like a baby's
Tummy, hands like those of a young
Mother's upon anything she

Loves; all with the honest affection  
Of one.
I am home, I sigh to myself, and
She looks at me as if thinking

He is home, leaving me so
Happy for us both that I just
Want to lean down over our relationship
And pat it lovingly behind its ear.

Getting jealous?*
I nudge her jokingly.

She shrugs and smiles.
I'm not bothered by the

Tattoo on your chest that
Says Tina,

Am I?
God, I love confidence.

No eggshells under my feet,
No worry that she'll pry

Or spy. She's her own woman.
Claims to be mine, but

I know better. Even heavy
Clouds don't own the rain.

All I can do is get
Soaked, open

My mouth if I'm thirsty.
Take in the washing.

Hope that the deluge
Never ends.

It's getting covered up, I
Assure her.

Hoping she
Cares.

Disclaimer:

These are my private opinions.
Feel more than free to disagree.
They've made Life better
For me.

Eat breakfast.
One half hour less of sleep in the
Morning will keep you
Steady and strong until lunch.
It'll be worth it.
Oatmeal packs a good punch.

Don't mention how little
You've slept to anyone.
Unless you operate dangerous
Machinery or rely on being
Rested for the safety of
Yourself or others, no one
Will care.

Map the different nationalities
At your workplace.
Learn these phrases in their
Respective languages:
Hello.
Great work.
Watch out!
Making someone feel welcome at
Work is a gift worth giving.
Bridges build
Friendships. Friendships alone
Make a life worth living.

Spend some money on a
Special water bottle.
It'll inspire you to drink from it.
Drink enough to keep hydrated;
Not so much that your
Breaks interfere with your
Obligations.
Don't challenge your rights,
Or your boss' patience.

Leave the toilet looking a little
Nicer than it was.
Pick up that piece of paper.
Wipe the soap from the sink.
Aim carefully.
Others will follow your example.
Ask for hand disinfectant.
Use it.

If you feel overwhelmed by
Stress, or have personal matters
Occupying your thoughts,
Take a toilet break.
It is one of the best places on Earth to
Clear your head. Take only
The time that
You need.
Even brilliant minds have  
To act to succeed.

Enough on toilets.

Fall in love with a colleague.
Don't ever follow up on it.
Pick a favourite secretary or
Cleaning lady, janitor or
Security guard, etc.
That warm sensation in your chest
When you see them, might just
Make a bad day better.
Theirs too, when you
Smile their way.
Just remember:
Harassment is for the weak and
Insecure; a little attention never
Hurt anyone,
But don't push for more.
Keep it innocent.
Keep it pure.  

Find your least favourite co-
Worker. Make friends.
Start rehearsing that 'old buddy'-
Feeling when you see them.
Say hello. Smile.
You'll be in for a surprise in most
Cases. Trust me, you will find
Golden graces. You'll get to love
Them; you'll look for their faces.

Turn to your seniors.
They are a tremendous resource.
They deserve to be needed.
They deserve your respect.
They know how to repair more
Than we ever will.
They know what it's like
To be younger than them.
They'll have time for your
Questions,
But none to ****.

Quit smoking. Together.
Go for a coffee break.
Go for a fruit break.
Go for a water break.
Together.
Pat each other on the shoulder
With every smoke you don't have.
Take the stairs. You'll feel so well. 
Quit in pairs.
Not in a shell.

Put up humouristic posters,
Tell jokes, make
Friendly fun of each other.
Anything that provokes laughter.
Time will fly. Bonds grow stronger.
You'll look forward to work. You'll
Live happier; longer.

Do more than just enough.
You'll feel so much better about
Your skills. And others about you.
Any job is worth that little extra.
Few are worth doing twice.
Judge your efforts through
Your own eyes.

Be poetry. Don't just write it.
You'll need less ink and paper.
The art will live forever.
You'll be thankful for more.
You'll think higher of yourself.
You'll see the world around you
As the beautiful place it can be.
Be the poet and the poem.

You'll never feel depressed.
You will never be alone.
You'll be the single richest person
That you have ever known.

Red eyes on the morning train
Heads bobbing
I ask myself
Why do we do this
To ourselves?

Then I withdraw
And smile with
Buddah

This too is
Poetry

Enough sparrows
To chase a crow
Doing
So.

That itch you find
So annoying

Is that of a wound
Closing.

Learn to be grateful
For any tissue

Keeping the red stuff
On the inside.

Your past is your story.
I will never demand you
Rip a single page
From it.

I'm a very big boy.
Tales of your yesterloves
Scare me as little as
Anything;

Only hurt as much
As they should.
Never burn a picture
To please me.

Never paint over a
Secret, never camouflage
A single regret as
Bad luck.

Skeletons. Dust and bones,
Dead and harmless.
Tell me everything.
Unsensored;

No blur nor bleep.
I want to know
What shaped you into
Someone so

Deserving of my
Interest. Let me into
Your attic. Turn out
The lights.

I'm a very big boy.
Even my ghosts are
Scarier than
Yours.

There for him
At his own convenience;

Waited at a set table
To watch him eat, then

Gave herself to any other
Thirst he might

Crave quenched. Treating
Her like an appliance,

Seeing her as a machine, dead
Eyes silent when she dared

Ask when will I see you
Again?

She cried for a year.
I'll never blame

Critical eyes burning
Holes in my back.

I love them for watching
Over her heart.

These are days of contrast,
Little girl.

I mean every
Flower.

Thank the
Gods I am still
Learning to
Write

An end to this
Humbleness would
End
Me

I have never
Been better
Than any-
One

Except the proud
Stubborn
Un-
Poet

Are you smelling
Me?

She laughs but
Only gently

As if not wanting
My lips and nose

Away from
Her arm

Life Herself to
Me; the pieces of

Time between the
Stopping to-

And the
Roses

Sweet sound
Morning darkness
Breeze's whispers of
Snow

Ahhh... I'm almost there
She moans against the
Naked back of
Everything

The queen of
Inbetween
Seasons
Touching greens

Not to **** but lull
Not to take but
Present
This

Is -just like any other
Ending- not an
End at
All

Bringing my
Beautiful girlfriend to watch
My talented brother
Perform on stage

Don't know of
Whom I am the most
Proud
Perhaps

The scriptwriters
That compose my life
The guys at the soundtrack
Department

Deserve an award
Also  
Good job, people
I would like to thank

The casting crew as
Well
Female lead this season
Is an adventure of an actor