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SG Holter Sep 2016
Burn.
Step onto the embers of my
Secret weaknesses and
Impersonate the
Sword of Michael.

This longing for Valhalla
Won't see me alive much
Longer.
Take me to the nearest battle.
Let me die slaying a terrorist

Or intending ******.

Or should I pray to gods of a more
Peaceful nature than
Odin?
Love and let live.

Nah, this is in my Norwegian
Bones.
I'll die wielding blade.
I'll die laughing, opened up and
Spilling.

I'll "not go gentle into that good
Night."
So burn.
Be bonfire to my innermost of
Darknesses.

There are shadows there that
Demand chasing.
Make me proud to be
Midgardian.
Burst into flames and remind me:

Sticks and stones are feathers.
Buddha and Baldr.
Enlightenment and love. Well,
I'd rather be a warrior in a church
Than a priest in a battle.

Odin's one good eye
Is mine.
The other weeps for the weak.
May they find
Comfort in the daylight,

While us
Others sharpen our
Weathered hearts
In the cold, uncertain night we
Belong to, like water to snow.
SG Holter Mar 2015
At times I wonder if all
I ever wanted
Besides being a poet
Alone, was to have a
Beautiful face to touch.
That let me.
And liked it.
...and nothing more.
1.5k · Oct 2014
The Poem
SG Holter Oct 2014
The poems doesn't speak to you.
It sings, it whispers, it screams.

The poem isn't going anywhere.
It dances; glides or crawls.

The poem isn't written.
It is cried, bled or shivered onto

Paper. The poem doesn't care.
It's just there. Where it belongs.

It doesn't mind or like.
It loves, adores or despises from its

Soul. The poems isn't created.
It blesses the poet with its birth.
1.5k · Aug 2014
I Love Confidence
SG Holter Aug 2014
A plumber at the construction
Site has had me
Laughing to myself

All day. Replying to a friendly
Nice work! with a straightened
Back, a blank face behind an agreed

Yes. Then going back at it.
Yes. As
If

Breathing.  

Obvious as


Air.
1.5k · Jul 2015
Watching Pluto
SG Holter Jul 2015
I taught her how to handle a
Pellet gun tonight.
Now her eye is black from the
Scope, her fake fingernails chipped
From loading,
And the pine tree nearly stripped from
Cones outside my
Livingroom window, where our
Jägermeister
Cups made little rings on my
Brother's Longfellow hardback
Copy.

The night sky is bright blue this
Time of year in Norway.
Sun never really sets.
I looked up at the brightests spots
Beyond the moon, as she took aim
And fired with a subtle
Psstkh.

"So close," she whispered at the
Unwounded summer evening,
And I smelled her lavender hair
And all the warm outsides
As I thought of satellites and
Discoveries, and how moments
Such as this one would
Always matter
More.
1.5k · Apr 2014
Tetris of Words
SG Holter Apr 2014
Staying awake tonight, I will render myself suffering
Poet with a house full of only myself
And my thoughts.

There's food and drink, but all I care for is keeping the
Fire going as I sit. And look. At nothing. Everything.
With my thoughts

Silent, for once. As if all shields up and all angels sword
Drawn circling me, like a wall of Soulhome.
Soulrest. My thoughts

Go out to the part of myself that will never find
His way. The Last Living Astronaut, the last shard of Earth,
The last thing the dying solar system thought before

The Nova turned Super and all eyes blind.
I am alone; an unfolded antenna to capture every frequency's
Every whisper that was ever thought into these ancient walls,

And I project the process onto my device, in blind belief that
I can play the Tetris of Words around the moment I am in;
Where I am God. Quiet. Thinking. *Telling.
1.5k · Apr 2015
Rest
SG Holter Apr 2015
Rest. You did well
Today.
Smiled when you didn't have
To. Worked when you
Didn't want to.
Rest. You

Left nothing for the next day  
That was truly
Critical.
You've earned

All the trust that tomorrow
Requests;  
The hopes you have for it seen as
Solid matter.

Listen to the wind moving
The branches of the Tree of Time.
It sings of you.
It sings of how good you are
At Life.

Listen.
Listen and
Rest. Rest
Knowing you can do it.  
You already are.
1.4k · Apr 2014
Towel Draped
SG Holter Apr 2014
Sea breeze carrying scents
From foreign fields.
Blossoming sympathies reaching
Out over the fences of Lafayette
Cemetary.
Forest breath rustling leaves with
Faint animal musk and the
Serenity of centuries.
Still nothing smells quite like a
Young woman; bare feet and towel
Draped- fresh from
Shower
Passing.
SG Holter Oct 2015
This was once a construction site.
Unpainted concrete walls, skeleton of
A building exposed.

Now most floors are inhabited;
Offices in use as if they'd always
Been this clean and complete.

Some sections are still unfinished, and
The few of us still working here are
Alien shadows in filthy workwear,

Ghosts from the slow birth of a
Fraction of the Oslo cityscape.
Rugged midwives

Not fitting in with the suits and
Dresses we sometimes pass in the
Corridors.

So strange, the scent of perfume and
Female products. No more diesel and
Dust here these days.

My colleague flips his cigarette **** on
The pavement outside the entrance,
Stealing a gaze at a passing skirt.

*I love the sound of
High heels in the
Morning.
1.4k · Aug 2014
The Wasps
SG Holter Aug 2014
My voice and guitar echoed from
The wall of rain outside my
Window.

Wasps seek shelter like little
Refugees; pass my face and
Settle inside to

Dry little wings under roof.
I wave them only away from
My glass of wine.

All are welcome. Rain falls
Harder on the small.
Shelter and space.

Such easy
Things to
Share.  

Nothing unhuman
Could ever be a
Stranger.
SG Holter Dec 2017
Such a huge, beautiful sky
Now that the mountains have all
Called in sick.

Plains where valleys were,
Seas withdraw as if in retreat;  
Defeated armies of

Timelessness. Wake of
Soil and stone. Such a
Huge, all embracing heaven  

Not even looking down.
And now, enter her, as I make
Myself comfortable with

My new life of treatments and
A violently shortened lifespan;
The one I always loved from

Within the shadows.
Willing me to live.
Caring.

A sleeper angel deployed to
Hold the holder;
Double-wing-cover from

The snow. Old love unspoken.
The kind that makes hills run for
Themselves.

Steady and unquestionable;
Tectonic shifts between hearts
Running out of

Tic-tocs and bass lines.
Plains where valleys were. She
Fills craters with her presence

In the room.
Never my girl; always my girl.
Sleeper angel activated.

I see why the seas withdraw.
No wonder the mountains called
In sick.

She raises solar storms with her little finger;
Conducts atmospheric changes with
A sigh.
1.4k · May 2015
Sweet Rattle
SG Holter May 2015
Her voice when she whispers
Brings me back to childhood
Christmases, when shaking a
Present revealed the gut-tingling
Sound of LEGO inside.
1.4k · Sep 2015
Ultrasound
SG Holter Sep 2015
These are days of change.
Eggshell cracks,
Sun rising differently.

Sometimes I put my ear to
The ground and listen.
Heartbeat choirs of

Our unborn children.
Seeds of poets.
Write love; not war.
1.4k · Nov 2015
...a Time for Building Fires
SG Holter Nov 2015
November shakes the wet from
Her wings and stretches them to
Their full reach; tips touching
The death and birth of October
And December,
Feathers the colour of leafless
Trees and ploughed fields.

A thirty day lifespan of deathbed
Lullabies and hardened faces,
Bodies crouching to lay themselves
Upon their own warmth in
Desperation, clouds of breath
Escaping layers of
Cotton and wool.

Winter is as inevetable as dying.
I wander between birches and
Pinetrees like crooked teeth
Protruding from the mist; the
Bones of something decomposed
Between moss and
***** forest water.

Black as old blood.
Brown as mud, air like millions
Of tiny arrows against any bare
Skin.
This landscape could be someone's
Nightmare, some horror movie
Set or a Ted Hughes poem backdrop.

But I stand, still and alone, one
Palm against a rotten tree trunk,
The other upon my Norwegian
Heart. It is a time for looking within
For strength. To be silent and not think,
But feel; a time for building fires.
To gather what's dry, and prepare.
1.4k · Aug 2014
I Need a Woman
SG Holter Aug 2014
To listen to this thunder with me.
No make-up on, wear one of my
Shirts; leave what's left of
Yesterday's mascara.
I love you more, when you don't.

I need a woman.
I want to smell yesterday on you,
Perhaps your legs should have been
Shaved, but I have an itchy back
I can run across them;

Costs you nothing but a pose.
I need a woman who says "You
Really should not go in there,
Use the sink, I'll do the dishes with
Antibac tomorrow."

I need a human. Not a Victoria's Secrets
Model; someone all blood and bones
And body who puts my hand
Under my shirt,
And says: "I know you're a poet,

So if I only give you this, you'll still
Find enough in there to keep you
Occupied with a poem about it until
******* is over, and I can give you
The rest..."


I have a friend who can clear his whole
Restaurant for us.
The fact that you'd rather be here with
Me, on this sofa, makes me wish you were
Real. I need a *woman.
1.4k · May 2014
Throwing Stone
SG Holter May 2014
Speaking with our hands
We discharge disagreements at
The windows of our castle.

Taking out the eyes of our love
One retina at the time.
Blinding our union until

We forgive each other with
Passionate agreement.
Speaking with our hands.
1.4k · Dec 2014
never argue with a poet
SG Holter Dec 2014
Their footprints are
deep from carrying
cannons to
gun-
fights.
1.4k · May 2014
Orion
SG Holter May 2014
I saw Orion rising
Upon the horizon.
Orion.
Horizing.
1.4k · Jun 2014
State of Our Fears
SG Holter Jun 2014
Looking around at the
State of Our Fears

Our only focus should
Be renewable energy

And a non-material shift
In values  

All other roads are
Razors resting

On the edge of a
Bathtub, ready.
1.4k · May 2014
Jewels
SG Holter May 2014
To my friend Julie R.S.*

Being my girlfriend's best friend, it
Was bound to go either one way
Or the other. Now you
Name me
Brother.

When we share wine and guitars,
People sit down in the garden
Outside our open window
To enjoy. Your voice is proof

That God loves art and leaves its
Seeds within His children.
If I were you, I'd also pray as often
As you do.

You have much to thank for; and also
Ask. I sometimes ask too,
Why hurt so easily pries itself
Into the purest of hearts. Winter is
A cynical aunt... it'll help now;
Spring isn't; it's downhill from here.
I promise. And besides,
I sympathize with you;
But never
Worry.

You share the gifts of Beauty and
Strength with diamonds; gems,
Jewels.

I stood by your
Self-declared sister
In my godless snakeskin boots
In thankful poetic observance
As you were leaned into the
Water and said a self spoken Yes
To your absolute re-birth-Father.
I'll always respect you for that.

That, and the way you move
Through the ice-in-tummy-pains
That you are sometimes dealt
By the Hand of All Holding
And accept and withstand,
Knowing it's all part of
Your own Holy
Work-out.

I could carry you for years,
But your soul is loved by
Something so strong
It shines through
Your darkest
Hours.

I am as humble to that
As I am to our
Friendship.
1.4k · May 2014
Should We Slow Down
SG Holter May 2014
The adding of poems to collections?
They often come in nearly
Endless clusters.

Excessive repetition is
Flattering to nothing.

Its not fair to the reader.
It's not fair to the poem.
1.4k · Oct 2014
Fighting
SG Holter Oct 2014
I dreamed I fought Buddah
Again. The fat ******* was a
Slippery one, but not as
Heavy as you'd think.

He laughed with every punch
I landed. So disarming, it
Bordered on cheating.
When he finally tapped out,

I lost. I crossed swords with
Christ some nights ago.
A testament to surrender.
Flat slaps against a thousand

Cheeks, I guess crosses and books
Of poetry -alike- are made from
Wood. I'm the son of a carpenter
Too,
I yelled. But it was Mary who

Had a little lamb. I formed a spear
With my hand and drank the
Water it revealed; thirsty as sand.
Like fighting a holy ghost. Air.

I punched at unbreakable mirrors.
I gave up faiths I never had.
Then Odin came up from behind.
Took out my left eye and prepared

To render Blood Eagle, dagger in
Hand, coil of Man; as mortal as any.
We whispered in unison: Finally
A fight worth ending.


Nothing is
Holier
Than
Flesh.
1.4k · Jan 2015
Between Silences
SG Holter Jan 2015
Going home to the country side for
The weekend, where
The snow is twice as
Deep and prestine.

I've promised my girl we'll put
Winter clothes on and trek through
The woods; play children.
Lay flat on our backs

On soft whiteness between naked
Trees, just listening to
Winds like the ghosts of whales
Swimming the skies singing;

Calling to the echos of
Their echos' echos.
Then, red cheeked and sniffling,
Brush January from ourselves,

Stump snow from boots, and head
Inside for hot showers.
Her wet hair slowly drying
By an open fire. Wine, and either

Music or just the whispers of
Winter playing with the ancient
Wood in the walls between
Silences.

Candle light catching the white
Flashes of flakes falling outside
Ice cornered window glass
In complete, quiet darkness.

She calls it camping in the cabin.
To me, it will
Always be
*Home.
1.4k · Oct 2016
The Only Flower
SG Holter Oct 2016
All the ones I
Love the most have

Someone they love
More than me.

The truth of it is
Beautiful;

That lonely knowing
Sets me free.

The legless fly,
The voiceless sing.

There's love in every
Living thing.

And in that love
I bask and laugh,

Composing my own
Epitaph:

All gods are real, and
Therefore none,
and

Hell hath merely
Room for one.


All the ones I love
The most

May barely know a
Man from ghost.

I love their rains, their
Suns and soils,

Their loving others form
The spoils that go

To me right where I
Stand to see:

I need not even
Me.
SG Holter May 2014
There's room for your every
Blade between my ribs.
I have a thousand other
Cheeks to turn when

You need to fling
Frustration from the channels
Of your heart's palms.
I can take all your punches.

I am a statue to your weathers.
I am the sound of handfulls of
Dirt and pebbles against an empty
Casket. I can take out my every

Nerve, my heart, my pain centre
And place it in a pocket; take it
All back out when you need to
Dillute your tears with mine

Over some matter that weighs
Heavy on the hearts of little
Girls playing with big boys; falling
From swings designed for

Denser bones and hands rough
From climbing. I am the teddy
Bear missing an eye and a limb,
Exposing stuffing through seams

Torn from being dragged over
Stairs and through sandboxes,
Always a thump behind little legs
That carry love for it, unequal to

Any.
SG Holter Oct 2016
"Oh, yes. That hurt.
That hurt like a thousand slaps from a
Thousand teachers each. Like

Dragon claws dripping with bile and
Venom into male ego exposed. Ego
And pride and the nature of the bottles

Of labelled **** that you threw back,
Chickening out on cold, hard reality.
Once again.

Friends and lovers lost, some long,
Some not. All gone with the wine. You
Could have written volumes by now.

Recorded legendary albums, created
Art like few others.
Yet, every millidrop of your

Blood screams for someone, or
Something rather, to take you
Away from all that's everyday.

Be it even war." Well,
I want peace, now.
Battleworn and

Empty from facing all the same
Demons. Chainmail shredded,
Body worn on the inside from

Aqua Vitae and ale.
It hurts. It hurts like a thousand
Freshly sharpened pencils carving

Into the exposed areas of my love
For bad nostalgic habits and
Days after days with drink, laughter

And inhaling
The air of temporary excitement,
Picking at scabs and naming myself

Surgeon, letting the hearts of others
Pick up my tab when one of us
Inevetably leaves;  

Those freshly sharpened pencils
Carving mantras to keep me alive
And wake me the Hell up, like:

"The people I
Need do not
Need me like

This,"
and
*"I have
Pride."
SG Holter Nov 2016
I

...she tip-toes in, sprinkling
Fairy-dust into the darkest
Corners of my mind's living room.   
Shuts the door behind her with
A smile of the kind that sees
Sobbing babies of all ages
Silent and asleep.

Skulls as candle-holders, knuckle
Duster paperweights, blades
["...there are so many
Weapons in here..."]
.
My taste in art and decor
Is dark and delightfully human.
Aesthetics so alien to an angel.

She sees right through it.
Warrior or shaman,  
All souls are children in  
Her eyes.


II

Having pried up puzzle pieces
That were hammer-****** into
Submission, she puts deep things
Into place
["Shh... just follow the sound of
My voice..."]
, has love enough for
Lifetimes, yet will always be

Her own.
How could any man not
Dream to harness as much as a
Single ray of her shine?
Comfort; healing; an element in
Human disguise. But her laughter  
Sparkles its give-away:

Us mortal men don't carry  
The strength to hold her as gently,
Lightly; unpossessively as one
Must.


III

Goddess demanding her hugs
Received, or angel pulling pain
From something broken.
Hands that love the life in  
Everything touch also the
Spaces between things.
Find us lost ones there.

A warm river cutting through
Winter frost, ice cold slumber
And lonely fatigue.
*Tired? Here, I'll make
Time go away
For a
While.

You owe me nothing,
Little boy.
Our souls are always
Even.
1.4k · Sep 2014
Porcupine Petals
SG Holter Sep 2014
What happened?
Where did the year since
Last fall go?
Was it really a year ago?

I could write a trilogy
Of bricks on all
Its events. On
What was wasted,
Given, lost, paid.
What was earned or stolen.
What was spent.

I did good:
It all went.

A year so full of fire.
Of tragedy, drama, of
Laughter like thunder, love
Like lightning. Naked skin against
Ice crusted snow,
Naked skin against
Warmer, naked skin.

I remember
Screaming at the skies; my
Curses and whys,

Then resting my knees
On the same spot of
Forest floor, thanking
All gods for all things new,
And for all that I held before.

Nothing is ever lost.
Even loss is gain.
I wouldn't know the depth of
This bliss, if my life had
Been free from pain.
(I know it's a cliché.
But I'll use it again. And again.)

Hello, Birch Tree.
Nearly stripped, ready for snow.
Brother Pine Tree,
Still wearing your deep green
Porcupine Petals.
You both frame "Home" to me.

Autumn flu; fever like lava in
My veins and muscles.
I face away from the TV
-Towards the window facing north-
Fields and tree trunks
Sharing the same shade of
Soil.
Crimson Oak. Periwinkle sky.

Rainbow like water and oil.

Let these be the last things
I see before I die.
They witnessed my victories,
Failures too,
But never me merely "try".

It all boils down to attitude.
Inhaling all that  
The winds may carry;
Exhaling mostly
Gratitude.

Everything,
Everywhere,  
Is brand new.

Every single
Passing

Second.
SG Holter Aug 2014
There once was a town in the world.
In this little town, lived a girl.
She barely could write,
But sat up all night.
Carefully carving each word.

The poem she wrote was a dream.
A thought that had grown, it'd seem.
The frailest of strands;
Words woven by hands.
Like droplets of diamond
Downstream.

The morning sun shone on the stairs.
He sat there, his face holding tears.
Her father, and all
That little girl called
Her family, burdened with fears.

She sat down beside the poor man.
Put paper inside his strong hand.
She left him to read,
As if sowing a seed.
And so, the whole healing began.

Her words had a life of their own.
Of wisdom beyond any known.
They spoke of a place
That was floating in space,
Yet it's beings were far from alone.

Why cry when there's laughter?  
Why fight when there's dance?
Why hate when there's family,
Fun and romance?


Her words were so simple, so clean.
Yet painted in colours unseen  
Through verses and lines,
And symbols and signs...
To adults, elders, infants and teens.

It took not religion, it seems.
No army, no guns or machines.
To shape this old world
To the words of a girl
With paper, a pen... and a dream.
1.4k · Oct 2015
Silken Seas
SG Holter Oct 2015
Angel wings around me.
Feathers in my face.
Pillow the size of Jupiter.
Sheets of silken seas on surfaces of
Worlds yet undiscovered.
I sleep loved.
1.3k · Aug 2014
"Sometimes...
SG Holter Aug 2014
I love how the viking comes out
In you when you drink, but

Sometimes a woman needs
Not to be hurt

At
All."
1.3k · Jun 2014
The Confident Wolf
SG Holter Jun 2014
Sometimes, when my cat Ulven ("The Wolf") sleeps
Like a bundle of unhungry contentment in the
Sunlight, I stand above her and look down, shaking
My head as I whisper   

I always were a dog-person...

She offers one eye open. One.
Streches in her own pace.
*Yeah, right.
Shut up and
Scratch,
Human.
1.3k · Feb 2015
In Chains
SG Holter Feb 2015
Sunday afternoon, Oslo.
Pavements fit for ice skating
Rather than her high heels.

I am crutch.
Sun-goes-down red onto
The solid wetness.

As we reach the tram stop,
She throws a gaze directly into
My eyes, fingertip finding the outline

Of the fresh tattoo on my chest
Barely visible at the edge of the
White tank top under my

Alice in Chains tribute-style
Flannel shirt.
"I love the way it covers up her

Name,"
I know she
Thinks but doesn't
Say, and I

Agree. Sometimes the temple walls
Of a man's body's skin are no
More sacred than the

Bucket of paint sitting ready
Outside a basement bar's
Gentlemen's toilet cubicle, just

Waiting for
The
Janitor.
1.3k · Sep 2015
I don't Think I can Run
SG Holter Sep 2015
I cannot do this
With you.
I have nothing to run from.

You dream of escape.
A way out.
New, honeyscented beginning.

I like it here.
The bees all know
My name.
1.3k · Aug 2014
Winter. My Coldest Lover
SG Holter Aug 2014
I eat so much fruit
These days. I've become
Addicted.

I sometimes go outside just
To taste the fresh breeze. Summer
Is almost over;  

Soon there'll be a threat of
Snow on the air at night.
So swiftly they go, the winter-

Less months. I will wake up
In the dark. Ice crystals on my
Bedroom

Window. I can make a print
Of my palm in them every
Morning, then.

Taste pure winter. Taste
Her on my fingers. My coldest
Lover.
SG Holter Dec 2017
Streetlights passing by reflected
In her storm of mixed
Emotions render her tears
Falling stars.

Makes a wish with every salty  
Drop on her lips.
Lips one man would touch briefly
With the tip of an adoring thumb, and

By that satisfaction alone
Die fulfilled,
While others see her as a tool, tossed
Back into the box when dull and

Exhausted.
Fit for a throne, yet only every odd evening
Finds her way to bed from the sofa
Before sleep finds her fading with fatigue.

Shoulders, neck, back, wrists, all
Aching in unison; a choir of
Discontentment, yet still driven by the
Love for her teenage

Kings.
I always hope she's laughing. I
Always hope she sleeps.
In my mind I rest a hand upon her

Belly when she dreams; the
Only way she'll accept a touch
Without shying away
With a faint, forced smile.

Beams of full moon finding their
Ways through bedroom curtains to her
Nearly closed eyes. She yawns a tear or
Three and turns towards the pale

Warmth; moonlight again rendering
Them falling stars.
No wishes for now.
Rest is her only lover.

I always hope she sleeps.
1.3k · Oct 2014
Miðgarðsormr
SG Holter Oct 2014
I lift heavy covers to expose
What's mine to behold.
Snow skin, sweet drops of
Salty dew from within.

Flesh female, lady
Bones, choir cells whisper
Their name; Woman.
Woman. Woman.
  

Eyes smiling. Mouth smiling.
******* smiling. Womb
Smiling. The rest either
Giggles or shines.

Tattoo of the Midgard Serpent
Around her upper thigh.
Snake of Norse mythology,
Coiled around the world,

Own tail in mouth. When it
Lets go, the world will end.
Its fangs are mine in you.
Poison lust. Venom love.

Refusing to release the
Ragnarok of our common heart,
I slowly kiss its every scale in
Submission.
1.3k · Jul 2014
Dead Dinosaurs
SG Holter Jul 2014
Boot to shovel, I dig through
Dirt. Piling up beside me:
Disappointment.
Abandonment.
Bitterness.
Having been taken for granted.
Betrayal.

The stench stirred up
Smells like remains.
Mine, I suppose.
But I keep digging.
Under sun and moon.
There is something there,
Underneath it all.

Something of worth.
Something that'll take me
Somewhere I need to be.
Under the dirt, with worms
And dead dinosaurs,
I hope to hear
Iron against something other

Than soft, spineless soil.
Six feet down I surrender and
Emerge; shovel for ladder,  
Covered in sweat and bile.
Nothing gained.
No gold, no treasure
Other than

What's more golden than gold; a
Big enough hole to
Bury my disappointment.
Abandonment.
Bitterness. Having been taken for
Granted, and betrayed.
Then walk. Shovel shouldered.

Whistling.
1.3k · Dec 2015
Helene's Mother's Lullaby
SG Holter Dec 2015
A traditional western Norwegian lullaby, sung by my girlfriend's mother to her in her earliest years. Directly translated from Norwegian.*


It was a lovely, lovely day, and now
That day is over.
All the children that are good
Are sound asleep and dreaming.

The heavens that were happy blue,
With a thousand smiles within'em
Will only start to laugh again
Sometime tomorrow morning.
SG Holter Mar 2015
Here I sit, fog-eyed from yesterday's
Wine; the last sounds made still in my
Ears; her laughing at my reply

When she asked why I was getting
Out of bed: "To go jogging," and when
She love-sarcastingly giggled, I

Laughed back: "I love you, but ****
You," and she laughed even more, and
I'll be ****** if that sentence itself

Isn't as much poetry as anything else.
Her, love and I; all three together at
All times, bruising and scratching

And moving in bed, or hand in hand
Asleep on the sofa, still fog-eyed from
Yesterday's wine and having

Had enough of everything the world
Has to offer lovers on a Sunday morning.
Sometimes poetry is the only

Remedy for Life. Sometimes poetry is
The only voice in the world.
The sound of the love between us.

The act of fingertip on touch screen
Etching a moment into cyberstone; quill
Of 2015, chisel of Today.

Sometimes poetry is our newborn;
Love manifested; product of our
Scratched, bruised morning hours.

Are you writing about me, she asks.
I lie.
*No.
1.3k · Jan 2015
Out of the Animal
SG Holter Jan 2015
I am an old dog.
Fur thick from winter nights
Under stars, paws hard from
Scratching at the
Insides of doors.

Sad old eyes see through
Actions and words, reading
Intentions and tendencies.
Biting only to teach
Or carry.

I see the kicks behind your steps.
The nervous punches behind your
Patting.
Invade my space, and I'll make you
A cat person.

I don't have time for your
Self-pity and negative meditations.
Reincarnation has finally granted
Me this simple existence of
Non-illusion.

Picture a leash, and I'll
Never walk at your side.
Free from your two legged
Two-facedness; anything human is
Puppy to me.

Don't try to force me. Or own me.
You'll only fail. You'll always
Fail at taking the animal
Out of the
Animal.

I didn't come this far
To be tame.
I didn't work so hard at not
Needing, to end up begging for
A full bowl.
1.3k · Apr 2015
One Year and a Day [Dancing]
SG Holter Apr 2015
Time flies like a love fuelled poet
Leaping through multiple dimensions
Of the universe of heart and language,

Firing metaphors into the night;
Stabbing wildly at the dark world
Blind souls percieve, with

The intent of a god, angry, then
Un-angry, then furiously,  
Calmly creating,

Sleeping only to recharge-
Letting pen cool down from the
Friction.

For one year and a day, I have
Posted. Greeted poetry
Hello, and danced.

Feet in love with the floor, I
Sit down only to watch the
Others.

Some swirl with veteran steps,
Others try on moves in unsure rhythms
And new, uncomfortable shoes.

One leads the other; challenges,
Encourages. I lean back and take in
The words and lines of breathing poets

That all come together, as
One perfect
Poem.
1.3k · May 2014
Audit in Heaven
SG Holter May 2014
Man's love of money...
I love it too. It results in
Food, drink and shelter
For my loved ones. But...
On days when my back
Won't straighten properly,
When my carpenter's elbow, rugby
Knee and boxer's hands
Impair me
I ask myself
How many hours I've worked
To pay just
Interest.
How many banker's cigars
And Department of Finances-
*****-ups I've
Funded with
What's left of these knots of
Muscle and bone that
Are moving towards giving
Up the guitar.
Haven't owned a new one
Since '94 anyway.

So if what I've heard is correct,  
Five percent
Of the world's population
Earn ninety percent of all
Money made.

Somebody very high up
Should be fired.
When I'm dead
I'll ask to see
The books.
1.3k · Jun 2015
Wet with Broken Water
SG Holter Jun 2015
This was written in the dark.
Whispered in the night.

It was wished upon a rising sun,  
Released in morning light.

Less a poem than a prayer,
A whimper more than scream.

Born as naked hope and watered,  
Grown from faint idea to dream.

Now the sound of summer coming;
Breezes rustling greening leaves,

Leaves us knowing things as growing,
Be it flowers, crops or trees.

Painless birth from earth to air,
Summer; springtime's daughter

Laughs and sings to sunkissed things,
Wet with broken water.
1.3k · Apr 2014
The Sound of Gods Meditating
SG Holter Apr 2014
Up North, by the Russian border,
It gets so cold your breath
Freezes and floats to your
Feet in a fountain of
Sparkling microsmithereens.

Sibirians call it
Whispering Stars.
I swear on my name it's a
Sight beyond description, with

Northern Lights coiling like
Mating snakes
On a sky so full of moon and
Stars it's almost alien

Above you.
Easiest peace.
The sound of Gods
Meditating.

Silence itself opens its
Quiet eyes and looks into yours
Like a living abyss you look down,  
Looking back.

The purest of Existence's
Everythings.
The now cry in
Snow Crystals.

Zen in

Frozen.
SG Holter Apr 2014
Generation Playstation.
How many of you know that when it's two o'clock
The sun points
South?

I grew up falling down from trees and hills.
But I also taught myself to make fire
Without fire.
I drank too, as a teenager.
We drank around bonfires.

When we came home red-eyed, smoke-smelling and usually superficially
Cut, our fathers would pretend
Not to be proud.

We saw right through it, just like our mothers did.
They felt they had to say something.
They did, and we pretended to listen,
For the sake of peace to rest.

There was no room for drugs:

We were already
Happy.
1.2k · May 2017
Roof. Stars
SG Holter May 2017
She is too wide a world
To carry only
A bright side.

She is the hole in my
Roof. And the stars I get
To watch through it.
1.2k · Feb 2015
A Holier Word than Hell
SG Holter Feb 2015
We have a thousand poems for
Every one of your bombs.
With each act of bloodthirst
And slaughter, we respond with
The force of volumes on peace.

Heaven; a holier word than Hell.
One birth overshines a
Hundred deaths.
Cowards wound.
Heroes heal.

Poets create. You cause
A thousand tears with every bullet.
Well, we compose oceans of comfort
In your wake.
Our ink overpowers your lead.

We have a thousand poems
For every one of your bombs.
You are the bringers of death to
The flesh. We are the armour
Of the soul.
My sympathies to the people of Denmark after the terrorist acts this weekend.
1.2k · Jul 2014
Own Dog
SG Holter Jul 2014
Companion
Keeping watch

Head in lap
Comforting

Puppy eyes
Changing minds

Bared teeth against
Danger or none  

Submissive
Loyal

The only company
I need. Hell,

Sometimes I feel like
I am my own
Dog
1.2k · May 2014
Magpie
SG Holter May 2014
Spring sunrise at four am.
Ine is what the farmers call
That green, transparent film
Of newborn grain
On freshly sown fields.
Low and red in
Rising, Father Sun includes
Little Brother Moon
In his rays of raging
Selflessness.

Top branch perched,
In colourless contrast
To it all, Magpie surveys
The spectacle
And only
Does just
That.
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