Mountain, lean on me.
Let me comfort you,
Cry your creeks onto
My shoulder.

Oak tree; weeping willow
At heart. Here,
Find shelter from the rain
Beneath me.

Girl, grow strong enough
To carry the weight of
Your beauty.
Concrete cross; boulder burden

Of features and curves beheld
In craving by wide-eyed men.
A curse at times, to have
Your golden soul shine through

To the outside of your being.
Until then, lean on me.
Let me comfort you.
Cry your every drop of fatigue

Onto my shoulder.
Find shelter beneath me.
I can hide the sun from your eyes.
See: Love is sizeless.

They wrote about you.
Named you Goddess and  
Lifted you high above the

Imagined boundaries of your
Spirit and ***.
No longer seeming as little as

You always felt. Well...
The rains came; you became
Umbrella.

Cinderella's indecisive cousin.
Wet now, and not in the
Good, hot way.

Workmen's sweat fresh from
Frustrated chests upon your ever
Forgiving back.

Heathens in the temple.
Berserkers in the
Cathedral.

Male pens, shovels and clamps
Made for grabbing and digging,
Holding up towards God's Skies

And proclaiming, not "Her,"
But: "Mine!"
I've seen it as it is.

Oh, I know. I've been a lifter.
Shoving goddesses into brick sized
Holes, praising the solid

Wall.
You deserve better. Take it from
Iron:

There is not enough
Gold in your
Life.

Hey, what have we here?
For me? What did you draw?  
A little dream?
That's really nice.

I love the way you have coloured  
In the lines that connect the
Hearts of friends you
Have yet

To make, to your own.
They may still be stick
Figures, but I sure
Get the idea.

Can I really keep this?
I'll put it on my fridge, so I
Can see it every day.
Thank you, sweet little teacher.

**** you for making me
Open my eyes to the
Outterness.

And for making me smile in my
Sleep.
Hell, I don't even know if I

Could ever fall for someone as
Perfect as your first-to-fifth
Digital

Impressions have made you
Out to be.
I zen my shoulders back down

And breathe, embracing the
Adventure of having even so much
As whispered to your

Shadow. Tomorrow
Or a decade's time away
Or a swift aeon's,

You'll be gone from my life.
I'll still be grateful.
No flower disregards

Even a second of petal-stroking
Sunlight.
In a world as dumb

As this one, your very being
Is a drop of supernova in a very
Silent *** of cosmic wordlessness.

I hope you're not
Scared of
Poets.

Clouds as black as a dead
Display embrace the ash grey
Eternity of overhead
Evening heaven-space.

Thunders like legions of Harley-
Davidsons roaring through the
Nearby woods, making
Windows tremble like

Nervous alcoholics under the
Weight of their own empty
Bottles of loved ones' patience
And own dead pride.

The gods are angry tonight.
But so am I.
I open my mouth to the deluge.
I open my soul to the storm.

I get drunk on tsunamis. I fill
Up on snacks of tectonic plate
Movements; pass earthquakes,
Waving vulcano clouds away

From my face, then inhale.
My breath is atmosphere.
My pulse is symphony.
Earth is the rest of me.

I'm as shy as a god.
As humble as the devil.
Marillion tunes; seaside
Stones shaped by brainwaves

Form an absence of need.
All I want is change.
These are my thoughts.
Now show me my penny.

Dark were your
yesteryears, so
some corners of your warm
heart stay tainted still

I want to
rip the
black from your inner-
most

no matter how you

might bleed, curl it up
and throw it into the

abyss where the remains
of other pain-dragons slain

remain.

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.

I zoom out
Interested in seeing how
It'll all come together

Or not

I will observe myself
Crying into a pillow or
Onto her face
Thanking

See my own heart either
Cave in on itself
Or take my arms for wings
And lead me up

Laughing like a child
In a carousel going only
Slightly too
Slow to be

Scary

Eyes see what the
Heart allows.
I love you, and hand
You slivers of silver.
You curse me for
My needles.

I have more than seventeen
Poems that
Mention me watching
You draw
-
Tracksuit pants
My sweater
Knitted socks
Ponytail
Colouring in some creation
With the tip of your
Tongue peeking out
From the side of your mouth
As always when
Concentrating
-
Light from the stove
Flicking curiously
Upon your person
Dry firewood heat in
Contrast to the outside
Midwinter
Beading our foreheads
At times
We were that old couple
On the picture
You cried when
I showed you
-
You are in truth the most
Beautiful person
I've ever consumed
With my every
Sense
You made me
Giant
Hero
Loved
Admired
Forgiven
For so long

I'll miss you.
*******, little girl.
I'm really
Going to
Miss
You.

Few things are as black
As a snowless December morning

In Norway.
Some nights it's so

Dark I can't
Sleep.

The skies hold back their
white gold for now.
ground kissed by frost;

everything hard and rigid
under tired feet.
I scrape ice from the

windshield without gloves.
who needs to feel their fingers
anyway?

it's as if every particle between
my face and the stratosphere
is still, not moving so as not

to attract the attention of the
coldness. I follow their example
and look up into the night sky.

stars so clear. so many. for a while
I wonder if some divine hand
has scraped the ice from

the window to
outer
space.

I've been your crutches for
Way too long.
I'm ready to be
Wings
Now.

Seated so low in your sportscar
You still look down on me in my
Torn and ***** workwear.

But know this: I stood on the floor of your
Basement garage, and saw only sky.
Your luxury apartment was air.

The rough concrete behind your walls
Were those of my workplace. I know
Things about your bedroom you never
Will.

I don't want your respect; I don't need it.
I helped deliver your million dollar baby.
I have seen your home
Naked.

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...

It's the way Petrucci's guitar paints
Itself with one long stroke onto

LaBrie's voice at the
Beginning of the solo,

And the way we both look
Up at each other with eyes that

Know more about Dream Theater
Than most, smiling in new born

Infatuation and goosebumps
Shared, that I know that I'm in

The kind of sweet, sweet trouble
That sneaks in through your

Guard without you noticing; the
Path-to-heart that has been cleared

By little things upon little things;
How a good producer uses

Barely audible elements to lift a
Song into grace and perfection.

Lunch pack made with fresh love,  
Something like soft electricity

Between our skins; relaxed islands
In a carefree ocean. Music, music,

Music. She shreds the fastest air
Guitar this side of the coast, and

I just want to stay. Dig. Hang. Hold. I
Have nothing I want to escape to,

And with the song that will be ours
As long as she's mine, and remind

Me of us forever after, I find peace
In restlessness on the floor of her

Apartment, as if it's her singing
*This distance in my voice

Isn’t leaving you a choice,
So if you’re looking for a time to

Run away... you won’t find it here,
Look another way.

You won’t find it here.  
So try another day.

I've been a construction worker
My entire adult
Life.

Still, I cannot
Seem to rebuild
Her confidence.

I've been a poet for
As long as I can
Remember,

But my encouraging
Hollow-point-words shatter
Against her insecure kevlar.

Suppose all I can be is
Sunlight, water and
Soil.

I'll try that; I've been a
Farmer's boy since
Birth.

I walk around touching.
I walk around touching objects
-Hanging or resting-
That carry shards of our
History in their origin.
My hands remember
The warmth of your back
Against my palm.
Sun lotion between my fingers,  
Denmark. Summer.
You tasted like xcide and your  
Mother's Marlboro Light.
Laughed.
Kissed me;
Soft but hard. Soul to my soul.
We were so completely happy.

This quill pen you made me
To inspire my words.
Draw us with your poetry.
To write about you drawing
A picture of me writing
About you.
Taking in; transferring.
I've written you
Volumes.
Volumes.

Picture.
I touch and smile.
Trace your face with
My fingers, your
Mouth. My God, your
Mouth...
You let me touch your
Teeth when you smiled.
I cried then, even during the
Good years.

I take it in. Dig deeper in memories
To strain my soul, and tattoo... and
Claim these moments as
Mine forever; graven into
The marble tablets of
My mourning mind.
Feeling the farewell with
My every fibre
And gaping, face soaking wet,
At the Heavens in a
Silent scream of
**** You God! She's gone!
GONE! FUUUUUUUCK!

Like some kind of miner or
****** of some sorts
Craving pain and beauty in
Equal handfulls,
Tearing and ripping
At the remains of something
That just days ago
Wasn't dead.

The way the sun breaks through
Clouds dark with rain

Above a city that doesn't mind
Either

Reminds me that somewhere 
Something

Really good is happening
To someone deserving

Right
Now

Tractor humming happily
In the dim daylight
Seeping through heavy clouds.

The soil out here needs water,
Rains are welcome for now.
I kiss fresh coffee by the

Window, listening to the drizzle
And swallows whistling past.
Yes, she's on my mind.

I breathe in the humid scents of
Early country Summer,
Feeling soft arms reach around

Me from behind; her forehead
Against the back of my neck.
Something whispered.

Soon. You'll see me soon.
Hear my voice. Soon. You'll
Meet me. Soon.

I shrug off the fantasies and
Walk my cup back to the
Table.

I know who she is.
She has no idea I exist.
For now.

****, I love this juvenile
Feeling of infatuation with a
Stranger,

Stealing glanzes at her Facebook
Pictures, grinning to myself about
Acting like a stalker,

Not even feeling guilty;
I stand for my innocent intentions.
She'll never hear a word from

Me. No friend request or desperate
Attempts at contact.
She has a room in my Palace of

Imagination-
Where she sometimes comes out
To wander around and

Bless me with her presence.
So impossibly beautiful.
Supernova smile,

Elegant tattoos.  
Eyes full of kindness, like two
Soothing suns. Night sky hair.  

Real, yet invisible until I
Close my eyes and taste the skin
Of her temple as she leans her

Head against mine and points
Towards the horizon.
Look how green everything has

Become...
I know.
It's so breathtaking I even

Imagine sharing it with someone
I love.
Then she's gone again,

And I am alone with the rain and
The nestbound swallows. And the  
Purring of a distant John Deere

Outside an open window where
We stood in love, as vividly
As within a really real dream.

I love how the viking comes out
In you when you drink, but

Sometimes a woman needs
Not to be hurt

At
All."

Sometimes it's good
To be sad.
To not chase away,
But embrace the heaviness
That weighs down your

Heart and feet.

Sometimes it's good
To be sad.
To rest your head in a
Warm lap, allowing tears to flow,
And loving fingers to

Find them.

Wondering whether
I have.

That
Toddler
On her mother's

Back just shot her
Big blue eyes into
The base

Of
My soul's
Spine.

And
Smiled.

God,
God.

Cash, card and mobile, please.*
Had his hood on and made a tough

Face of some sorts as he flashed
What looked like a blade, only

Smaller. Sorry, mate. My phone
Is in my hotel room, my money is

All somewhere between my kidneys
And liver, but I have these two

Fists, and I'm losing my girlfriend as
We speak, so PLEASE come closer

With that pathetic excuse for a knife,  
So I can use it to pick what's left of

Your heart from my teeth after
My anger is vented.

I don't care if it's Islington;
Did you hear about the Viking at

Stamford Bridge? I'm back. Don't
Ever mug a Norwegian.

Don't ever try to mug a Norwegian.
Don't ever try to mug a Norwegian

Poet. I still have £200 in
My pocket. And a tongue as sharp

As anything I've ever been
Threatened with. Boy.

His Down's Syndrome makes
His age a tough guess, I'll
Say eight to ten.

Wide eyes on machines,
Ice cream dripping on the
Pavement outside the

Construction site.
I wanna work like this when
I grow up, he says in

Young enthusiasm to a mother
Whose eyes well up with
Gratitude when I approach

And kneel down in front of
Him. So you want a job,
Buddy? I ask him with a

Wink. He suddenly remembers
His ice cream and bites into
It shyly. Nods, glancing at the

Tools in my belt, the scratches
On my arms, the brick wall
I've been attacking with a

Wacker jackhammer. Nods
Again. Well, I'll see you in a
Few years, I say with another

Wink, this time to his mother,
Who'd look her young age if
Her eyes weren't as tired,

But you can start with this
And get some practice. I hand
Him my Stanley Fat Max

Hammer. His ice cream
Hits the ground as he
Recieves it with both hands,

Looking to his mother for
Confirmation that it's ok.
Oh, it is. She mouths a

Thank you SO much...
They walk away, his chatter
High pitched and fading

Around the corner. And I
Head over to the foreman to
Report that I lost my hammer.

Don't ever employ me.
I can work a good game, but
I'm too soft around little heroes.

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.

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

The more others
Will be with
Yours.

I try to always lift on
the heaviest side.

I offer up the last
slice, last

spoonful, final
piece.

I call my mother
before she has to

call me. I've never driven an
automatic

in my
life.

Words barely audible;
Choked and phone line
Distorted.

[Words muttered between
Sweat-wet moans and
The grasp

Of a lover
Whispering
Back.

Fingers finding fingers;
Knots of nails and tendons
Tying, untying, re-tying.

Legs, arms, ribs, knees -ropes
And hull of something fleetingly
Unsinkable.]

Words barely audible.
Hoarse with worry.
"Will you be ok?"

IV-bag drip-dripping iron
Supplement into my arm
That itself remembers her

Sleeping head still warm
With contentment's embers.  
"I'll live if you'll live."

A pact between our broken
Hearts; that everything else
Stays unbroken.

My palms on your
*******. Yesterday.
Things felt good then;
Kinda like love.

It's also called
Yesterday.
Today, I'm a whispered
*******.

Today I'm heavy air.
Render me hobby.
I have fewer feelings
Than a stone.

That's what you loved
About me. What you
Wanted to
Change.

Would you please stop
Not believing in
Yourself?

You're the
Only one
Who doesn't.

I woke up feeling
The way I would
If you hadn't.

Another weekend
Preparing retirement;
Well earned.

The sun awoke me.
Next to her.
Twice.

God looks in the
Mirror and
Prays.

Up here it is more temporary; the
Sun has already turned.
In six months, the only light will be
That of the snow piercing through the
Darkness of a
23 hour night.

Words such as swimming and
Barbecue have the same taste as the
Cardboard of the box you are provided
With when being told to
Clear out your desk immediately.
And the winds pick up from

Closer to north with promises of
Ice cold rain in them.
Then just ice.
I fear not bullet nor blade, but look
Down and shiver at the thought of having
A brief, bad summer

Such as this.
I spent a week on Helene's parents'
Boat in the fjords, fishing and eating
Cod still wet with salt water, but yet;
The skies were grey; the breezes
Ungentle; unsoothing.

But I read. I wrote. Saw viking sites
Where the ground still
Smells of sacrificial blood and
Mead, and there
I shrugged the disappointment off as I
Closed my eyes and imagined paddle

Sounds and Norse grunts from a
Thousand years ago; rugged
Travellers returning after months at sea
Under a fierce foreign sun, finally home.
Thinking nothing at all
Of the weather.

Something feels small that
Isn't, as it watches
Sunrise pushing
Fog morning

Aside to make room for
Blue sky day over
A city that seems
To agree with

Winter
That spring is on
Its way:
Me.

Drunk in the morning watching
The tail feathers of a magpie not
Being twigs within the yellow
Womb of swaying autumn
Bushes.

The handle of my
New knife
Didn't sit so well in my
Palm.

The blade sure did.

I have missed you
Since the birth
Of Sound.

You were
First. Of
All.

Evening raindrops gathering
Along the bottom of my
Bedroom window

Make me
Turn down the music
And listen with a heart

Filling up like the eyes of
An old woman; once mother,
Now not,

Beholding an infant so
Young, it'll remain one for
A very long

Time. Some tones
Form chords that hurt
Like caramel burns.

Sweet loves lost in bitter
Ways were still that
Sweet.

Still that
Sweet; now
Forever.

I lost not;
Gained
Lovely ghosts.

Her voice when she whispers
Brings me back to childhood
Christmases, when shaking a
Present revealed the gut-tingling
Sound of LEGO inside.

The pen is mightier
When you're bored.

I stand.
Back against family; a human shield.
Feet firmly planted on homesoil
|Dirt dark with ancesterial remains|.

I stand.
Front towards future; a human sword.
Hands clamped tightly around the jugular veins
|Of any threat|.

Invade from neighbouring lands, or distant worlds
In the outskirts of Outer Space; you all stop here.

I protect
With the selfless ability
Of man
Alone.

Breathe in my eyes
so I can lend tears to
your face.

I have nothing to cry
over, except that you
do.

We move together like
Pieces on a chess board
Dancing a symphony in black and
White minor

Two legs; lungs breathing
Simultaneously

Filling each other in; waves in
Syncronicity; hanging things
Swinging in
Sympathy

With the ship

Perfection. I am perection.
None of what I am
Is me.

By Paula Lee and Sverre G. Holter

Today I grieve for a love gone,
No reason why, No goodbyes....
Now here I stand on the precipice,
Alone,
Confused,
Tears in my eyes,
Why?

I find I lay my hand on
My own heartside.
You did that once, I remember;
I slept so silently
You had to
Check.
Tears in my eyes.
I know why.

I would give all I own
To feel your love once more,
To hold in my hands, your gift,
The heart I have always adored
On bended knees,
Longing,
Begging!
Tears in my eyes,
Why?

I wish I could tell you why,
But The Question is my lover;
The Answer, my ex.
There's an absence the size and
Shape of a heart by your side.
I hear hands gone knocking on
Doors that never closed; the
Sound of love against
Love.

*You have left me, with no hope,
No heart to hold, no love to share,
You had my heart, so full and pure
Giving yours away to an ex, not there!
You pushed me over the edge
I lay broken at the bottom,
Tears in my eyes...
No More!