You enshadow all
Beneath
You
Floating like fluid in
Liquid flutter in
Slow motion

A ghost in water
Framed with daylight
Dancing on
Underwater waves
The most beautiful dead
Object in the
World

I am an alien in
Your realm  
Unarmed against the forces of
Your otherworldly
Guise
As

I bow unto You  
As Poet
As Poet and unbreathing
Man

My father gave me the
Last of his wine.
Thus leaving the rest of that
Habit behind.
His eyes, once blue like skies
Over sea,
Were grey with regret when
He gave it to me.
The older you grow, the
Better it sits,
The bitterness clouding both
Wisdom and wits.
I'm glad he won't know
How well I understand
How much the bottle can
Steal from a man.
If anything's off in your
Body or soul,
If angry or lonely or
Not feeling whole,
The first things to toss so your
Boat doesn't sink,
Are the barrels and bottles marked:
Too Much to Drink.

Shadows from a sunlit tree
Dance on my wall. Dance; that
Winter is over.

Worlds
Between the coldest
January day and this one  

Where the sun kisses your skin
So hard it cries.
I don't miss the snow. Can do

Without the unyielding dark
And scraping of ice from the
Windshields at 4.30am.

There's magic in this country.
In winter it whispers of itself
In the creaking of dry frost

Beneath your boots under
Northern Light veils of
Thin colour enveloping skies

White with stars like pixels.
Now, it's the warm morning sun
Gently parting the fog; leaving

Little glimmers of itself in the
Drops of dew that remain.
Dew, and the little deer drinking.

All I could ever become
Is perfectly contained
Between Every Day Hero
And someone who is at times
Afraid of darkness.
And light.

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.

My secrets are the size of
Planets. They smell of diesel
And magnolia, and
They fire at the inside of
My heart with nuclear arrows
The size of a toddler's
Intentions towards a
Crying mother, flowers in tiny
Hand and all.

I have no idea, really.
I am a Northman; my blood is
Used to leaders

Of a different kind.
My heart and efforts placed
Before strong wills and

Absent egos.
All for the best of the tribe.
A fan of no human,

No single lie forgiven.
No hidden agenda  
Either.

When the longest spear of
Ridicule is thrown, make sure
No one raises

A shield strong enough to
Give Donald time to
Duck.

I ask myself, observing the
Battles of the infants, are there any
Grown-ups here

At all?
We're dealing with the fate of our
Children.

So much more our flesh and
Blood than anything
Animated.

I can take as much pain
As my shadow.
Its impact's the same on us
Both.
We suffer in equal
Silence.
All you'll hear is the sound of our
Growth.

Headlining monsters smiling at
News cameras; lacks of
Regret framed with
Blitzes and the
Disgusted attention
Of normal people.

Parents making each other's
Tears their own in
Disbelief, as children in
Hidden rooms
Search for the soft comfort of
Their inner

Teddy bears while pointing at
Dolls in the hands of
Patient professionals.
There? OK. And...
There? Caring strokes on
Innocent hair.

You're doing fine,
Darling. A wounded
Feather finally rested in a
Nest lap. *You're
Doing just
Fine.

If I could string my every thought of
Selflessness together, they wouldn't even
Reach from one cell of mine to
The other.

All I do is for me.
I have abandoned the thought that
Hate pulls the Universe apart.
Fear does.

Fear that someone will see us
As the selfish little souls we are.
All the good you do is for yourself.
So do it.

Feeling good about  
Smiling at a stranger or leaving
Change in that ******'s cup
(Mostly because it's Christmas, or

Spring, or whatever),
Does not make the act worthless.
Embrace your humanity.
It's ok to be selfish.

So what if you'll never be
Mother Teresa?
You know; she might have been
No better than you.

She just did it all anyway.
Eat, drink, breathe, serve.
A saint feeling good about being
A saint, is no less one than another.

Don't worry, your mind is beautiful.
We all curse at the pulling of insecure
Splinters from the soft skin of our
Self-esteem.

We bark at what makes us feel
Weak; lesser. Under some sort of attack,
Though the attacks are far, far too often
Imagined.

I too fear at times the anger and unkind
Wishes I may instinctively draw upon others.
Hell, the ugliest things I've ever seen  
Were with my eyes closed.  

Don't worry, your mind is beautiful;
At its purest when you catch yourself.
And put a wrong thought
Right.

Funny how a phone call can
Place a kiss upon a
Heart that needs one.

Friend, more.
Whatever you
Want.
I'm done with judging
Doors and their timing.

I could need your healing
For decades.

For a Syrian boy.

Slipping away from desperate arms
Within salty, dark waters.
Familiar voices fade with distance and    
Drown, as stars become
Blurs lulling you to sleep with their

Good night twinkle-twinkles.  
Hands too small for any gun or
Grenade open up like little flowers
To a night no night-light ever could
Illuminate.

~

Where was God when you whimpered
In fear?
Swam an angel of light in the darkness
Down there in  
The deep, with her comforting hand on
Your motionless shoulder?

Little Dream Brother.
Dreaming nightmares all meant
For another.
Asleep in the sand, with the ocean
Washing over.

Who you are under
A cloudless sky,
Is uninteresting.

Show me a smile through
Drenched hair, wet to
Raindropped lips,

And I'll fall for you,
Knowing you won't care
Why now,

But carry on smiling at the
Rain. So
Carelessly

It begins
To doubt
Itself.

Coward sun
Hiding from a
Little
Rain

I move away.
Every motion I make is
That of someone leaving.

I move away,
Like finished dancers; ploughs
Of birds heading to or from

Some paradise or not. I
Move away from excessive
Touching; such caresses turn

Desperate and demanding to
A man whose lovers are gentle
Mountain breezes and whispered

Songs of dry leaves hissing
Like the last breath of
A ancient artist seeing her

Masterpiece through closing  
Eyes; content and, like all things
Living should,

Embracing the dying a slow
Death that Life truly is, and
Knowing it's no place to stay.
Not staying.
Moving
Away.

I walk unseen through the
Shadows of my mind's capital.

Lurking, listening. Hearing
My heart talk in its sleep.

Searching the forbidden streets
And dark city parks within me.

I have no joy; only overjoy in
Sight. Somewhere inside is an

Enemy. Someone to fight. I'm
Meeting myself in the ring tonight.

This is you and me. This is therapy.
I have shot everything else that

Moved. Now meet me man to man.
Should be a close enough fight.

Construction project
King's st. 6.
Oslo.
14.00.*

A few humble grains of snow
melt upon
impact.

pavement. concrete. the air
between everything. they all  
blend together. then rest.

darkest time of the year.
I love it.
depression. suicide. some

fall victim to this absence
of daylight. their world is
not mine.

self pity and other heavinesses
vanish when opening ones
eyes to the beauty that resides

within even darkness.
I have clothes.
I have fire.

I have
love.
I have

more than
enough
light.

Dream. Plan. Act.
Motion begets
Motion. Motion begets
Result.

Time also flies when
Standing still.
Dreams unbecome
Quickly.  

Act upon plans
Born from dream. No
Step takes you further
Than the first.

I know they all talk about me,*
He mutters.
Whenever I'm home sick, they
Say that I'm never at work.
That I'm always late.
That I do a bad job.

I look down into my coffee.
We talk about him, all right.
As soon as he takes a sick day,
We know he'll be back the next.
Pale with lingering fever.
Wet with sweat.

We speak of how he's always
At work. Hardly ever comes in
Less than an hour
Before us others.
How he pours his whole self into
Any job he's given. Always.

He would never choose to
Believe me, so I change the subject.
Each man his own attitude.
Funny how the brain keeps
Blaming the heart for
Its feelings.

We talk past each other.
Look behind each
Other and each talk to
A person the other used
To be. We talk
Past each other.

Sober weekends last
Longer.

We go to bed early
To read.

She's lit a scented candle
On her bedside table.

Shadows dance on print.
I lean without moving,

Against her tempered softness.
All is *pillow.

Viking ground. The belly of
Norway. Music like thunder
Keeping whole villages awake.

Swords, spikes, norse jewelry
And black, black metal
Of the kind that honours

Those who were here before
These hundreds of metal heads
And contemporary heathens.

She works in the beer tent,
Throwing long gazes my way,
That I return.

She took
Me
Here.

Stars above a stage lit with a
Thousand shades of neon that
Emphasize the

Ground locked mist; breath
Of Odin and His believers.
I love this music; this brutal

Noice within system. I love these
People. They seem scary from
Afar, but share a brothership

Within their worship.
Enslaved is one of the most
Famous bands within the

Genre. The guys still join the
Roadies, clearing the stage
From their gear.

I understand.
A long line of yesterdays
Lead you here.
So you compare,

And call upon
Rainy summers and fierce
Winters to stain
Today with the pain

Of last love lost.
Last fallen friend.
Pulling the fabric of hope apart
To fit your heart.

Place it among the new born
Lights of stars long since
Dead, instead. Learn
To shine, not burn.

The rays of sunrise
Are eight minutes old.
Arise. Be bright.
Give the morning its light.
All that awaits to glitter
Is gold.

Remember not to leave the
Refrigerator door of
Your heart
Open.

They say no love is perfect.
How could anything be imperfect
When love is pulling even the frailest of
Strings attached?

Whether that be a lifeline, a noose, or the
Electrical cord to its own
Respirator, its final word would be
A smiled whisper of either

Hope or rememberance.
Gratitude is grace.
Even diamonds decompose.
Breath gives meaning to air.

Even as dying, I have no time
For bitterness.

Life was too short,
Even before.

Each step holds gratitude for the sound
Of snow beneath it.

For
Now

I carry my passenger
Unburdened.

Say no to nothing. Not
Even the cancer.

Even tomorrow's mother's tears,
Father's clenched fists upon casket;

Flowers; loss. Inevitability.
Death grows inside me.

The opposite of a
Pregnancy.

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.

If I had everything I wanted,
I'd be rich.
If I had everything I needed,
I'd be free.

In a tsunami of turquiose and honest
Smiles, you sing silently of
Anything but tragedies us others wave
Like flags before us,
Until asked.

The oldest young person I know,
And we laugh together across
The oceans between us.
Making noise; annoying haters.
We could be the coolest cats in the world,
If we cared to.

But we'd rather curl up under
My raindeer- and sheep skins by the  
Fire. I'll temper mead; it'll warm you.
We could watch snow falling, lit from the window
By which it fell. Then suit up in the morning

And make angels and snowmen with the landlord's  
Daughter. I'll throw so many snow ***** in the
Back of your head you'll be curly for
Months. Trust me. I'm Norwegian.
You're dead...

You'd love it. Summers are green and blue.
Life in the city electric.
Ice cream and cold, cold beer.
Out here, so quiet you can hear a thousand birds, a
Myriad of scents; freshness; organic.

This could be our happy place. Our
Safe Haven; our Sweet Away.
I'd read to you.
Write about you.
We'd paint together in the fall.
When all is red and auburn.

But there's distance between us
As wide as worlds.
For now I'll enjoy it alone.
Arms open on
Demand.

You have to stay where your life is.
And myself without the pleasure of
Making all your worries whisper away on the wind.

Girl, may you never be cold. Never sad again.
May the life you are so full of
Repay you with bliss.
With love.
With laughter. Oceans of giggles and hugs in
The sunshine.

I wish you so well it hurts. Yes,
I may think you are some sort of magic woman.
Everything you touch
Loves you.

I know you worry at times,
That I look back in affection.
Songs, moments, memories.
That I cover them up and keep
Them alive.

You were tougher at first.
Perhaps not as in love as now.

You're afraid to be fooled.
But I'm no fool.
I don't waste time on half-
Assed love.
I either do, or I don't.

I love you. Her,
I don't.
Past is what it is.
It's all in the name.

I only have
Room for one red rose  
In the carry-on luggage of my life.
So I picked you carefully.
Nipped a few thorns of doubt
From your stem that hurt you
More than my hand.

Looked lovingly upon all the
Petals we have in common;
Values, tastes, loves, histories...

Wrapped you gently within
Safe layers and a shared sense
Of compromise.
Put you down slowly into the
Compartment marked
Other Half,
And walked on.

I believe in winning  
By the rules.
None of my doors are locked.
None of my poems are inked for
Another's heart.
All I have is ours.
All I am is yours.

I have faith in faithfulness.
I go by few books, but one
I follow above all others.

I believe in loving
By the rules.
All other victories are lies.
That's why they call it
Cheating.

Father Fire, make me ashes.
The widow Wind carries tears
With every rainfall,
Forever mourning
Brother Breeze.
Factory chimneys stole his
Soul.

Make me light enough for her
Arms.
Feathers, strands of hair,
Fog breath.
Carry me as these while you
Dance in sorrow.

I will dance with you
Until grandfather Time
Finally rests as
Forever.

Father Fire, make me ashes.
My heart belongs
With other things of lightness.
Fleeting thoughts, stolen
Looks between young lovers;
Warming remarks between
Strangers on a
Winter street
Smiling.

I not only want you as much as
I do (as a man must be dead  
Not to); I cherish your friendship as
If it had followed me for
Decades; not months.
Is this how romance is born?
Will I die again
Now?

Hearts and heads.
Hearts and heads.
Thoughts at daytime,
Tears in bed.

Fingers and skin.
Fingers and skin.
Stop by the church,
Or continue in sin?

Sky so high.
Sky so high.
So far up, and we can't
Fly.

Stone or feather.
Stone or feather.
Float or fall.
We'll find out together.

Whether there be a
God or not
This young woman's arm upon me
-Like a child's around a teddy-

Feels remarkably much like a wing; only
Feathered softer than
Any bird's.

A thousand hands on my skin.
Hours of lips against my
Chest.

Openness, the smell of woman
On every single breath of
Air.

Contained. Possessed.
Consumed. Engulfed. Confined.
Content.

I float in love craving me.
My every cell in bliss.
Water;

I am a leaf in a stream.
Floating in the featherness of
Relentless attention;

Too exhausted to sleep, yet
Giving in to dreaming
On.

A laughing prisoner.
More bars, locks, chains!
Caged in, and so, so free.

Sometimes the way you look
At me gives me that cold
Worry you get

When your cat has been
Gone for a few days too
Long.

Then you do something
Like writing I love you,
Sverre in the palm

Of your beautiful paw to
Show me, and reassurance
Scratches meowing

At the door, craving half
A tin and a belly-
Rub.

She removed some clothes
So the hug would
Take.

The innocence was more intimate
Than ***.
Finally held, safe from enemies

On all fronts. I served my time
As a human shield,
If only

For seconds, as sharp claws
Let go and warm, caring hands
Didn't.

°

I'll be summer sandbox for you.
You be child for a while;
Rest as only kids can;

Lulled and safe, drifting away
To the sound of adults talking
Softly

So you'll sleep, despite the fever.
Warm with sofa, blanket,
And *little.

So the doctor said her foot
Was broken.
Yes, I like a woman tough,
But it's been two months
Since it started hurting.
Suppose few things are as
Subjective as pain.

I rub my right hand when it's
Cold. The one I crushed
Between two containers.
Crane driver was still
Drunk from breakfast;  
Suppose few things are as
Subjective as responsibility.

We're all scars. Broken bones
And bruised hearts.
Embarrasing memories and
Bitten bullets.
Walking on broken feet until
They heal.

Suppose few things are as
Subjective as
Growth.

Daedalus' words were just another
Example of reverse psychology.

There is no sun to melt the wax
Enforcing your wings.

Flight is a victory in- and of itself;  
Freedom, however brief.

Never fear to rise too high.
Those who didn't rose safely.

You would have been just fine
Without the warnings;

Only you and the Sea knowing
The escape you chased was

Within
Her.

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.

Despite all my losses
never a loser

all the jokes; word games.
no clown

take all that I own
no poor man

****** palms, non-  
Messiah

I rest to strike
with greater force,

saving all my laughs
for last.

Happy Birthday, they called to her
As we met up with friends in common
At a later chapter of our first date.

She hadn't told me.
I hadn't done the research.
I should have known,

I admitted -unnonchalantly- before
She kissed me for the first time
And whispered:

I got what I whished for...

Vikings making sacrifice to the gods
Would put their two best black stallions
In a brutal fight. Winner of the two
Was to be given.

Horses of such potential quality were
Often gifted to wealthy infants at the time
Of their first tooth. Slaves were also given,
For luck in life,  
And such gifts were called
*Tooth Fairies.

I remember the ocean.
You tasted of it.

The sparrow and the crow.
Such music.

When we still had love, I'd listen to
Heartbreaking tunes and picture us

Apart.
I won.

Losing can be so ****
Beautiful.

He stood on her doorstep, flowers in hand.
In coat of his father's, resembling a man.
Still queenless a king, now he stands like a slave.
Flowers in hand, resembling a grave.

My brother was three
I five
My father had
The money to spare

Bought us toys
Unannounced

Nothing big
Treasures yet
Beyond adult
Imagination

Guns
Tiny pistols
One themed Batman
One Pink
Panther

The tired young father
Never forgot my brother's
Little hand around
His piece of innocent
Hardware
Fast asleep

Not letting
Go

So

Tell me if I love you
Too fast
Too
Tight

My hand is on you
Always

Now