By: Sverre G. Holter & Digital Asylum*
I am a man. I was put on
Earth to bleed from my hands.
Work is my virtue. I only sleep well
If I'm exhausted.
Your food and shelter is my gain.
My sweat is the salt on our table.
I *am a man, but also child
with a paper-mache heart and
sandcastle dreams, a child wishing
for later tides while we play
splashing in and out of the waves
but the tide always comes,
and castles crumble, and we
we tell ourselves that there's no need for fear
because we will build stronger walls
Today is our day though
Let us work at love.
Let us play with love.
Let us dance until our feet
Blister and we collapse
Laughing into each other's arms in equal fatigue.
All I want is you.
All I have is you.
All I've never lost is love.
It is our costliest toy;
Unbroken it may be for now
yet the time will come, as with all good things
where life and love will come to its bitter end
our lives will have ran their course
and in that moment, we will know and be known
we will laugh our last laugh
we will drink and be merry
knowing we loved and were loved
and as the water comes washing in
we still stand behind walls of sand
and we will face the tide together
I wrote the stanza for Work, DA wrote Play, I wrote Love, and DA wrote Die. Enjoy.
When I die, dear Mother
don't give my body away
I'd rather have it given away to poetry.
I want people to cut me open
how my bones were riddled with
melancholic verses of joyful pasts.
They have to see
the scarlet of my blood was the hue
I stole from the sunsets of
give my body away
to the art of writing:
for they have to look past
everything they have ever learned.
They must know
of how much I loved and I lost,
and how that made the twine of my ribs
a story to tell.
Haven't written anything new in months.
We grew, wild and ragged
in leaf dappled sunbeams
our roots entwined in woodland dens
alive with whispers of secrets shared
and learners kisses.
Summer stretched cat-slow before us
as cool morning dew
lay it's bounty at shoeless feet
and bluebells bowed in reverence
to the dawning of the day.
Winding brooks sang of freedom
as all of nature harmonised
the melody lifting and lilting
to soothe the jealous moon.
How fortunate we were
to thrive at nature's breast
nestled warmly within her constant heart
wrapped safely in her many shades.
I find myself with a sense of "Hiraeth" this afternoon as I look at the city that is now my home. I am a city mouse by default but my valley will always have my heart.
Match, match forward and go, you heroic sons of America
Reconnoiter into the strongholds of boko haram,
And restore our captive girls from the foul custody,
Lawlessly held hostage by the connoisseurs of terror,
Go on and recover poor souls from ribald of religion
Impishly created by Moslem from the satanic verses,
Regulating foray of terror on the poor of the poor
******, mahyeming, looting and executing massacres,
Match on and on yee angels of democracy,
Don’t stop in any haste or in any wonder,
To help in the sham flabbergastations,
About the Igbos who fought the Biafra,
And the Yorubas who federally defended,
Under the aegis of Obasanjo the Sandhurst
General, where are they all to save the girls
Of Nigeria from the Islamist terror
Excuted by boko haram the handmaid of evil.