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Terry Collett Sep 2017
Dalya argued in harsh whispers
with the Yank girl in the back of
the mini bus. Don't want to know
about who you've spread your

skinny thighs for. Benny couldn't
focus on Solzhenitsyn's book on
the labour camps and for whom
her legs were spread. He closed

the depressing book with its red
cover and Solzhenitsyn's gaze
looking at him. Yank Girl, reddening
muttered: just chitchat in confidence,

not for all and sundry. We're coming
into Copenhagen, the driver/guide said.
Yank Girl looked daggers at Dalya,
then gazed out a window. Dalya wiped

spittle from her lips and wiped her hand
on her jeans. Benny wondered who it
was that lay between her thin thighs.
Not him; may be the guide or bearded

Aussie or the school teacher with
the red ears. Dalya sat back and
held his hand. Her  fingers entwined
with his, skin on soft skin. Last night
she spread her wings and he was in.
Benny outside Copenhagen in 1974
Ellie Elizabeth Dec 2016
the wind carries me to an island
floating through my memories
I’ve glided through the past
my heart is yearning to go back
to summer roast duck
in the Swedish city,
not far from the train
that takes us back home
or the ferry to Bornholm
the island my heart desires
freedom on a bike
rolling hills to my right,
filled with fields of wild lavender
as well as the aimless lone windmill
to my left, with my arms spread wide
my head tilted back
coasting down the hill,
is the vast expanse of the ocean
the blue that meets the clear skyline
the air is hot and sticky
yet the sun beams leaving a hot burn
I can feel this day,
if I just shut my eyes
as if I were on the island
which was not far from home
when the ferry took us back
Home, where the people are themselves
where they depend on each other
their culture unites them
in a city I fell in love with
in a way I’ve never loved before

I love you like I can never love another
love is not always a person
LJ Jun 2016
Train spotted on ancient rail tracks
Mucks and grants on submerged pasts
Copper and ***** metal poles point
Upwards in heaven above the panelled tops
Price all  the intentional conditioning
A paradise of self sufficiency
A dew of ranting , the metal raiding
Price the substitutional compressions
A timber frame of tunnels
The heightened temperature
Price and tag her beautiful mind
An attachment of glorified plinth
The punch of the chaotic medals
Pride and rearrange her plentiful plight
Show all her cast frame in crimson and greys
Echoes Of A Mind Mar 2016
Wandering alone on a dark street
Not knowing where I am
My phone ran out of battery
Now I can't even use "Maps"
It's too dark to see
The signs on the houses
Copenhagen in a nutshell
I'm not surprised...

A stranger walks over towards me
With his eyes fastened on me
In my head panic rises
A thought screaming
******!, ******!
**** paranoia!
Calmly he asks me
Do you know where I am?
He was just a lost boy like I...

We discover
That we both are looking
For the same building
So we walk together
While we keep talking
Just like me
This guy doesn't know
Copenhagen that well
But we found the college
And said our farvel...

It's funny how two heads
Can be better than one
Since none of us
Would have found the college
On our own
But two heads only works
As long as it isn't about feelings
Because then everything
Becomes a mess...

Since there's no one
Who always
Will be feeling the same
As you
And there's no safty
That you and he
Will make peace
After having argued
But that is how
Life's supposed to be...

So this stranger and I
Only managed to function
As a team
Since we were working
On an assignment
Two lost boys
Looking for the college
And then we both know
That we won't meet again...
Just a random poem...
Echoes Of A Mind Mar 2016
I'm tired
And since I'm not eating
Then my energy
Is non-existing
I'm barely keeping my eyes open
As I type in the words
For this poem.

I'm trying not to make typos,
But it's hard when you only see
A cloudy version of the keyboard
Since your eyelids are slowly closing.

Outside people are enjoying
The sun
Which for once
Are shining over Denmark
But I'm just sitting inside
The University of Copenhagen
Occupying myself
So that there's no time
For crying

I bought myself a new book
One by Niccolò Machiavelli
I plan to read it
In the holiday
And I'm really looking forward to this
Since through the last four years
People have often recommended me
To read it...

So while Green Day's "Panic Song" is playing
On my headphones
I'll finish my poem
And return to my book
'Cause though I'm tempted
Then I can't keep wasting my time
Writing poems
Just to I keep myself occupied.
Maybe I'll take the book
And go read outside
In the sunshine...
Ok....Back to work!.. :)
Terry Collett Dec 2015
She's back,
said Dalya,
the skinny Yank dame
is back, and shares my tent
with her perfume and talk;
her tales of whom she's had
and whom she's slept with
and how much they spent
on her and why and where.

Benny met me by the bar
in the Copenhagen base camp,
beers and smokes
and burgers and fries,
and me telling him
about the dame
and what she says
and does, and o that perfume
enough to drown in,
and he laughed
and said he heard
the Yank dame was after
the Aussie guy who
he shared a tent with
and the Aussie guy
was hot for her.

The base camp speakers
were pumping out Deep Purple,
high guitars
and bellowing vocals,
and Benny said when will
you and I get together again?
and I said
as soon as the dame goes
or leaves or shacks up
with another.  

We went into the City
and saw some sights,
the Tivoli Gardens,
the Little Mermaid statue,
and had a few more beers
and smokes
and he kissed me
and it was a hot kiss,
and I wanted him,
but there was no where to go,
so I just carried
the image of him
back to my tent
and where I,
well you know.
Copenhagen is a movie that greatly parallels my relationship
Yet the more I saw them thrive the lonelier I felt
The lonelier I felt the more space I seemed to occupy in my bed

Near the last quarter of the movie there was a scene
That made me think to myself
"Effy is the only woman that can slap a man then make him dance"
And I took up more of my bed
Ordomkasteren Jan 2015
I de aller
sorte, mørke nætter
fyldt til randen
med regn
er det så rart
at vandre
over det brolagte
søgende efter det
absolutte ingenting
i mørke kopper
med den næste salige lykke i.
Ordomkasteren Jan 2015
Med stigende uvidenhed skaber jeg mig gennem de sene timer som en teaterdronning
Taber min dyre cocktail i en rist, men køber bare lige en ny
for alle de penge jeg ikke ved jeg ikke har.
Danser som en kluntet prinsesse eller en elegant søko.
Skaber balance mellem komplet umulighed og overdreven lykke.
Hælene vokser med flydende magi og jeg nærmer mig jorden.
Med de aller vildeste hiphop skills som jeg aldrig fik lært,
bevæger jeg mig over dansegulvet.
Strutter med munden
kniber øjnene sammen
prøver at se sejere ud end muligt
kaster ikkeeksisterende håndtegn.
Snart må alle kongerne da kaste sig på rockknæ og bejle som svinedrenge til det vidunderligt dansende ego.
Med svindende tilstedeværelse
kaster jeg mig i ærmerne
på en ukronet fremmed,
mine døve ører dræber musikken.
Bliver ved med at vaccinere
mig selv
mod alt det jeg gerne vil glemme.
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