#finland
Team USA failed to advance
If a threepeat there will be no chance
The Fins they played hard
Beat the States in their yard
Now team USA's gone from the dance
Jan 2
Jan 2, 2026 at 9:25 PM UTC
I miss the colors.
Purple, red and green
Everything you could dream of and more.
Back home they are all grey.
Grey, brown or black.
Gone is the wonder in this winter.
Ice and snow cover the ground yet it does little to amaze me.
I miss the burning sand beneath my feet, the dunes and the open ocean.
Dec 15, 2018
Dec 15, 2018 at 4:24 PM UTC
After what I've done,
at the gate of my dream,
my mind cheats
exaggerates achievements
on how it affected
- how it convinced.
Mar 16, 2018
Mar 16, 2018 at 12:58 PM UTC
START
Blue lights surround
the remote control, he presses
one of the small buttons.
Nuclear attack in
news broadcast, hand
searches blindly the phone.
Video home system
shows time going forward
and moves it back,
when something - unexpected
happened
- still, he panics.
the landlord has to hear whining again
and she is tired to calm him.
WORK
75th anniversary
in the company he hates working
- taking pictures with the staff.
CEO
holds him on his shoulders
and whispers: my children
are not waiting to play
with them, my husband is
not waiting to fry the potatoes.
Empty meeting room,
blue aquarium in the background,
she undresses - chubby body
surprisingly satisfying his
needs.
He does what he hasn't done before,
moves hands across
upper and lower back
- bottom
only to find hemorrhoids.
END
Blue lights shine
the apartment, where he
suffers convulsions of
the things he experienced.
VHS tape runs
a news broadcast
- school shooting,
landlord didn't answer
his calls.
CEO runs in his mind
asking to come back
- to please her inadequte
soul.
Mar 15, 2018
Mar 15, 2018 at 12:36 PM UTC
You are the snowflake
I want to feel on my face.
The snowman,
whose smile I create
with my words
- dimples.
Mar 14, 2018
Mar 14, 2018 at 12:01 PM UTC
Reeds tickle
from the edges of stems
- moving fingertips
which you hear
from my chapped lips
- commitment.
Mar 14, 2018
Mar 14, 2018 at 11:58 AM UTC
Jefferson Airplane performed
Let Me In.
It worked as a silent call
For those, who never heard it
From young women
- men watching, listening.
But their soul did
shout it with
tremendous joy,
in denial of all those
sentences of
Let Me Go.
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 1:41 PM UTC
The wooden swing underneath me,
It creaks as it slowly rocks to and fro to the tempo of the blowing wind,
My feet refuse to touch the grass,
For they want to disturb neither the surreal silence that courses through me,
Nor the perfection of the dewy grass under my being.
Another gust of air caresses my hair,
It lingers before it escapes and leaves me almost in despair.
The weather yearns to reach true summer,
But it never quite does.
A rusty bike leans on the late wooden fence,
A single white undergarment lies draped over a bright blue string,
A filthy watering can positions itself,
Next to a meager patch of small purple flowers.
These small flowers are so trifling,
They’re so insignificant.
When I enter the house,
I know I’ll take in the sweet aroma of berries,
Heaps upon heaps.
Up my nose, the scent will creep.
Oh the smell of the freshest most delectable summer fruits.
The kind that make sure they leave their mark,
No matter how careful you are.
The kind that leave juices dripping down your wrists.
The kind that make my tongue a canvas splattered with red dyes.
I’ll look into my Mummi’s bright blue eyes,
I’ll stare at the lines on her face.
There will be something so young about her,
But underneath the creases, stretch marks, and wrinkles,
I won’t be able to tell what it is.
I’ll imagine her meeting my grandfather,
Way back when he was a handsome young man,
At least from the photographs.
Her blue eyes would admire him.
They’d watch him light a cigarette,
Turn the page of a fresh novel.
She knew she was in love.
At the time she didn’t know,
One day she’d bear his seven children.
Her spouse and her firstborn son would have left before she had the chance to.
She’d live in this house alone,
It’d be the only thing she’d known,
A time capsule stuck in the nineteen seventies,
It’d be littered with old cassettes,
Sepia photographs,
Refrigerator magnets.
She’d sit on her rocking chair,
Until her mistakes could no longer be repaired.
Letting the days languidly slip away.
She’d listen to the chair’s unchanging creaks,
And the murky sounds escaping the radio,
The one with the fork planted into one of its antennas.
She’d watch those old sepia photos
Begin to add only the reddest reds and bluest blues,
Until finally she’d witness wedding pictures,
Communion snapshots,
In the most vibrant colors.
The television would add channels,
Whilst the old library truck would forget her address.
It didn’t matter,
She’d read every book anyway.
Life would have left without her.
She’d have neither traveled much nor loved enough.
She’d watch her oldest daughter leave,
Trying to grasp and hold onto those cravings her mother never could achieve.
She’d say,
“Mummi’s little girl will fly high as the sky and run quick as the August wind.”
But I know that when I enter that same, humble home,
And smell those same aromas I know,
She’ll say oh so simply,
“Emmi, muru, would you like some more strawberries?”
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 2:11 AM UTC
Most peculiarly of most things was that I thought all of this very fishy, daudry, drab, and boresome. This is where I turn on the second table lamp...
In a muster I arrived to the home of my aunt, where at once she drew me into the back of the house, down a flight of stairs made of tusk and bone into a catacomb where she kept a alive collection of wooly mammoths. She said the upkeep wasn't awfully horrendous as she had an invisible backdrop which led to a lion, a witch, and a wardrobe sort of thing. I stood in the gangway behind 10 foot high thigh bones waiting for one of the monstrous red beasts to come greet me, but what arrived was a very large elephant with longer tusks than usual. None of the red sillyness which I had dreamt of seeing in my previous years.
She could see I was not that impressed, and so I was led to another part of her home. Around the corner walked in my uncle in is superb and luxurious dress, reminiscent of 18th century British military fatigues. He said, "I bought the E.T. ride from Universal Studios, but as bringing the whole ride to my home I had them adapt a more suitable version to fit the property. A hangar opened and inside there were four chariots of orange and blue, diamond shaped school buses with their undersides aimed at withholding a V-shaped street. Then in two and two single file order all the classmates of my K-12 years arrived and took seat into the strappings of this 'ride' we were to take. Music played, John Williams even was produced by hologram, and after the ups and downs for several minutes we arrived to what I thought would inevitably be the forest, but rather was what I perceived was a Finnish town. The chariot I was in was stuck in the street, mud, rain, and soot entrenched us. I unbuckled the polyester straps and when I stood I realized that though the seats had built in urinals and toilets they were utterly noiseome to the senses. I followed a local girl to a food mart where I asked how I could find where I was but no one spoke a drop of English.
I corraled the group and told them to wait for me. I followed this girl who seemed quite younger than I to a small apartment in the uppermost floor of a very unsturdy chapel-like home several suburban blocks from our ride. She immediately removed her pants and I saw with my very own eyes that she was hairless and nubile. She insisted that we have a **** and after I caressed her and complained too that she was far too young, she insisted that the age of consent in Germany was actually 13 yet she was 16. I remember it clearly. The most gigantuous feelings of pleasure as I mended a studio closet for my dining room furniture inside her ripening channel. Eventually after an hour we finished, she offered me a towel and some biscuits, which I consumed joyously.
Upon leaving her home I remembered that she had said we were in Germany, and so I produced a measure of Deutsch that I had been saving in my repetoir for the right moment. As Finnish is not my strongest language I was pleased of this and became instantly popular among the other candidates of our journey. This E.T. ride is far different than I remember it having been. Moments later I awoke quickly, a tuft of her black hair on my eiderdown comforter and a veil of tears from the merriment of glee shrouded over my face. After I rolled and balled into the soft feathers of my bedding, I twisted myself again into a knot, and allowed myself to rejoin the soporific treatice I was aiming for.
This is now where I turn off both lamps and go on watching films of a similar style.
Wishing You The Very Best,
Sir Martin Narrod
I keep my family of conscience
I shred my folly of heir
In case of torment or fondness
I never wear underwear.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 6:09 AM UTC