#sweden
Men throwing granite on ice
A sport where all players act nice
There's been accusations
By various nations
That a Canadian touched the stone twice
Feb 17
Feb 17, 2026 at 2:23 PM UTC
There’s an illness from history’s pages
Which can even afflict the courageous
Beware of the syndrome
When visiting Stockholm
I’m told that it’s mildly contagious
There's a tome in the royal collection
Behind triple-pane glass for protection
If the legend is right
It was penned overnight
By a monk under Satan's direction
Jun 21, 2025
Jun 21, 2025 at 4:57 AM UTC
Been looking into bridges
Over water, to go swinging
Down in flames I fall asleep
Dreaming about my breath away
A fjord flowing between ridges
Frem og tilbake water bringing
Me out to sea to fall asleep
Til then I wake up. It's today.
Mar 8, 2025
Mar 8, 2025 at 12:04 PM UTC
swish of sheets
and flurries of light,
cotton through fingers
a touch to wet ice.
pillows of white,
slow nights of sleet
call to mine conscience
fond memories to keep.
Apr 5, 2020
Apr 5, 2020 at 6:03 AM UTC
Man får säga ibland
Att det finns skönhet som inte går att beskriva
När till och med en himmelsk strand
Skulle se gräslig ut om man skulle jämföra
Så länge jag bor här
Kommer det inte finnas något att klaga på
Vi är som ett par
Med två partiklar som möttes och blev oskiljaktiga
Jag har varit med dig i tre år nu
Och kärleken brinner fortfarande
Det är uppenbarligen jag och du
Och det är inget erbjudande
Det är hellre ett vackert oundvikligt löfte
Som skrevs med outplånligt bläck på ett häfte
Du ser ut som en mångfacetterad hydra
Som står ovanför en blå matta
Det känns så skönt att korsa dina broar
Och att gå vilse i kurvorna du har
Jag måste också prata om din gröna klänning
Som man inte kan undvika att smeka
Den absorberar solsken, släpper syre, får oss att leva
Och gör mig glad när jag kommer kring
Du är ljusare än solen under sommaren
Men mörkare än ett svart hål när vinter spränger dörren
Som regnet som får regnbågen att dyka upp
Uppskattar jag mörkret för då ser man norrsken
Samtidigt, brukar snö bygga upp
En vit rock som försvinner sen
Du var inte mitt första val från början
Men nu står du högst upp på listan
Jag behöver erkänna att jag är kär i dig
Trots att du inte ens är en riktig tjej.
Feb 18, 2020
Feb 18, 2020 at 12:37 PM UTC
Visit me in Stockholm
We'll be happy together
Locked up and stuck wherever
Stay with me
Forever
Dec 5, 2019
Dec 5, 2019 at 7:43 PM UTC
Fingerprints and fibers,
Accumulated talk,
Whispers in the corners,
Bodies demarcated in chalk
On the marble courtroom stairs.
His misery became a pall.
With mourning signs in splattered pairs,
Red flowers on the wall.
All that he had left behind was grief
And powerless rage,
A Tansu chest in high relief,
A coiled brass clock fatigued with age.
Retreating to a white house in Simrishamn,
He’d walk his dog along the shore,
Find sterile clues amongst the sands,
And travel a ferry between two lands.
And now: An experiment! Blame Google Translate for this weird (?) Swedish translation: Please tell me if this is a bad translation!
Fingeravtryck och fibrer,
Ackumulerat samtal,
Viskar i hörnen,
Kroppar avgränsad i krita
På marmor rättssal trappor.
Hans elände blev en pall.
Med sorgsignaler i splatterade par,
Röda blommor på väggen.
Allt som han hade lämnat var sorg
Och maktlös raseri,
En Tansu bröst i hög lättnad,
En spolad mässingsklocka utmanad med åldern.
Att återvända till ett vitt hus i Simrishamn,
Han skulle gå sin hund längs stranden,
Hitta sterila ledtrådar bland sandarna,
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 12:24 PM UTC
Brown jacket, chase it up the rocks.
Afraid to slip on the moss and fly without wings down the side.
Or is it lichen?
There's the sea, or bay or ocean.
It's salty, that's certain from the taste of the air.
Back down the hill through wet trees.
Everything is wet.
It's misting ice.
And radiating grey.
Chase the jacket, don't get lost.
Chase the
Wet haird and feeling wild, thoughts are finally scattered
and it feels like we're alive.
Feb 16, 2018
Feb 16, 2018 at 10:12 PM UTC
It rains as they put up the tent
they work as fast as they can
but still get soaked to the skin.
Once the tent is up
they climb inside.
I'm going to the shower block
to shower and change
into dry clothes
Dalya says.
The other girl
mumbles similar
and they grab their towels
and walk through the rain
to the female shower block
and go inside.
They peel off
the wet clothes
and put them under a bench
and go into the showers
and turn on the taps.
Hot water
Dalya closes her eyes
and lets the water
rush over her body and hair.
She wishes Benny was there
to wash her body with soap
his hands moving over her curves
and between her thighs
under and over her stiff *******
But he is not there
and she must do it herself
and pretend with eyes closed
that it is him there.
His hands not hers
his breath on her neck
as he whispers words.
His hands about her body
smoothing down skin.
She spreads her thighs pretending
letting out sighs.
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 4:17 AM UTC
I wanted you to be like me.
You wanted me to be you.
It worked for awhile.
But we found our way back..
To the ones we actually are.
That's when it crashed.
Our worlds collided.
It didn't match.
We grew apart again.
But for a brief moment, we were something.
We were glorious.
Jul 15, 2017
Jul 15, 2017 at 3:57 PM UTC
I love John, she said, euphemising me to play dead,
I said sure but inside my head I started picturing him in my bed.
Outside the filthiest room I sneakattacked and started to consume,
our lips began to fume and his smile erased the gloom.
Skipped the bread for some red wine, at least it wasnt moonshine,
couldnt walk any further on the line since it felt too ******* fine.
I knew it would be trouble as soon as I got stung by his stubble,
so we formed a brown and grey bubble, made the population double.
I find myself hiding, from all the decorous chiding,
we're foolishly sliding, in our bubble of bliss we're confiding.
Slippin by the sleeping moose, watch the penguins as they snooze,
No need to even zip the ***** since he's the drug I choose to use.
Inhale the scent of his collarbone, entering my safety zone,
watch him while he's getting ****** the smell of weed's like his cologne.
Catching the sunrise, never knew that it could comprise such a beauty of that size,
but seein' it through his reddish eyes, makes me wanna demise the kingdom down between my thighs,
just give it away to this guy so I can keep on getting surprised by the Castlewood morning skies.
Jul 1, 2017
Jul 1, 2017 at 5:25 AM UTC
Cups of coffee and plates with sugar crumbs
from pastry warm with cinnamon and cardamom,
and books overturned on antique tables
with scruff marks and scratches, loved, well-used,
(and me, in the middle of it all, listening to the
heartbeat of this country and its sincerity,
learning wisdom through small things).
He is a six foot springtide of caffeine and literature,
effervescent with sincerity and kindness and warmth.
I smile at him over the rim of my cup, and
suddenly I am swept up and moving with
his current, in love with him and a summer
spent scribbling into casebound notebooks
and with my hair flying in the wind that rustles
the trees around us, and with his lips on my neck.
Wild roses on brick walls and wooden window frames,
and the lavender growing on the curb all smile,
content to witness summer love bloom like
all things tend to do, in this season and this place.
I let him explain to me the stars in nights that
never seem to really begin but last forever;
he teaches me in not-quite darkness what
they mean, and I tell him under fairy-lights
how small I feel in the multitude of this universe.
He nods solemnly and I feel his breath in my hair,
holding me on this earth as he shows me galaxies.
- lund. cs.
Jun 17, 2017
Jun 17, 2017 at 11:49 AM UTC
Dalya bought a burger
at the burger joint,
bought a beer
at the camp bar.
Sat on one
of the benches,
ate the burger.
Benny sat opposite,
ate his hot dog,
sipped his beer.
They'd been
into Stockholm,
saw the sights,
ate at some cafe
that did good meals.
Rock music churned out
over the loudspeakers,
ACDC stuff.
What you doing after?
She said.
There's a disco over
by the shower block,
he said.
Don't fancy it,
she said.
Where's the Yank girl?
He asked.
She's off
with the Aussie
in the City.
My tent or yours?
Benny said.
Makes no different,
she said.
If they come back
too soon we're *******
She ate,
eyed him.
He sipped,
eyed her.
Her knees touched his
under the bench.
Won't be back
in awhile,
she said.
The ACDC ended.
Crowd noise.
Beer stink.
Burger smell.
Led Zeppelin
music started.
After we can,
she said.
My tent is best,
she added.
He nodded,
smiled.
Music got louder,
got wild.
Mar 7, 2017
Mar 7, 2017 at 11:41 AM UTC
Dalya smokes
as I do
in some bar
in the camp
in Stockholm
want a beer?
she asks me
sure why not
so she buys
two large beers
and we talk
of the tents
that now leak
and the dame
who nigh sleeps
with most guys
on the trip
(not me though)
one of whom
a teacher
when back home
some wise prat
who claimed she
(that's Dalya)
was quite fat
I'd say plump
I tell her
Rubens type
not like her
Dalya says
skinny ****
and tit-less
that teacher
she goes on
I'll have him
on his own
and sit on
his thick head
we drink beer
listening
the music
from the large
loud speakers
some rock stuff
loud guitars
thrashing drums
and I think
she's ****
standing there
in white top
and black jeans
with black hair
and her wild
dark eyed stare.
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 1:37 PM UTC
(by Bruce Bawer)
In Sønderberg the other day
A teenage girl used pepper spray
To rout a randy “refugee”
From somewhere far across the sea
Who threw down and molested her.
The cops arrested her.
As part of a jihadist plot,
A brute assailant took a shot
At a fine Copenhagen man
Who'd deprecated the Quran.
When the brave soul who'd nearly died
Then publicly identified
The **** who'd tried to **** him, he
Was charged with grave delinquency:
Breaching privacy.
In Mölndal, a Somali teen
Plunged a long blade into the spleen
Of a young Swedish altruist
Who'd yearned to do one thing: assist.
The land's top cop went on TV
And trumpeted his sympathy.
For the poor girl who'd lost her life?
No. For the kid with the knife.
At one time it was understood
That a devotion to the good
Didn't mean one should be blind
To evil, or pretend to find
Some virtue in sheer villainy.
To see what isn't there to see
Is not a sign of rectitude.
To point out evil isn't rude;
To fight it is good.
You can't, however hard you try,
Mistake for a speck in the eye
A loaded *** in the hands
Of some rough beast from foreign sands
Intent on taking out a child.
You'll win no points for being mild
To members of a desert creed
That seeks to make the heathen bleed
And preaches that the kind and meek
Are contemptibly weak.
Christ said to turn the other cheek.
But what if it's not just your cheek?
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 1:58 PM UTC
This bold mahogany dawn never retires
Buckets of roses unfold along the slopes of this graphite mountain
Smoke stirs from the cave wall paintings
Where wild horses lead the feral battles of yesterday
The most vulnerable humans could ever be is now
With four eyes and four arms open.
She might be as wet as a blonde Swedish shark- no matter.
The best and worst of life comes from the sacred triangle
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 5:18 AM UTC
♪♥♫♥♫♥♪♥♫♥♫
My fantasies turned blonde in ‘seventy-six.
Bjorn, and the flickas sailed from East to West.
Santa Lucia never shone so blessed
as she did in my private Euro-mix.
Perfect pop longs for that feminine fix.
Cassette wheels whirred – branding, then impressing
grooves upon the brain; my thrall confessing
love for Nordic light (in Disco metrics).
The names still strike flames, kindling bright renown:
Frida, Agnetha – your longships linger
Your Viking faces sacked my harbor town.
portaging hope to this shipwrecked singer,
enwreathing smiles to reach our further shore.
I Do… (times five – and will forevermore).
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 10:49 PM UTC