"copenhagen" poems
Welcome Back To This, Your Isle
The rabbits beneath the deck,
Even the pesky deer who eat the shrubbery,
Sea creatures, living and spirits of the dead,
Lying on the paths and in the creeks of Silver Beach,
All inquire:
Was it better wherever you went?
Were the:
Bears, hiding in the forests outside Berlin,
Eagles, double headed, of Russia
Herring, fried, creamed, wined,
From the vendors on the docks of
Helsinki, Riga, Visby and Tallinn,
Salmon, smoked and cured in Stockholm,
More impressive,
Tastier than our striped bass,
Island cohorts of yours, who waited patiently
For their chronicler to return?
Did the Little Mermaid and her Dolphin
Guardians of the Port of Copenhagen
Welcome you more warmly than your friends,
The ospreys, lizards, turtles and owls
Who overwatch your steps and safety
When hiking in Mashomack Preserve?
Are the interlacing tidal creeks,
Woodlands, fields, salt marshes and the ragged,
Irregular but charmed coastline of this cherished island
Any lesser than those of Scandinavia?
Are the sea-going ferries that transverse the
Baltic Sea and the Gulf of Finland,
More poetic than the Menantic or the Lt. Joe,
Who carry you swiftly home to us?
The National Geographic people say that in
Tivoli Gardens, The Amerikaner (ha!) waffle ice cream cone
Is one of the ten best in the world.
Guessing they have not made it yet to the
Tuck Shop for some Moose Tracks!
Were you unaware that our isle settled before
Peter the Great ever envisioned creating the grand
Boulevards of his capitol, St. Petersburg,
Route 114 was a traveled forest path,
By settlers and Indians, not serfs.
Of the Treasures, the Gold Room of the Hermitage,
The Amber Room of Catherine's Palace,
Wrote not a single word, we observe.
Your attentions, they did not deserve?
The answers all, self evident.
Here, surrounded by the gentle breezes of
Long Island Sound and Gardiners Bay,
Sweet and salty flavors of the Peconic atmosphere,
Words unlocked, from your eyes to the page fall,
Smudged by joyous tears, for the muses of the island
Have embraced you yet again and rebirthed
Inspiration, within their comforting, sheltering grasp.
Silver Beach
July 22, 2012
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 4:50 PM UTC
everyone's talking
about freedom of speech
as if it should come at no cost
like something you teach
it's never been that way
and it never will be
we need to be reminded
of what it means to be free.
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 8:40 PM UTC
*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...*
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 9:05 AM UTC
I.
AM.
A.
Piece of ****
Here's how i roll.
I plop the excrement, directly in the pool.
I **** on chairs,
This is where i place stool.
Plip plob drop loads,
Crenated blood cells and lymphatic drool.
Hurt my kidneys in a fight with truth the other night.
7 brutal, flooring uppercuts to the Latisimus dorsi....
I am > "this girl"
That one that's taken more hits in the face than Tyson.
The one that makes Jenna and Sunni Leone look like pre-school dropouts of ****
Guys say.
"She"
"got the,"
"best head."
She has nothing in it though.
Her brain's finished by the time words leave her lips whole.
thats as far as it gets
the words pass her **** then she falls, grab her hips.
Prepare the sword for the stone.
The one with the baby whole in her dome.
She's not good, much else.
Her black hair and wisdom lines go bout as deep as her shirt.
Depending on the day.
Pervert.
Lets do ANOTHER line.
"Oh My GOD!" "We did so much *******
Coke in cans.
Filled with whiskey flask-hand.
"This night's gunna be one to remember",
if his member is inside, that's my gender,
Blend it with all the worst intentions,
Use the worst intentions.
Stab the heart of conviction.
Tear it to tethers with tension.
Rip the strings of friendship.
Tease the knots of frayed linen,
Like its the only thing ya got.
"I am so high right now."
I forgot what earth looks like.
Probably like my town.
Only place I've been.
I'm 17 ya see.
Its the only thing you got.
You don't deserve roses, flowers, Laurels.
No trees.
No dime bags, no speed, no crying hag.
I can sure **** 25 yearolds.
Saying your better never sounded more like a lie.
Worst thing is you have that prevarication internalized.
I have a god complex...
Wanna save em all...
Can't save a ******* one...
I did lie once...
It was...
When I told you that you weren't...
A piece of ****
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 12:58 AM UTC
I won't mind being surreal,
if you won't scurry
seeing me in my real self,
and kind enough not to
think of me as outlandish
as something like 'Shrodinger's cat'
kept in a box
that is both alive and dead!
(to the universe outside the box
as the' Copenhagen interpretation' implies,
dont ask me how!)
I am least interested in'quantum entanglement'
which i can do without, but oh! mathematics
that mother of all sciences is hell bent, it seems
to hunt me down till I say uncle.
They have told me ,
what I am now
is not mathematically possible!
(whatever it means)
They looked at me as if
I don't exist.
(Oh! my poor Shrodinger's cat
I now understand your plight;
oh ! to be both dead and 'undead' theoretically
when reality chooses to go naked!)
I just said this:
I have no use to mathematics
that refuses to believe in me
if maths find me unacceptable
all I want to say is this,
how would maths even touch poetry with a barge pole?
and don't forget, maths creates the poetry of the universe!
**Oh! I am confused
forgive me for being Buridan's ***
that sees in maths 'Shrodinger's cat'**
They looked horrified
and in a moment
turned to thick smoke
and dissolved!
Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 12:07 PM UTC
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
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 8:57 AM UTC
You drunk texted me
Last night from Copenhagen.
I've missed that too much.
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 1:43 PM UTC
youcouldhearourflesh rip
apart.
(as though it had ever beentogether
as though we were ever
more
than car crashes
than house fires.
I held onto your address, you know
when you held on to my hand;
when you held up the traffic;
when you left
me
and drank
Copenhagen
through a paper straw.
The whetted splendour of it all:
I wonder if the drowned ever
noticed
how the sun kisses The Sea?
down
we
sank.
Did your feet touch the bottom or
did you swim
to the sound of -
to the sound of br ea k ing vi oli n s ?
I snapped each string
like I was pulling teeth.
Your address folded into
waves,
your house burned to
dust,
the kind god keepssafe -
“one last
keep sake”
in his pockets.
If I tightened my hands,
doyouthinkicouldchokeonthis
cable?
Wouldthatstop time or
your voice or
my voice; the voicemails;
the answer machine that
no one ever
answered?
My blueeyed boy was born in goodbyes
he sleeps in seas
irrevocable:
and The Tide washes him home to me
every day.)
it sounded like fingers
tangled in phone wire
and br ok e nv io l in s.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 7:06 PM UTC
In Lisbon, we blended
ended the day with spectacular culinary
Shopped and hopped side to side
In Dublin, we vented
as the whisky and Guinness was **** good
Shipped the hire car to Galway
In Italy, we invented
dropped coins in fountains of love we already held
From Florence, to Milan, to Rome, to Bologna
In Paris, I rented
alone in protests and hippies at Place De La Republique
Dreamt of you as they skated
In Romania, I persisted
up on the icy Tranfagarasan highway traps
I saw a bear and it had your eyes
In Stockholm, we insisted
As the Vasa sunk on tables of *****
Pecked on the trains and shied away.
In London, we protested
It was an ordinary day and the flowers didn't bloom
The Thames was gloomy and stale
In Oslo, we transmitted
The reindeer meal and cranberry was a disaster
The gloom followed us to southern skies
In Copenhagen, you were sorted
Smiled and amused by the Tivoli gardens
The night became day and the wind withered
In Amsterdam, we did what we did
Stored the memories on the reclaimed lands
Free-spirited in love and in eternity
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 6:05 PM UTC
this is love stripped of poetry, so here darling, i might as well just rip out my chest because not loving you is the last act of self-inflicted violence. how i rue the days. i might as well just rip my chest out and give you my heart — burrow your way under my skin, like wood dusts drawn to the wounds in my heels. i will give up poetry to be loved by you in ways not dreamy. in ways raw. sober. aware. unadulterated. lawless. infinite. in intense, longing gazes. in ways that stray from falling apart so beautifully, in such chest-tearing grace. in ways that stain tenderness. in ways that crash and burn.
my love, catch me. watch me tear down the world in the name of your eyes. watch me tear down poetry. i have no need for it.
Aug 17, 2021
Aug 17, 2021 at 1:47 AM UTC
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
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 8:48 AM UTC
If things don't exist until we see them-
then everything must be poetry.
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 4:58 PM UTC
I swear I had snus
Sorely missin my chew
Well ding dang
I got myself the Copenhagen blues
Guess I'll run to the store
Cuz I just ain't sane
Without a little Copenhagen
I might forget my name
Looks like I'm makin a ***** run
I love Cope so much so
I gotta go get some
But when I ask for a can
The clerk says sorry sweetie
Just sold my last to that man
Nov 23, 2016
Nov 23, 2016 at 7:37 PM UTC
There is a can of cheap tobacco
Sitting patiently on your desk
Cracked open on occasion;
Ready to be chewed up
And spit back out.
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 12:32 PM UTC
*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...*
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 10:11 AM UTC
Once felt in the lonely, identical corridors
of hotels, hostels, hallways of homeless flatblocks;
The urge,
The urge to move the moment,
Move the momentum of the meandering life
From work to shop to sleep to work to shop to sleep,
Supplanted by the unattainable mental utopia,
Supplanted by delusions in the colour of dreams,
Supplanted by 10,000 madman notes on the nature of daylight,
Tender sounds accelerated into screams,
Lost in the pylon forest,
Trapped by Tendonitis, Tinnitus, and terrestrial TV,
Stifling the electoral laugh,
Deafened by D-beat, Dubstep, and Democratic conventions,
Bled to death in Bosnia,
Died in Damascus,
Executed in Entebbe,
Murdered in Mogadishu,
Born in Berlin,
Lived in London,
Carried in Copenhagen,
And again in Amsterdam,
Until tomorrow’s endless oceans
Forecast nothing of their waves,
Until tomorrow’s endless oceans
Safely say their real names.
Aug 10, 2016
Aug 10, 2016 at 10:37 AM UTC
I know your wishing to do the things you once were itching.
Some words of wisdom would help you body stop the itching.
This chair of lies declines, your track of life.
Overflows the light, and withstanding might.
Stepping stones they broke into small sheets of ice.
Drenched and cold the frost bite will take your life.
Magic making the fancy wound is the tool for taking.
Your head is flaking mistakes that you had started making.
(You cry)
Princess princess please don't take away my wound.
You stupid full ill drowned you in a 6 foot pound.
And I'll count the bubbles as they begin to surface.
With my endurance Insurgence they won't need insurance.
So take a minute to sit down and grab some courage.
Your gonna need it the fenex is coming out of storage.
To burn to ash the cowards and all the Allen Howard's
Copenhagen I ran again in a grizzly pouch.
It was plenty so many who was the one keeping count.
Distinguished persons your yuppies just using daddy's checks
Your dicusting just buying things with no intent.
Plant water a Yankee Candle is a perfect date
Perfect smile pretty eyes is a perfect trait.. Wait
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 1:04 PM UTC
I met a nice young man
Picking plastic
From a garbage can
He informed me thus:
"All American citizens are
Stupid
And degenerate"
I wished to respond in turn:
"All Americans are
Intelligent
And industrious"
But this would be equally false
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 4:31 PM UTC
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.
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 3:55 PM UTC
Instability.
Keyword: instability.
Mid-May and the room has a blue cold, runny nose, condensation clasping the window like a quiet leech. Through the narrow chinks of my cavern, I can glimpse a computer surrounded by world in peripheral; fish eye vision like religious fervor, I realize life has made a lasting impression on whatever I am.
whatever I am.
Dream fades to life, life fades to dream, some alien language crash landed on Earth and now we all speak English (except, you know, the ten thousand other dialects all branched from the Indo-European earth worm). People like to say that everything changes. Nothing stays the same. Does the fact of change never change? Does that not make constants a possibility, even if only within the Many World Interpretation of Quantum Physics (capitalized! it's a name and 'Quantum Physics' likes playing the smiling subtitle ( :) ) ) now I wasn't in Copenhagen the day a jury of physicists decided on Reality; but I was in Reality (capital R) so I'm sure that counts for something.
They say they don't know who 'they' are; as if a brief allusion to a greater network somehow invalidates the point (but 'they' is the 'you' you decide to ignore; the 'you' composite of influences 'you' simply grew around; 'they' is the part of yourself 'you' keep tucked away comfortably like a newborn child that doesn't know any better).
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 2:06 AM 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
Night,
cold, dark,
in Copenhagen.
Beer,
a friend,
a bar.
We talked about life,
broken loves,
and new seductions.
There were many **** women
in that place,
but none like her.
It wasn’t her body,
it wasn’t what she didn’t say,
she hadn’t even spoken to us.
It was what she radiated,
her gestures,
her gaze,
her harmony.
All the others, full of signals,
red lips,
high heels,
but you, just the simple waitress.
We didn’t know what was happening,
it was magnetism,
a universal energy,
something spiritual.
Maybe it was your presence,
sweet goddess,
disguised as a servant.
A goddess,
one we longed to worship.
You walked up to us,
"Another drink?" you asked.
That sweetness
was a dose of a drug
we craved more of.
He was charged with ecstasy,
an energy,
inviting you to talk,
but saying, I don’t need you.
An energy,
of here I am,
and this is who I am.
That passion,
of being herself,
of acceptance.
That night, I went home
without knowing what happened,
without knowing what had struck me.
What could have been,
was strange,
was magnetism.
What was it?
Mar 4, 2025
Mar 4, 2025 at 1:23 PM UTC
He looks like messy eyebrows and endless lashes and his smile stops my heart every time. He looks disheveled, like his hands never stop running through his hair. His eyes are sweet and muddy and his hands are rough. He feels like work and strength. His arms are hard and his chest is solid and it's the only place I feel at peace. His breath on the back of my neck. He always smells like Copenhagen and swagger, it lingers on me after he's gone. Sometimes he smells like he's had a few cigarettes, and sometimes he smells like he's been laying in the grass, like dirt and raw nature. Or sweat and lust and he feels so hot. He's never cold and he melts the ice on my skin. His laughter is loud and infecting and his voice is deep and rough and forever etched in my mind. He is everything.
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 4:08 AM UTC
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
Copenhagen
I love you like I can never love another
Dec 23, 2016
Dec 23, 2016 at 3:58 AM UTC