"hus" poems
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
Days passed by so fast
Overt feelings of hate towards my past
To avoid sadness and fulfill my happy jar
Another day won't be spent to play the game
Thus, I feel so free
Wounds healed slowly and thoroughly
Opening my heart when I am fixed
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 11:47 AM UTC
Hastily I boarded her plane
Outrageously exquisite was the flight
Sighting of spectacular neon rainbows
Thus longed landing in her land of bliss
And less did I expect for I was
Going to really end up
Eternally held hostage into her cockpit
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 3:10 PM UTC
Jeg samler på steder
engang havde jeg massere af steder
men nu har jeg kun mit lille hus
hvor alt er trygt, trygt, trygt,
i min seng kan min hjerne sove
det intense tryk kan trygt forsvinde
men selv der i MIN seng kan jeg føle mig alene
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 3:49 PM UTC
Se hur tiden flyger
Se hur den tar dag efter dag
Ringarna i stammen växer
Jag lär väl vänja mig om ett tag
Solstänkta dagar fann vi
Långt bort från hem och hus
Vi besteg den klippiga kusten
Ingen kommer nånsin veta hur
Du nådde fram tillslut
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 2:22 PM UTC
It's acold misty morning
The large grey cobblestones creating valleys by themselves
The old black lampposts casting the imaginings of light
The buildings shuffle between dark grey and black as if they were a depressed Chameleon
A man walks along this pathway
His dark black Brioni suit covered by the enveloping arms of his coat
The buttons undone as the coat ***** dramatically in the wind that isn't there
The outfit is completed with a black fedora which he wears upon his head
He walks down the pathway and passes a small man
With ragged clothes and a baggy hat
He barely notices the painter as he Iis consumed with his Own demons
The painter holds a brush in his right hand
An old thing with paint and chips on the wooden handle
The bristles are long
Not imacculate
But well used
In his left hand he holds his pallette
It has every colour imaginable
But only a small splotch of it
The painter walks behind the man with the fedora
And he painted
He painted galaxies on the cobblestones and valleys separating them
He painted patterns into the sidewalk and stories into the bricks
His style a rough painterly style
Jagged geometric lines creating organic spirals and waves
A Van Gogh style
Painfully wild strokes
That seem to contain the souls of suffering and pain
His flat yellows contrast to his vivid reds
Powerful imagery created by nothing but contrast
Emotions toyed with by jagged currants and swirls
The painter painted
Trying to catch up to the man with the fedora
Painting eruptions of beauty from the lampposts
And birds and flowers floating upon the air
As the fedora man's heels lifted paint was laid down in insane yellow
Driven insane by trying to catch up to this man
Driven insane by trying to show the man beauty
The painter ran out of paint
A masterpiece a mile long
Seen and admired by all who walked behind
But the artist had failed
His face Contorted as his emotional suffering manifested physically
His heart broke again as he realized that this man with the fedora wouldn't stop
He would live his whole life
Without seeing beauty
The painter was put in a nice jacket and a white padded room to live the rest of hus days
Forced to live in his misey....
His emotion....
His failure...
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 1:09 AM UTC
Strö nu fröna uti mark
Väx upp trädet, mitt
och giv mig frukt
Låt ingen stoppa dig nu
Ut på grenen, bygg ditt hus
Ta en dag i taget,
vi kommer att se ljus
Låt ingen stoppa dig nu
Kom, vi går hem tillslut
Där kan vi leva fritt,
allt mitt är ditt
Men låt lingen stoppa dig nu
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 3:49 PM UTC
I stjärnornas ljus
utan boning utan hus.
Hör vindens svaga sång
livet tystnar på en gång.
I luften viskas hemligheter
resandes i evigheter.
Världen är blott en dröm
djupt i din sömn.
Stig på i nattens famn
följ med oss om du kan.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 2:31 PM UTC
Have you ever woke with the illusion?
Today you fuse the fusion?
Thus everything is sweet
But ….
By the time
The sun goes down
Into your cage
You will retreat
Moments of lucidity
Plague the true validity
Of a mind maligned and broke
Quick …
Catch the Keeper of the Key
Omniscience for all to see
For this here life is NOT a joke
I
Poke
I
Choke
I sometimes Stroke
But all to no avail
The monkey chatter's constantly
In his universal veil
What to do?
Where to go?
How to fight his hold?
Maybe …
In another life
My existence will be told
I know you see my weakness
As a blanket
Safe and warm
But…
Have YOU been in monkey’s meadow?
When the bees begin to swarm?
**H u m m i n g
B u z z i n g
H u m m i n g**
Bedlam in my brain
Frantic and frenetic to board this Honey Train
Traversing peeling papers
Unconnected on the floor
I now accept what fate beholds me
I am but a prisoner of war
Please ….
Take my hand
Please …
Soothe my soul
Please …
Keep ME safe from ME
And when I live my brand new life
I will be your devoted devotee
I will pick you flowers every day
Born of wild stock
We will live and love so merrily
Souls will interlock
And if you feel a little down
I will gently take your hand
Soothe your soul
Keep you safe
In my silken meadowland
Nov 29, 2010
Nov 29, 2010 at 7:28 AM UTC
Eleven thousand
three hundred
sixty one miles away
in a place I’ve never been,
you are thinking
of all the places
you have never been
or haven’t been,
some for seasons,
some for years.
A Paris pomegranate sunrise
from the Pont des Arts,
bright colours shimmying
at the pulse of romance.
The blood cell rush of Shibuya,
Tokyo at night among
a river of strange symbols,
blinking TV screens.
Prague dredged in frost,
feet-chatter on cobbles
past the Jan Hus memorial
under a cool periwinkle sky.
Glossy tulips in Bilbao,
metallic curves,
trill of syllables
by the teal Nervión.
I think of you, far away,
same planet, different spot,
the future washing towards us
full of scrambled images
and white noise,
a trickle of hope at your toes,
through my screen.
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 4:33 PM UTC
kvindegråd
skærer hul i mit hjerte
usundt miljø
af hårde kvinder
der spidser tænder
for at kunne forsvare sig selv
ingen hjælp at hente
ingen kære mor
her hvor jeg bor
men aldrig hørte hjemme
et hus bygget af glasskår
for vi er alle ødelagte
vaserne er smadrede
og min illusion om en stærk kvinde
er knækket
i takt med at jeg hørte dig græde
og så dig råbe og skrige
jeg så dig ligge besvimet på jorden
og jeg var den eneste der var der
til at passe på dig
min illusion om en stærk kvinde
blev til en virkelighed
men kvinden var ikke dig
det var mig
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 3:32 PM UTC
When words start flowing, lyrics rhyme
And you and I, we know its time
To do something but how?
Everybody plays his part
Revels in his job or art.
What I want to share today
Are some thoughts that first may
Tease or calm your mind
Either way you’ll read
Right what you need
Where this story has its place
All the peeps are full of grace
Torn at times, well at heart.
Eating healthy food
Respect and share good mood
Who are you, what is your thing?
Are you of those that fortunes bring?
The moment here the minute gone
Eager, but afraid to speak
Rule out fear, come reach your peak
Why shall I care, you ask and think
Ahead am I of those that sink
Thoughts can change you know
Elaborate on your perception
Revaluate your own direction
With those that care, you shall surround
Affiliate with taste and sound.
Thus please enjoy the moment now.
Ergo what I recommend:
Relax, be water my friend
Aug 22, 2016
Aug 22, 2016 at 4:05 PM UTC
It's like I know the problem
I see the problem
But I don't understand the definition of what a problem is
I see three thousand windows to houses I don't recognize
And now I'm back at square one and I have no clue
"Fattar ingenting"
Det är som att jag vet problemet
Ser problemet,
Men förstår inte vad problem är,
Ser tretusen fönster till hus jag inte känner igen.
Och nu är jag tillbaka på ruta ett och fattar ingenting.
Jan 21, 2021
Jan 21, 2021 at 6:07 PM UTC
few days
official trip
he came back with
some dolls
hus daughter came
running towards him
she gave a tight hug
he asked, "do you miss me?"
she brought her
piggy bank
It's full of tears....
Sep 4, 2016
Sep 4, 2016 at 9:32 PM UTC
Dagen jag inte vaknar och mitt huvud ligger tungt kvar på kudden
Dagen då mitt hjärta somnat och mina leder stelnat till
Dagen du vaknar utan mig vid din sida och dagen du kommer hem till ett hus där jag inte längre bor
När breven har blivit för många och bläcket i pennan tagit ****
När mina fötter blivit för trötta och rört marken för sista gången
När du inte längre behöver trösta mig eller säga att allt kommer bli okej
För allt har redan blivit okej
När jag inte kan ta emot kramar och inte kan säga hejdå
För min rätt till hejdå var förbrukad så fort jag insåg att jag kanske aldrig vaknar igen
Och hur den tanken kändes bra
Jag hoppas att du inte behövde se mig så
Jag hoppas att du ringde någon och jag hoppas att alla kan förlåta mig på det sättet jag aldrig kunde förlåta mig själv
Jul 10, 2021
Jul 10, 2021 at 8:16 PM UTC