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"norway" poems
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needs hellopoetry Rwanda needs hellopoetry Saint Kitts and Nevis needs hellopoetry Saint Lucia needs hellopoetry Saint Vincent and the Grenadines needs hellopoetry Samoa needs hellopoetry San Marino needs hellopoetry Sao Tome and Principe needs hellopoetry Saudi Arabia needs hellopoetry Senegal needs hellopoetry Serbia needs hellopoetry Seychelles needs hellopoetry Sierra Leone needs hellopoetry Singapore needs hellopoetry Slovakia needs hellopoetry Slovenia needs hellopoetry Solomon Islands needs hellopoetry Somalia needs hellopoetry South Africa needs hellopoetry Spain needs hellopoetry Sri Lanka needs hellopoetry Sudan needs hellopoetry Sudan, South needs hellopoetry Suriname needs hellopoetry Sweden needs hellopoetry Switzerland needs hellopoetry Syria needs hellopoetry Taiwan needs hellopoetry Tajikistan needs hellopoetry Tanzania needs hellopoetry Thailand needs hellopoetry Togo needs hellopoetry Tonga needs hellopoetry Trinidad and Tobago needs hellopoetry Tunisia needs 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0
Dec 21, 2019
Dec 21, 2019 at 11:08 AM UTC
maxneumann
The World NEEDS HelloPoetry (Please Make A Contribution.)
Afghanistan needs hellopoetry Albania needs hellopoetry Algeria needs hellopoetry Andorra needs hellopoetry Angola needs hellopoetry Antigua and Barbuda needs hellopoetry Argentina needs hellopoetry Armenia needs hellopoetry Australia needs hellopoetry Austria needs hellopoetry Azerbaijan needs hellopoetry The Bahamas needs hellopoetry Bahrain needs hellopoetry Bangladesh needs hellopoetry Barbados needs hellopoetry Belarus needs hellopoetry Belgium needs hellopoetry Belize needs hellopoetry Benin needs hellopoetry Bhutan needs hellopoetry Bolivia needs hellopoetry Bosnia and Herzegovina needs hellopoetry Botswana needs hellopoetry Brazil needs hellopoetry Brunei needs hellopoetry Bulgaria needs hellopoetry Burkina Faso needs hellopoetry Burundi needs hellopoetry Cabo Verde needs hellopoetry Cambodia needs hellopoetry Cameroon needs hellopoetry Canada needs hellopoetry Central African Republic needs hellopoetry Chad needs hellopoetry Chile needs hellopoetry China needs hellopoetry Colombia needs hellopoetry Comoros needs hellopoetry Congo, Democratic Republic is in need of hellopoetry Congo, Republic is in need of hellopoetry   Costa Rica needs hellopoetry Côte d’Ivoire needs hellopoetry Croatia needs hellopoetry Cuba needs hellopoetry Cyprus needs hellopoetry Czech Republic needs hellopoetry Denmark needs hellopoetry   Djibouti needs hellopoetry Dominica needs hellopoetry Dominican Republic needs hellopoetry East Timor (Timor-Leste) needs hellopoetry Ecuador needs hellopoetry Egypt needs hellopoetry   El Salvador needs hellopoetry Equatorial Guinea needs hellopoetry Eritrea needs hellopoetry Estonia needs hellopoetry Eswatini needs hellopoetry Ethiopia needs hellopoetry Fiji needs hellopoetry Finland needs hellopoetry France needs hellopoetry Gabon needs hellopoetry The Gambia needs hellopoetry Georgia needs hellopoetry Germany needs hellopoetry Ghana needs hellopoetry Greece needs hellopoetry Grenada needs hellopoetry Guatemala needs hellopoetry Guinea needs hellopoetry Guinea-Bissau needs hellopoetry Guyana needs hellopoetry Haiti needs hellopoetry Honduras needs hellopoetry Hungary needs hellopoetry Iceland needs hellopoetry India needs hellopoetry Indonesia needs hellopoetry Iran needs hellopoetry Iraq needs hellopoetry Ireland needs hellopoetry Israel needs hellopoetry Italy needs hellopoetry Jamaica needs hellopoetry Japan needs hellopoetry Jordan needs hellopoetry Kazakhstan needs hellopoetry Kenya needs hellopoetry Kiribati needs hellopoetry Korea, North needs hellopoetry Korea, South needs hellopoetry Kosovo needs hellopoetry Kuwait needs hellopoetry Kyrgyzstan needs hellopoetry Laos needs hellopoetry Latvia needs hellopoetry Lebanon needs hellopoetry Lesotho needs hellopoetry Liberia needs hellopoetry Libya needs hellopoetry Liechtenstein needs hellopoetry Lithuania needs hellopoetry Luxembourg needs hellopoetry Madagascar needs hellopoetry Malawi needs hellopoetry Malaysia needs hellopoetry Maldives needs hellopoetry Mali needs hellopoetry Malta needs hellopoetry Marshall Islands needs hellopoetry Mauritania needs hellopoetry Mauritius needs hellopoetry Mexico needs hellopoetry Micronesia, Federated States is in need of hellopoetry Moldova needs hellopoetry Monaco needs hellopoetry Mongolia needs hellopoetry Montenegro needs hellopoetry Morocco needs hellopoetry Mozambique needs hellopoetry Myanmar (Burma) needs hellopoetry Namibia needs hellopoetry Nauru needs hellopoetry Nepal needs hellopoetry Netherlands needs hellopoetry New Zealand needs hellopoetry Nicaragua needs hellopoetry Niger needs hellopoetry Nigeria needs hellopoetry North Macedonia needs hellopoetry Norway needs hellopoetry Oman needs hellopoetry Pakistan needs hellopoetry Palau needs hellopoetry Panama needs hellopoetry Papua New Guinea needs hellopoetry Paraguay needs hellopoetry Peru needs hellopoetry Philippines needs hellopoetry Poland needs hellopoetry Portugal needs hellopoetry Qatar needs hellopoetry Romania needs hellopoetry Russia needs hellopoetry Rwanda needs hellopoetry Saint Kitts and Nevis needs hellopoetry Saint Lucia needs hellopoetry Saint Vincent and the Grenadines needs hellopoetry Samoa needs hellopoetry San Marino needs hellopoetry Sao Tome and Principe needs hellopoetry Saudi Arabia needs hellopoetry Senegal needs hellopoetry Serbia needs hellopoetry Seychelles needs hellopoetry Sierra Leone needs hellopoetry Singapore needs hellopoetry Slovakia needs hellopoetry Slovenia needs hellopoetry Solomon Islands needs hellopoetry Somalia needs hellopoetry South Africa needs hellopoetry Spain needs hellopoetry Sri Lanka needs hellopoetry Sudan needs hellopoetry Sudan, South needs hellopoetry Suriname needs hellopoetry Sweden needs hellopoetry Switzerland needs hellopoetry Syria needs hellopoetry Taiwan needs hellopoetry Tajikistan needs hellopoetry Tanzania needs hellopoetry Thailand needs hellopoetry Togo needs hellopoetry Tonga needs hellopoetry Trinidad and Tobago needs hellopoetry Tunisia needs hellopoetry Turkey needs hellopoetry Turkmenistan needs hellopoetry Tuvalu needs hellopoetry Uganda needs hellopoetry Ukraine needs hellopoetry United Arab Emirates needs hellopoetry United Kingdom needs hellopoetry United States needs hellopoetry Uruguay needs hellopoetry Uzbekistan needs hellopoetry Vanuatu needs hellopoetry Vatican City needs hellopoetry Venezuela needs hellopoetry Vietnam needs hellopoetry Yemen needs hellopoetry Zambia needs hellopoetry Zimbabwe needs hellopoetry
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196
You've read my rant from yesterday About those Christmas Letters But one thing just disturbs me Those Ugly Christmas Sweaters!!! You know the ones we love to hate They're all so scratchy and they itch You can barely get the **** thing on And to remove it...it's a ***** Pictures of things Christmassy Like a reindeer all in red Mine looks like an emaciated cow with a candelabra on his head Snowflakes, trees and Norway Spruce and colours....oh my lord They can take them back to Norway and throw them in the fjord!!! My nan made one for me one year It was silver with some blue Turns out she used old brillo pads Because she liked the soapy hue They itch and scratch and don't fit right They are a cancer to my eyes I had one in green and red With one sleeve down past my thighs I thought it was a jumpsuit The kind the paratroopers wear The pattern pages stuck together And that sleeve....went down to there!!! We all have one hidden away In a box, 'neath lock and key In a place so nicely hidden One we've had since we were three We never plan to wear one more We all know that we once  did but, if we had to wear one out We're gonna buy one for our kids!!! If you need to get assistance go to uglysweaters dot o- r- g They can help you with your wardrobe Tell them you heard of them from me.
0
Dec 17, 2012
Dec 17, 2012 at 3:09 PM UTC
roger-turner
Ugly Christmas Sweaters
You've read my rant from yesterday About those Christmas Letters But one thing just disturbs me Those Ugly Christmas Sweaters!!! You know the ones we love to hate They're all so scratchy and they itch You can barely get the **** thing on And to remove it...it's a ***** Pictures of things Christmassy Like a reindeer all in red Mine looks like an emaciated cow with a candelabra on his head Snowflakes, trees and Norway Spruce and colours....oh my lord They can take them back to Norway and throw them in the fjord!!! My nan made one for me one year It was silver with some blue Turns out she used old brillo pads Because she liked the soapy hue They itch and scratch and don't fit right They are a cancer to my eyes I had one in green and red With one sleeve down past my thighs I thought it was a jumpsuit The kind the paratroopers wear The pattern pages stuck together And that sleeve....went down to there!!! We all have one hidden away In a box, 'neath lock and key In a place so nicely hidden One we've had since we were three We never plan to wear one more We all know that we once  did but, if we had to wear one out We're gonna buy one for our kids!!! If you need to get assistance go to uglysweaters dot o- r- g They can help you with your wardrobe Tell them you heard of them from me.
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40
Western coast of Norway. Relentless fists of salt and sea Pound against the windows Facing the openness. All edible remains after every Meal, they surrender unto her here. She feeds them back. Her moods change daily, Taking only one life With every ten thousand she Nourishes. *We love her. We fear her. We love her.*
0
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 8:30 AM UTC
sgholter
The Norwegian Sea
Western coast of Norway. Relentless fists of salt and sea Pound against the windows Facing the openness. All edible remains after every Meal, they surrender unto her here. She feeds them back. Her moods change daily, Taking only one life With every ten thousand she Nourishes. *We love her. We fear her. We love her.*
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12
*In memory of, and with respect to the victims of the 2011 terrorist acts in Norway. As the weather resembles, one remembers...* Perhaps if you went to my school, You'd have gotten beaten up for your egocentricity Long before it grew to such deranged preportions. As misplaced as the runes you carved into Glock and rifle; You'd have been not only estranged, but broken. Disarmed decades before detonation. Alas. A distorted berserker you ploughed through Establishments and hearts; an armed teenager fuelled on Video games, soft candy and steroids. Pity the nation that nurses such an unpoetic national enemy. We forgot your name and face, as you never knew ours. The symbol we chose was an ocean of roses, Like torches held to our love unharmed. Norwegian leap year two-thousand-eleven; Only twenty-two days in July.
0
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 4:25 PM UTC
sgholter
Norwegian Leap Year
*In memory of, and with respect to the victims of the 2011 terrorist acts in Norway. As the weather resembles, one remembers...* Perhaps if you went to my school, You'd have gotten beaten up for your egocentricity Long before it grew to such deranged preportions. As misplaced as the runes you carved into Glock and rifle; You'd have been not only estranged, but broken. Disarmed decades before detonation. Alas. A distorted berserker you ploughed through Establishments and hearts; an armed teenager fuelled on Video games, soft candy and steroids. Pity the nation that nurses such an unpoetic national enemy. We forgot your name and face, as you never knew ours. The symbol we chose was an ocean of roses, Like torches held to our love unharmed. Norwegian leap year two-thousand-eleven; Only twenty-two days in July.
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17
I The Nutcrackers sate by a plate on the table, The Sugar-tongs sate by a plate at his side; And the Nutcrackers said, 'Don't you wish we were able 'Along the blue hills and green meadows to ride? 'Must we drag on this stupid existence for ever, 'So idle so weary, so full of remorse,-- 'While every one else takes his pleasure, and never 'Seems happy unless he is riding a horse? II 'Don't you think we could ride without being instructed? 'Without any saddle, or bridle, or spur? 'Our legs are so long, and so aptly constructed, 'I'm sure that an accident could not occur. 'Let us all of a sudden hop down from the table, 'And hustle downstairs, and each jump on a horse! 'Shall we try? Shall we go! Do you think we are able?' The Sugar-tongs answered distinctly,'Of course!' III So down the long staircase they hopped in a minute, The Sugar-tongs snapped, and the Crackers said 'crack!' The stable was open, the horses were in it; Each took out a pony, and jumped on his back. The Cat in a fright scrambled out of the doorway, The Mice tumbled out of a bundle of hay, The brown and white Rats, and the black ones from Norway, Screamed out, 'They are taking the horses away!' IV The whole of the household was filled with amazement, The Cups and the Saucers danced madly about, The Plates and the Dishes looked out of the casement, The Saltcellar stood on his head with a shout, The Spoons with a clatter looked out of the lattice, The Mustard-pot climbed up the Gooseberry Pies, The Soup-ladle peeped through a heap of Veal Patties, And squeaked with a ladle-like scream of surprise. V The Frying-pan said, 'It's an awful delusion!' The Tea-kettle hissed and grew black in the face; And they all rushed downstairs in the wildest confusion, To see the great Nutcracker-Sugar-tong race. And out of the stable, with screamings and laughter, (Their ponies were cream-coloured, speckled with brown,) The Nutcrackers first, and the Sugar-tongs after, Rode all round the yard, and then all round the town. VI They rode through the street, and they rode by the station, They galloped away to the beautiful shore; In silence they rode, and 'made no observation', Save this: 'We will never go back any more!' And still you might hear, till they rode out of hearing, The Sugar-tongs snap, and the Crackers say 'crack!' Till far in the distance their forms disappearing, They faded away.--And they never came back!
0
4.4k
Edward Lear
The Nutcrackers And The Sugar-Tongs
I The Nutcrackers sate by a plate on the table, The Sugar-tongs sate by a plate at his side; And the Nutcrackers said, 'Don't you wish we were able 'Along the blue hills and green meadows to ride? 'Must we drag on this stupid existence for ever, 'So idle so weary, so full of remorse,-- 'While every one else takes his pleasure, and never 'Seems happy unless he is riding a horse? II 'Don't you think we could ride without being instructed? 'Without any saddle, or bridle, or spur? 'Our legs are so long, and so aptly constructed, 'I'm sure that an accident could not occur. 'Let us all of a sudden hop down from the table, 'And hustle downstairs, and each jump on a horse! 'Shall we try? Shall we go! Do you think we are able?' The Sugar-tongs answered distinctly,'Of course!' III So down the long staircase they hopped in a minute, The Sugar-tongs snapped, and the Crackers said 'crack!' The stable was open, the horses were in it; Each took out a pony, and jumped on his back. The Cat in a fright scrambled out of the doorway, The Mice tumbled out of a bundle of hay, The brown and white Rats, and the black ones from Norway, Screamed out, 'They are taking the horses away!' IV The whole of the household was filled with amazement, The Cups and the Saucers danced madly about, The Plates and the Dishes looked out of the casement, The Saltcellar stood on his head with a shout, The Spoons with a clatter looked out of the lattice, The Mustard-pot climbed up the Gooseberry Pies, The Soup-ladle peeped through a heap of Veal Patties, And squeaked with a ladle-like scream of surprise. V The Frying-pan said, 'It's an awful delusion!' The Tea-kettle hissed and grew black in the face; And they all rushed downstairs in the wildest confusion, To see the great Nutcracker-Sugar-tong race. And out of the stable, with screamings and laughter, (Their ponies were cream-coloured, speckled with brown,) The Nutcrackers first, and the Sugar-tongs after, Rode all round the yard, and then all round the town. VI They rode through the street, and they rode by the station, They galloped away to the beautiful shore; In silence they rode, and 'made no observation', Save this: 'We will never go back any more!' And still you might hear, till they rode out of hearing, The Sugar-tongs snap, and the Crackers say 'crack!' Till far in the distance their forms disappearing, They faded away.--And they never came back!
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54
.simone biles (the gymnast)...                  miles davis (the trumpet guy)...      must be black privilege; wasn't there a movie... starring woody harrelson and wesley snipes? you sure? i thought it was called: white men can't jump... sure as **** ****** can sing church gospel! how's that for privilege?     if you're going to culturally box, and repeatedly punch below the belt... you're quiet likely going to get a reaction... i have an acne wart growing on my *** the size of a cauliflower, it's itchy my brain, it's differentiating between agitate and: lying back... i guess the excess of... look... you may have the excess melanin...     i have lactose tolerance... we're even?!    no?   so how come some smurf, some European hobbit shackle your N.B.A. Goliath(s)?! explain that one to me... if these people were so cock-unsure... how they **** did they tame the Zulu Apache Goliath bodybuilders?!   what the **** i already said, and it was proven... IQ... i don't like it...      but i'm pretty sure that the whites **** more people in terrorist attacks than... camel-jockeys...          it took 3 or over three... to perform the Bataclan Massacre... three... the third of the IQ that required a Breivik...    130 in France... dissociated among 3 attackers that gorged on testicles after the spree... fun, fun fun fun... like: you're trying to say that without irony...     and how many in Norway?     77... i only look at the IQ of killers... so... what's the ratio?     77 / 1    130 / 3 = 43...          like i said... low IQ...               you really want your little racial insurrection? you'll have it, don't worry.. i'll just the narrative...   must be black privy... if you can mash up a jazz compos., right?                 crackers read from a prepared script... you ******* just, "improvise"...           rapping contra talking... **** come to think of it... ******* boys took it too far from your Oreos...            like... too much drums... not enough wind, or strings... too much drumming... pulverizing the ears with drum & bass and what not... if i wasn't deaf prior, i'm deaf by now; ******* boy to Oreo woo-oo-oops boy; same **** different cover.
0
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 9:42 PM UTC
removed.polaroid-scrabble
you want war, you'll have your war: came an Oreo for every *******
.simone biles (the gymnast)...                  miles davis (the trumpet guy)...      must be black privilege; wasn't there a movie... starring woody harrelson and wesley snipes? you sure? i thought it was called: white men can't jump... sure as **** ****** can sing church gospel! how's that for privilege?     if you're going to culturally box, and repeatedly punch below the belt... you're quiet likely going to get a reaction... i have an acne wart growing on my *** the size of a cauliflower, it's itchy my brain, it's differentiating between agitate and: lying back... i guess the excess of... look... you may have the excess melanin...     i have lactose tolerance... we're even?!    no?   so how come some smurf, some European hobbit shackle your N.B.A. Goliath(s)?! explain that one to me... if these people were so cock-unsure... how they **** did they tame the Zulu Apache Goliath bodybuilders?!   what the **** i already said, and it was proven... IQ... i don't like it...      but i'm pretty sure that the whites **** more people in terrorist attacks than... camel-jockeys...          it took 3 or over three... to perform the Bataclan Massacre... three... the third of the IQ that required a Breivik...    130 in France... dissociated among 3 attackers that gorged on testicles after the spree... fun, fun fun fun... like: you're trying to say that without irony...     and how many in Norway?     77... i only look at the IQ of killers... so... what's the ratio?     77 / 1    130 / 3 = 43...          like i said... low IQ...               you really want your little racial insurrection? you'll have it, don't worry.. i'll just the narrative...   must be black privy... if you can mash up a jazz compos., right?                 crackers read from a prepared script... you ******* just, "improvise"...           rapping contra talking... **** come to think of it... ******* boys took it too far from your Oreos...            like... too much drums... not enough wind, or strings... too much drumming... pulverizing the ears with drum & bass and what not... if i wasn't deaf prior, i'm deaf by now; ******* boy to Oreo woo-oo-oops boy; same **** different cover.
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90
(Bergen)SEVEN days all fog, all mist, and the turbines pounding through high seas. I was a plaything, a rat's neck in the teeth of a scuffling mastiff. Fog and fog and no stars, sun, moon. Then an afternoon in fjords, low-lying lands scrawled in granite languages on a gray sky, A night harbor, blue dusk mountain shoulders against a night sky, And a circle of lights blinking: Ninety thousand people here. Among the Wednesday night thousands in goloshes and coats slickered for rain, I learned how hungry I was for streets and people. I would rather be water than anything else. I saw a drive of salt fog and mist in the North Atlantic and an iceberg dusky as a cloud in the gray of morning. And I saw the dream pools of fjords in Norway ... and the scarf of dancing water on the rocks and over the edges of mountain shelves. Bury me in a mountain graveyard in Norway. Three tongues of water sing around it with snow from the mountains. Bury me in the North Atlantic. A fog there from Iceland will be a murmur in gray over me and a long deep wind sob always. Bury me in an Illinois cornfield. The blizzards loosen their pipe ***** voluntaries in winter stubble and the spring rains and the fall rains bring letters from the sea.
0
3.4k
Carl Sandburg
Baltic Fog Notes
(Bergen)SEVEN days all fog, all mist, and the turbines pounding through high seas. I was a plaything, a rat's neck in the teeth of a scuffling mastiff. Fog and fog and no stars, sun, moon. Then an afternoon in fjords, low-lying lands scrawled in granite languages on a gray sky, A night harbor, blue dusk mountain shoulders against a night sky, And a circle of lights blinking: Ninety thousand people here. Among the Wednesday night thousands in goloshes and coats slickered for rain, I learned how hungry I was for streets and people. I would rather be water than anything else. I saw a drive of salt fog and mist in the North Atlantic and an iceberg dusky as a cloud in the gray of morning. And I saw the dream pools of fjords in Norway ... and the scarf of dancing water on the rocks and over the edges of mountain shelves. Bury me in a mountain graveyard in Norway. Three tongues of water sing around it with snow from the mountains. Bury me in the North Atlantic. A fog there from Iceland will be a murmur in gray over me and a long deep wind sob always. Bury me in an Illinois cornfield. The blizzards loosen their pipe ***** voluntaries in winter stubble and the spring rains and the fall rains bring letters from the sea.
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20
There was a Young Lady of Norway, Who casually sat on a doorway; When the door squeezed her flat, She exclaimed, 'What of that?' This courageous Young Lady of Norway.
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2.9k
Edward Lear
There Was A Young Lady Of Norway
There was a Young Lady of Norway, Who casually sat on a doorway; When the door squeezed her flat, She exclaimed, 'What of that?' This courageous Young Lady of Norway.
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5
Barnacles crunch like fast food under your sneakers, my gnawed-on boots. We pass over cat-eyed shards of glass still spicy with beer bubbles and still fizzy with teen rebellion; It molds like an infection here. In a town nicknamed "Little Norway." ~ This place hoards candy-colored suburbia in its pockets. Houses like skittles weigh down its pants and it belches out tourist traps weaker than expired pepsi, yet it still manages these moments where I can trot by your gazelle legs and blast Julie Andrew's confidence. And I want to heap myself on the oyster shells, say STOP Put this moment in a snowglobe, sigh into it before we move on, do anything before the wind whips it away. Etch it into your hand if you have to. But breeze dimples the water like a golf ball and rips at the seams of the shore. Please don't forget me when you leave.
0
Mar 6, 2012
Mar 6, 2012 at 1:20 AM UTC
abcdefg
It's safe to say we talk about Everything
Barnacles crunch like fast food under your sneakers, my gnawed-on boots. We pass over cat-eyed shards of glass still spicy with beer bubbles and still fizzy with teen rebellion; It molds like an infection here. In a town nicknamed "Little Norway." ~ This place hoards candy-colored suburbia in its pockets. Houses like skittles weigh down its pants and it belches out tourist traps weaker than expired pepsi, yet it still manages these moments where I can trot by your gazelle legs and blast Julie Andrew's confidence. And I want to heap myself on the oyster shells, say STOP Put this moment in a snowglobe, sigh into it before we move on, do anything before the wind whips it away. Etch it into your hand if you have to. But breeze dimples the water like a golf ball and rips at the seams of the shore. Please don't forget me when you leave.
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22
I once met a viking girl, who hailed from Norway. I usually wouldn't have bothered, but there was something special about her I couldn't fully grasp. It was like some weight had been lifted to relieve my tired body of it's former failings. There was a magic she could wield, some massive dreadnought of power she kept sheathed in ornate leather. Sometimes, when she was nervous, her fingers would brush it's scabbard, tracing the embossed symbols, unaware of what she was doing. And then this longing would overtake her, leaving her eyes vacant, momentarily... As if her vessel had been abandoned as she expanded well beyond it's threshold. During these brief moments when she'd slip away, I saw things I couldn't explain. A furnace of starlight, encased deep in the Norwegian ice, alongside the warships of her ancestors. Usually well-guarded, out of habit or necessity. Before I was consumed entirely she returned from her reverie, tearing me away from that solace. I wonder now if she was aware of what happened. Those secret woodlands will haunt me long after I've gone. Long after life has left me, and into the outstretched arms of eternity and the worlds that follow. And like some dream, it still escapes me.. how so much beauty can be reserved and contained. It sickens me to know that what I'll remember most was the physical form she'd taken, and not the things that truly mattered. Not the magic she used to tear me asunder, wide open and spilling.. helpless in it's radiance. Not the gentle breeze that expanded from her wake as she passed me. Because it's easier to be shallow. It's easier to forget.
0
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 8:23 AM UTC
EmaciatedHarlot
The Spawn of Höðr and Lofn
I once met a viking girl, who hailed from Norway. I usually wouldn't have bothered, but there was something special about her I couldn't fully grasp. It was like some weight had been lifted to relieve my tired body of it's former failings. There was a magic she could wield, some massive dreadnought of power she kept sheathed in ornate leather. Sometimes, when she was nervous, her fingers would brush it's scabbard, tracing the embossed symbols, unaware of what she was doing. And then this longing would overtake her, leaving her eyes vacant, momentarily... As if her vessel had been abandoned as she expanded well beyond it's threshold. During these brief moments when she'd slip away, I saw things I couldn't explain. A furnace of starlight, encased deep in the Norwegian ice, alongside the warships of her ancestors. Usually well-guarded, out of habit or necessity. Before I was consumed entirely she returned from her reverie, tearing me away from that solace. I wonder now if she was aware of what happened. Those secret woodlands will haunt me long after I've gone. Long after life has left me, and into the outstretched arms of eternity and the worlds that follow. And like some dream, it still escapes me.. how so much beauty can be reserved and contained. It sickens me to know that what I'll remember most was the physical form she'd taken, and not the things that truly mattered. Not the magic she used to tear me asunder, wide open and spilling.. helpless in it's radiance. Not the gentle breeze that expanded from her wake as she passed me. Because it's easier to be shallow. It's easier to forget.
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64
I'm standing at the edge of cliffs that stretch on through Norway. Looking down I see another me. Deciding if I've got what it takes to go through this doorway. I'm at a junction of paths with more than your average split. I've got endless roads which lead nowhere. Apprehension in my voice but I can't see where you won't fit. You're a little special though because I smile like a fool when you're near. You won't see me with the same eyes. That's all I'll ever fear. We stayed up late last night. Together - you could have left. Though I'm glad you stayed. Was it me you stayed for? Your a natural beauty more than these rocks and views in the Kjerag. It's more than body, pulse and heart. Its all of you I've gotta have. When I thought I'd met them all. Struggling to find a spark. I've never met anyone like you. Now you're all I think of in the dark. Take my hand and show me love Out beyond the imaginary.
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Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 1:42 PM UTC
jack-thompson1991
The Beauty of Norway
I'm standing at the edge of cliffs that stretch on through Norway. Looking down I see another me. Deciding if I've got what it takes to go through this doorway. I'm at a junction of paths with more than your average split. I've got endless roads which lead nowhere. Apprehension in my voice but I can't see where you won't fit. You're a little special though because I smile like a fool when you're near. You won't see me with the same eyes. That's all I'll ever fear. We stayed up late last night. Together - you could have left. Though I'm glad you stayed. Was it me you stayed for? Your a natural beauty more than these rocks and views in the Kjerag. It's more than body, pulse and heart. Its all of you I've gotta have. When I thought I'd met them all. Struggling to find a spark. I've never met anyone like you. Now you're all I think of in the dark. Take my hand and show me love Out beyond the imaginary.
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22
The voice of Norway It was there At the border A gray mass of stones Between two countries One country Wanted to give it away As a good will gesture But the people Those who didn't know The mountain existed Said NO We will not give away A pebble Of our nation There was waving flags The authority relented Took the offer back The people had spoken With a narrow-minded Nationalistic fervour
0
Oct 20, 2016
Oct 20, 2016 at 5:23 AM UTC
jan-oskar-hansen
the voice of Norway
The voice of Norway It was there At the border A gray mass of stones Between two countries One country Wanted to give it away As a good will gesture But the people Those who didn't know The mountain existed Said NO We will not give away A pebble Of our nation There was waving flags The authority relented Took the offer back The people had spoken With a narrow-minded Nationalistic fervour
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21
By: Cedric McClester You know he’s full of stuff When the evidence ain’t enough And he’s acting like a cream puff By not calling Putin’s bluff If I labeled him a scaredy-cat Or better yet Putin’s new doormat Would that raise the thermostat, And flush out that Norway rat? When the evidence is irrefutable To the point that it’s not disputable His response is always mutable And comes out as most unsuitable Then his mouthpiece attempts to frame An alibi, but we’re hip to her game She can’t absolve him of the blame Though she tries to just the same So you better believe and trust That she looks ridiculous When she’s being duplicitous By trying to fool the rest of us It’s a sin to stand there and lie But she gives it a college try Like the mistress of deny As if the Ten Commandment don’t apply They interfered with our election With a clear cut interjection Of cybernet deflection Without protest or objection Two days before his inauguration He was told of the Russian’s participation Much to his own consternation Yet he still voices reservations Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2018.  All rights reserved.
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Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 1:15 PM UTC
cedric-mcclester
YOU KNOW HE’S FULL OF STUFF
By: Cedric McClester You know he’s full of stuff When the evidence ain’t enough And he’s acting like a cream puff By not calling Putin’s bluff If I labeled him a scaredy-cat Or better yet Putin’s new doormat Would that raise the thermostat, And flush out that Norway rat? When the evidence is irrefutable To the point that it’s not disputable His response is always mutable And comes out as most unsuitable Then his mouthpiece attempts to frame An alibi, but we’re hip to her game She can’t absolve him of the blame Though she tries to just the same So you better believe and trust That she looks ridiculous When she’s being duplicitous By trying to fool the rest of us It’s a sin to stand there and lie But she gives it a college try Like the mistress of deny As if the Ten Commandment don’t apply They interfered with our election With a clear cut interjection Of cybernet deflection Without protest or objection Two days before his inauguration He was told of the Russian’s participation Much to his own consternation Yet he still voices reservations Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2018.  All rights reserved.
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34
The wrinkles they are a bit faded but have a gentle presence that fits with the folds of the 16thC altar cloth once ****** white but now stained through years of use bread and tears or wine and tiny rice biscuits! The Christ on the cross is very old   made of painted wood and the altar is surrounded with a fence of turned table-leg like posts pale blue as is much of the interior perhaps denoting Heaven and as the psalms waft music round about we look through the windows to the listening hills and streams the old birds wise will sit watching too and all the people will suddenly feel their age wow what a display of flowers the church was as full of them as people I put in the only black dress I had with dark pink roses on it too and I cut the rim of a black felt hat that had cost only Kr. 10.- in scollops and diamond cuts around the crown as it was too big for me. Then I walked down to the valley to the church, and when I entered was ushered to the very front pew, I said there must be more important family members than me to be seated, I could hide in the balcony or something but he insisted. So I had a good view of the proceedings! It think several hours waiting the ***** playing quietly in the background and finally things began to happen. I sat next to a black man, he was already dressed in black!!! The white robed "prest" came into view and with his powerful voice sang twice as loud as the congregation. After all the flower sashes had been repetitively read out, we left the church following the coffin to its final resting place. And just as had happened in the church the priest mentioned the sun and its rays came through the windows, and as he threw on the "earth to earth, dust to dust," it broke through the grey clouds again and lit up the gay flowers, the frame of black and white onlookers many in tears watching. Margaret Ann Waddicor
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Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 8:57 AM UTC
margaret-ann-waddicor
A Funeral in the mountains of Norway
The wrinkles they are a bit faded but have a gentle presence that fits with the folds of the 16thC altar cloth once ****** white but now stained through years of use bread and tears or wine and tiny rice biscuits! The Christ on the cross is very old   made of painted wood and the altar is surrounded with a fence of turned table-leg like posts pale blue as is much of the interior perhaps denoting Heaven and as the psalms waft music round about we look through the windows to the listening hills and streams the old birds wise will sit watching too and all the people will suddenly feel their age wow what a display of flowers the church was as full of them as people I put in the only black dress I had with dark pink roses on it too and I cut the rim of a black felt hat that had cost only Kr. 10.- in scollops and diamond cuts around the crown as it was too big for me. Then I walked down to the valley to the church, and when I entered was ushered to the very front pew, I said there must be more important family members than me to be seated, I could hide in the balcony or something but he insisted. So I had a good view of the proceedings! It think several hours waiting the ***** playing quietly in the background and finally things began to happen. I sat next to a black man, he was already dressed in black!!! The white robed "prest" came into view and with his powerful voice sang twice as loud as the congregation. After all the flower sashes had been repetitively read out, we left the church following the coffin to its final resting place. And just as had happened in the church the priest mentioned the sun and its rays came through the windows, and as he threw on the "earth to earth, dust to dust," it broke through the grey clouds again and lit up the gay flowers, the frame of black and white onlookers many in tears watching. Margaret Ann Waddicor
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39
I've never been to China I almost went to France, I missed a flight to Russia once I only missed by chance Rome's intoxicating The air there is sublime But, I've never been there either I just didn't have the time I missed a train to Scotland Bypassed Wales, and well Why Not? There's nothing there in Cardiff Other countries haven't got I thought about the islands Bui I do not like the sun So I thought about a cruse ship Still, I've never been on one Alaska, has the mountains forests wide and big brown bears But as you can imagine I've also not been there I thought about Hawaii but I never made that trip I thought about the hula And I thought I'd hurt my hip I booked a flight to Cairo Never went as you could guess Saw a story on the news one day And Jesus, what a mess The pyramids had scaffolding The place was full of sand So I stayed home and watched telly And then that trip was canned I've never been to Ireland or Cuba or Ceylon And at the rate I'm going It won't be long before their gone I've thought about the Norway fjords and lovely Swedish parks but I've heard that all their fjords are filled With big man eating sjarks! I've never been most anyplace I ever set to go I'm not sure why I stayed here I really do not know Next week I have a trip planned I'm not going to Spain And then a fortnight after I'm not going again!
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May 3, 2012
May 3, 2012 at 4:52 PM UTC
roger-turner
I've Never Been
I've never been to China I almost went to France, I missed a flight to Russia once I only missed by chance Rome's intoxicating The air there is sublime But, I've never been there either I just didn't have the time I missed a train to Scotland Bypassed Wales, and well Why Not? There's nothing there in Cardiff Other countries haven't got I thought about the islands Bui I do not like the sun So I thought about a cruse ship Still, I've never been on one Alaska, has the mountains forests wide and big brown bears But as you can imagine I've also not been there I thought about Hawaii but I never made that trip I thought about the hula And I thought I'd hurt my hip I booked a flight to Cairo Never went as you could guess Saw a story on the news one day And Jesus, what a mess The pyramids had scaffolding The place was full of sand So I stayed home and watched telly And then that trip was canned I've never been to Ireland or Cuba or Ceylon And at the rate I'm going It won't be long before their gone I've thought about the Norway fjords and lovely Swedish parks but I've heard that all their fjords are filled With big man eating sjarks! I've never been most anyplace I ever set to go I'm not sure why I stayed here I really do not know Next week I have a trip planned I'm not going to Spain And then a fortnight after I'm not going again!
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48
I. you never saw me in winter: shearling fur and kettlebell boots my outer crust cracking from one step outdoors. I wear socks to bed and smoke Belmonts to cover my breath with toxins instead of you. II. I never wear pants when I’m with you mostly because I’m hoping to re-enact me walking over the Millennium Bridge in May. if the wind pushed any further up my skirts, it would force my lungs right out my throat. my hotel room called for us but you were on a plane to Norway and I was in my head. III. the last time we had *** you told me you’d finish me off first next time but I’m always like your backup song for karaoke, in case someone takes your first choice. you never: acknowledged that my rice was shaped like a heart and yours like a star at dinner, ask me what my tattoos mean, but always ask me if I’m pregnant. you’re a roll of film that needs be developed but I keep smearing the edges with my fingers and scanning the red light over myself.
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Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 4:43 PM UTC
rebecca-gismondi
aeipathy: a trilogy
I. you never saw me in winter: shearling fur and kettlebell boots my outer crust cracking from one step outdoors. I wear socks to bed and smoke Belmonts to cover my breath with toxins instead of you. II. I never wear pants when I’m with you mostly because I’m hoping to re-enact me walking over the Millennium Bridge in May. if the wind pushed any further up my skirts, it would force my lungs right out my throat. my hotel room called for us but you were on a plane to Norway and I was in my head. III. the last time we had *** you told me you’d finish me off first next time but I’m always like your backup song for karaoke, in case someone takes your first choice. you never: acknowledged that my rice was shaped like a heart and yours like a star at dinner, ask me what my tattoos mean, but always ask me if I’m pregnant. you’re a roll of film that needs be developed but I keep smearing the edges with my fingers and scanning the red light over myself.
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31
If I decided to peal paint off the upside-down radiator for eternity, I wonder if you would sit beside me reading Wallace Stevens. If I decided to nurse the convent garden bursts of peonies for eternity, I wonder if you would smuggle me some David Bowie tracks. If I decided to eat only fudge brownies and cherry Starbursts for eternity, I wonder if you would google gourmet recipes for me. If I decided to paint my own Walden in the Washington wild for eternity, I wonder if you would build a nightclub next to my cabin. If I decided to leap out airplane hatches and steal rodeo saddles and read my poetry out-loud for eternity, I wonder if you would be happily married in Norway.
0
Jun 24, 2012
Jun 24, 2012 at 6:52 PM UTC
mandy-anne-vandermey
This is a Thought
If I decided to peal paint off the upside-down radiator for eternity, I wonder if you would sit beside me reading Wallace Stevens. If I decided to nurse the convent garden bursts of peonies for eternity, I wonder if you would smuggle me some David Bowie tracks. If I decided to eat only fudge brownies and cherry Starbursts for eternity, I wonder if you would google gourmet recipes for me. If I decided to paint my own Walden in the Washington wild for eternity, I wonder if you would build a nightclub next to my cabin. If I decided to leap out airplane hatches and steal rodeo saddles and read my poetry out-loud for eternity, I wonder if you would be happily married in Norway.
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20
Deliver this message to sender I hope it arrives before noon Your eyes are dreams I've been missing And I do hope they come back soon Yours are the lips I'll be kissing Yours are the hands I will hold This is one love story darling That you can keep in your soul Let's make a toast to the future Let us make plans til we're old I'll be with you in the morning And keep you warm when you are cold Write me back when you get this And tell of the things you have seen Cause its a wide world out there honey And people want to know where you've been Oh Paris and Morocco And Brazil and Japan I know, Australia is stranger than The Antarctic and glaciers that Float all across the sea From Indonesia I'll Fly back to Norway But catch you in Amsterdam Take the train out to Pakistan And there you will find me This letter goes out to my lover Who stretches the boundaries of time And there will be nothing better For us to kick back and unwind
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Jul 8, 2010
Jul 8, 2010 at 3:39 PM UTC
jmc
Lucky Love Letter
Deliver this message to sender I hope it arrives before noon Your eyes are dreams I've been missing And I do hope they come back soon Yours are the lips I'll be kissing Yours are the hands I will hold This is one love story darling That you can keep in your soul Let's make a toast to the future Let us make plans til we're old I'll be with you in the morning And keep you warm when you are cold Write me back when you get this And tell of the things you have seen Cause its a wide world out there honey And people want to know where you've been Oh Paris and Morocco And Brazil and Japan I know, Australia is stranger than The Antarctic and glaciers that Float all across the sea From Indonesia I'll Fly back to Norway But catch you in Amsterdam Take the train out to Pakistan And there you will find me This letter goes out to my lover Who stretches the boundaries of time And there will be nothing better For us to kick back and unwind
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30
All the policemen, saloonkeepers and efficiency experts in Toledo knew Bern Dailey; secretary ten years when Whitlock was mayor. Pickpockets, yeggs, three card men, he knew them all and how they flit from zone to zone, birds of wind and weather, singers, fighters, scavengers. The Washington monument pointed to a new moon for us and a gang from over the river sang ragtime to a ukelele. The river mist marched up and down the Potomac, we hunted the fog-swept Lincoln Memorial, white as a blond woman's arm. We circled the city of Washington and came back home four o'clock in the morning, passing a sign: House Where Abraham Lincoln Died, Admission Cents. I got a letter from him in Sweden and I sent him a postcard from Norway .. every newspaper from America ran news of "the flu." The path of a night fog swept up the river to the Lincoln Memorial when I saw it again and alone at a winter's end, the marble in the mist white as a blond woman's arm.
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1.7k
Carl Sandburg
Potomac River Mist
All the policemen, saloonkeepers and efficiency experts in Toledo knew Bern Dailey; secretary ten years when Whitlock was mayor. Pickpockets, yeggs, three card men, he knew them all and how they flit from zone to zone, birds of wind and weather, singers, fighters, scavengers. The Washington monument pointed to a new moon for us and a gang from over the river sang ragtime to a ukelele. The river mist marched up and down the Potomac, we hunted the fog-swept Lincoln Memorial, white as a blond woman's arm. We circled the city of Washington and came back home four o'clock in the morning, passing a sign: House Where Abraham Lincoln Died, Admission Cents. I got a letter from him in Sweden and I sent him a postcard from Norway .. every newspaper from America ran news of "the flu." The path of a night fog swept up the river to the Lincoln Memorial when I saw it again and alone at a winter's end, the marble in the mist white as a blond woman's arm.
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16
Up here it is more temporary; the Sun has already turned. In six months, the only light will be That of the snow piercing through the Darkness of a 23 hour night. Words such as swimming and Barbecue have the same taste as the Cardboard of the box you are provided With when being told to Clear out your desk immediately. And the winds pick up from Closer to north with promises of Ice cold rain in them. Then just ice. I fear not bullet nor blade, but look Down and shiver at the thought of having A brief, bad summer Such as this. I spent a week on Helene's parents' Boat in the fjords, fishing and eating Cod still wet with salt water, but yet; The skies were grey; the breezes Ungentle; unsoothing. But I read. I wrote. Saw viking sites Where the ground still Smells of sacrificial blood and Mead, and there I shrugged the disappointment off as I Closed my eyes and imagined paddle Sounds and Norse grunts from a Thousand years ago; rugged Travellers returning after months at sea Under a fierce foreign sun, finally home. Thinking nothing at all Of the weather.
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Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 6:03 PM UTC
sgholter
Summer in Norway can be not one at all
Up here it is more temporary; the Sun has already turned. In six months, the only light will be That of the snow piercing through the Darkness of a 23 hour night. Words such as swimming and Barbecue have the same taste as the Cardboard of the box you are provided With when being told to Clear out your desk immediately. And the winds pick up from Closer to north with promises of Ice cold rain in them. Then just ice. I fear not bullet nor blade, but look Down and shiver at the thought of having A brief, bad summer Such as this. I spent a week on Helene's parents' Boat in the fjords, fishing and eating Cod still wet with salt water, but yet; The skies were grey; the breezes Ungentle; unsoothing. But I read. I wrote. Saw viking sites Where the ground still Smells of sacrificial blood and Mead, and there I shrugged the disappointment off as I Closed my eyes and imagined paddle Sounds and Norse grunts from a Thousand years ago; rugged Travellers returning after months at sea Under a fierce foreign sun, finally home. Thinking nothing at all Of the weather.
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36
- 6 degrees Celsius From my balcony, yes! the atlas of my balcony; with the music of the masters pouring forth, from within, I follow the stars direction Norway and Sweden while around the corner one looks towards Iceland and 'those islands'. Cleeve is just across the way and Paris and Brussels down the road. This is my mainland!
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Aug 9, 2010
Aug 9, 2010 at 9:02 AM UTC
john-oconnell
- 6 degrees Celsius
- 6 degrees Celsius From my balcony, yes! the atlas of my balcony; with the music of the masters pouring forth, from within, I follow the stars direction Norway and Sweden while around the corner one looks towards Iceland and 'those islands'. Cleeve is just across the way and Paris and Brussels down the road. This is my mainland!
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19
Early in its life, this grand old tree decided to grow in opposite directions at once. Not exactly conducive to longevity my beautiful, leafy friend. I know. You have seen many of us, also our marriages, our families trying to do the same, impossible thing. Inevitably, the weight of years, the pull of gravity splits us down the middle, leaving us with a fatal wound, like this one of yours, old friend. Recent, rogue storms, torquing you with gale force winds, have opened fresh, damaging splits. Even your own generous embrace of the sky has left you open to disease where you are weakest, as are we, dear friend, who have stood in your shade imagining you destined for a venerable old age. It is not to be, not this time. Already, limbs are being cut down to lessen the risk to the neighbor's roof, and to the skulls of passing pedestrians. Enough of you will be left, as the chilly nights come on, for you to blaze out in generous, leafy glory, one last time.
0
Sep 19, 2015
Sep 19, 2015 at 10:38 PM UTC
FrancescaRegan
Norway Maple
Early in its life, this grand old tree decided to grow in opposite directions at once. Not exactly conducive to longevity my beautiful, leafy friend. I know. You have seen many of us, also our marriages, our families trying to do the same, impossible thing. Inevitably, the weight of years, the pull of gravity splits us down the middle, leaving us with a fatal wound, like this one of yours, old friend. Recent, rogue storms, torquing you with gale force winds, have opened fresh, damaging splits. Even your own generous embrace of the sky has left you open to disease where you are weakest, as are we, dear friend, who have stood in your shade imagining you destined for a venerable old age. It is not to be, not this time. Already, limbs are being cut down to lessen the risk to the neighbor's roof, and to the skulls of passing pedestrians. Enough of you will be left, as the chilly nights come on, for you to blaze out in generous, leafy glory, one last time.
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26
I taught her how to handle a Pellet gun tonight. Now her eye is black from the Scope, her fake fingernails chipped From loading, And the pine tree nearly stripped from Cones outside my Livingroom window, where our Jägermeister Cups made little rings on my Brother's Longfellow hardback Copy. The night sky is bright blue this Time of year in Norway. Sun never really sets. I looked up at the brightests spots Beyond the moon, as she took aim And fired with a subtle Psstkh. "So close," she whispered at the Unwounded summer evening, And I smelled her lavender hair And all the warm outsides As I thought of satellites and Discoveries, and how moments Such as this one would Always matter More.
0
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 5:52 PM UTC
sgholter
Watching Pluto
I taught her how to handle a Pellet gun tonight. Now her eye is black from the Scope, her fake fingernails chipped From loading, And the pine tree nearly stripped from Cones outside my Livingroom window, where our Jägermeister Cups made little rings on my Brother's Longfellow hardback Copy. The night sky is bright blue this Time of year in Norway. Sun never really sets. I looked up at the brightests spots Beyond the moon, as she took aim And fired with a subtle Psstkh. "So close," she whispered at the Unwounded summer evening, And I smelled her lavender hair And all the warm outsides As I thought of satellites and Discoveries, and how moments Such as this one would Always matter More.
Continue reading...
28