I andra länder
möts man
I Sverige
har man en dikt om det.
Category: POETRY (trying to be Poe)
Soft and strong
There are certain words
that makes your writing
sound weak
-some
-sometimes
-somewhat
-almost
-maybe
By using such words
you sound
undecided, hesitant, irresolute
But who cares about sound?
These words
actually makes you stronger
They show that you are not
an arrogant, cocksure know-it-all
You know that you don´t KNOW
and you express it
Which is a giant step forward
(maybe)
You exist
Lost again in the
dark forest
(I don´t mean
the Schwarzwald torte)
Trapped in the jungle
of confusing
desperate
terrifying thoughts
I turn left
turn right
blind alleys on each side
Monsters of the ID(isney)
are staring at me with neon eyes
running after me
clutching at my throat
sinking their claws into my heart
But there is an end to everything…
After total exhaustion
I give up and lie down
Sleep (a much better driver than I)
takes over the wheel
(Dawn)
The forest is still dark
but sleep has dispersed
at least the worst phantoms
Between the almost impenetrable branches
a thin ray of light
a delicate whiff of hope
A thought, until now neglected and cast aside,
momentarily disperses the fog:
Things cannot be
all bad, since…
You Exist.
The little hunchback lady selling flowers
I´m building up to an awful hangover
I have this problem
with alcohol:
I drink too little
But I realize that
what this world needs now
is a really awful hangover
(Almost but not quite
in the Dylan Thomas league)
Úgy nem szeretek részeg lenni
But it´s time to drink till you drop
I will enjoy throwing up
It will cleanse me
make me pure and clean
When sober for too long
(a year is too long)
strange things accumulate
in your system
Tonight I will get rid of them
The (Sh)or(l)acle
When shortening with Shorl (“shorlifying”) the URL for my “poem” about Valentine´s Day, this is what Shorl came up with:
With my interest in oracles I am fascinated by seemingly random letters and toys like this.
“Having fun, Guuemfdtm? Fotaleasl!”
In the jumble “tityfridunone” I find the following nuggets of meaning, even Valentine meaning.
Starting from the end: tityfridunone. Yes, loneliness is what that poem was about.
tityfridunone There it comes again, one in another language. Now we have two ones. Less lonely.
tityfridunone Frid = peace in Swedish.
tityfridunone Here things get seemingly naughty, but not really. Tit >> breast >> heart. Right on, oracle!
Put it together: One plus one make a pair. Peace in the heart.
Or forwards: The heart is at peace when two are united (unone).
The Oracle has spoken. So mote it be!
Today even a parenthesis looks like a heart
Cruel joke from
the bad old days:
“Goodday. I would like to return
this mobile phone.
-What´s wrong with it?
-It never rings!
-Sir, you need to have friends too”
I usually turn off my mobile nowadays
(it never rings)
Today I turned it on
Rationally speaking, just because some people are single cannot be a reason for those not single not to celebrate their non-singleness. The aggravated loneliness of a few is not reason enough to brake the joy of the many. Still, it´s a pity they cannot coexist: the joy of the single and the pair.
Today I turned it on
The victory of hope
over experience
or
victory of self-pity
over generosity?
(Why don´t you call someone?
Why don´t YOU send a heart?)
What time is it?
Two hours left…
There is still hope.
Just don´t call it poetry
I who have read quite a bit of poetry, much of it of the subtle and exalted kind — have even set it to music — am often dismayed when people today “write poetry”. Writing poetry is one of those things that everybody can do. So they think.
And of course, if there is nothing more to it than putting words after each other on paper, or computer screen, and keeping to the irregular right margin, then everybody can.
But if poetry is something else and something more, they can´t.
Just recently an old friend of mine sent me a video with some “poetry”. And I thought: I would like to read your thoughts if they were just presented as prose, even as prose poems (more doubtful…), but when you call it poetry I must either forget what I know about good poetry or turn my back on your video.
Just don´t call it poetry, and I might read it.
Right now I am holding Steve Taylors “The calm center” in my hand. Much influenced by Eckhart Tolle, the material in this book is very interesting, sometimes stunning. Again I have to say I haven´t read it all. Because, again, this is not poetry. But it could be great prose, or let´s just say great text, words, thoughts.
Isn´t that enough? For some people, no. They want to be Poets, without knowing good poetry. What a pity.
I confess that I also sometimes write a short text with IRM (irregular right margin) or OHM (oregelbunden högermarginal). It can look like poetry, and I hope somewhat that it is poetry, but I wouldn´t call it poetry.
Only vampires see it that way
No, Mr. Vampire
is not sad, depressed or heartbroken
He is just hungry
All there is is hunger:
the good old
primitive
antediluvian
craving
It might look like sensitivity
existential agony
or romantic suffering
Mr. Vampire might resemble
a “tortured soul”
afflicted by the Dark Night
But he is just hungry
Give him food, some fresh blood
and he will not be happy or joyous
or delighted or blissful
Just full
Hunger is not unhappiness
and being sated is not happiness
Only vampires see it that way.
