Saturday, 12 April 2014

Blog: Gardening and Viking poetry

Gardening and Viking poetry was what this day was mostly about. And endlessly listening to John Cafferty's songs has left me nostalgic. All my plants are in order to grow, and now I'm thinking of making an indoor garden, a very tiny one, mostly for herbs. It's so nice to plant seeds and watch them grow.

I don't know how come I've never watched Twin Peaks before, but I'm glad I found it now, it's brilliant. And that's how scarfs are made ;)

By pure coincidence I found a book titles Viking poetry of love and war and it pulled me. Also a few other books pulled me as well :)

Viking poetry of love and war by Judith Jesch

Olaf Haraldsson, king of Norway (11th century)
Olaf laments the departure of the Swedish princess Ingigerd Olafsdottir to marry another

I stood on a mound, watching
a fair mount bear the woman,
the beautiful-eyed wife
caused me to lose pleasure.
Friendly woman, goddess of the
hawk's ground, quickly drove the horse
out of the yard; each man is
haunted by one mistake.

Anonymous, from the Poetic Edda
Be cautious in your praise and appropriate in your actions

Praise the day at evening,
the wife when she's cremated,
a sword when it's tested,
a girl when she's married,
ice when you've crossed it,
beer when you've drunk it.

Chop wood in the wind,
row out to sea in good weather,
speak to a girl in the dark;
the day's eyes are many;
you need a ship for gliding;
a shield for protection;
a sword for striking;
a maiden for kissing.

Allen Ginsbergs' Howl was also among the books that found me, and here I'm sharing one of his poems:

Thursday, 10 April 2014

Poem: Are you awake

photo by Kelsey Hannah

are you awake?

your thoughts knitted between your fingers

hands drawing images of longing into the air

   remember, the dreams

and ideas, which pulled you forward?

   remember, the hopes

and ambitions, which helped to steady your feet?

all those premonitions you had

   are slowly finding its place

like skin - we shed our souls

   and stand as survivors

there is a certain ache of existing present

   somehow the glowing sunrays decrease it

a comforting sound, a silent echo behind our steps

   guiding us back into dust

                are we awake?

Written for Magpie Tales: Mag 214.

Saturday, 29 March 2014

Poem: There are things we kept secret

you gazed at me from the corner of the eye
as I drifted miles away, dazzling thoughts and a tempestuous heart
every now and again, I get lost in this man-mad madness
as we sail this mortal coil
from out of that darkness, headlights appear
many have wandered down this path
always stopping at red lights
every passenger has his burden to carry
words said can't be forgotten
thoughts have a way of becoming an opinion, a critique
and they seem to glue themselves to our very existence
there are things we kept secret
after all the butterflies flew out from our mouths
but you seem to know the song I'm singing
and I give you my body to share its fragility and strength

Written for a poetry prompt by the real toads.

Poem: Houses breathe us in

Photograph by Margaret Bednar
"I'm always drawn back to places where I have lived, the houses and their neighborhoods" - Truman Capote, Breakfast at Tiffany's


houses breathe us in

their walls dripping with time past, entwine lifelines

the museums of our triumphs, failures and milestones

all filled with stains from which we grew

places we've been to are wired like electrons to our memories

returning, revisiting at any moment

from the forests where the battles of history unfolded

to the mists of the April rain showers

and the sunlight of the evening catching your desires

you were there,

                that's why it matters

a certain feeling, a sound - like a silk tread

pierces through our hearts, evoking a traveller within

Written for a prompt by Margaret at the real toads.

Saturday, 22 March 2014

Poem: I knew you

I knew you,
although I'm sure 
our paths haven't crossed before
I knew you, 
like I know my toes
sipping warmth from the soil
I knew you, 
like I know my fingers
steeped in paint
I knew you, 
like I know the rhymes
I form from out of that internal dialogue
I knew you, 
like I know the crooked smile
I leave when I do something mischievous
I knew you, 
like I know that if we wore the same shoes
the steps we'd take would be unique for each one of us
despite the difference of opinion
or for that reason in particular
we are to be and love one another


Tuesday, 11 March 2014

Poem: Imperfections

above the treetops

                birds extend their wings of freedom

the thoughts you hold inside keep your mind captive

after a certain amount of time spent

you grow accustom to this silence between the walls

disrupted by a rhythmic spreading of the lungs

as if wind were dusting off the dirt

that the road has left on us

the world we create

                forces us; to convert our values

- our faces to fit the made up standards

making a race to keep up with the money-making machine

selling youth and beauty, labeling age as a disease

friends turning into numbers, and we're adding them up

on screen, once they have passed the test

                caved in under the pressure

into a swirl it grabs us

some never realize the slaves they've become

others shed a tear for the person they could've been
I listen to your voice

                taking me places I've never seen before

and you said: »I love the moon for its imperfections.«