Wednesday, 30 October 2013

Poem: A wave will rise on quiet water

in the grim night
hills framed with fog
moon supported with skeletons of gods
howling dogs, one by one were silenced
by a chill, a gentle whisper
beyond the grave:
"Eiridh tonn air uisage balbh"
I felt chills running down my spine
as if a nail was scratching my vertebrae
with an ancient chanting
all the gates broke loose
spirits set free
to settle the debts
voices from the other side
an echo of past wars
heard through the valleys
sailor songs thundered once more
against the stirring of the waves
the air fumed
with the spilled blood
breaking loose all the horrors
souls carry into the gates of eternity
from the misty shadow
a once familiar face appears
like a long forgotten love letter
sings me a song of his sorrows
and how it's meant to be
no victory in death he found
stone cold hands grab me
kills me one last time
we return to the bonfire lit a decade ago

 Written as a poetry prompt for poets united - link. 've been wanting to write something like this anyway. Most interesting time of the year begins for me, and I again am somewhat sick, a bit delirious from throat pain and the menthol bonbons. Now, that's a horror story ;)

Monday, 28 October 2013

Poem: Before pen touches paper

Should I continue from where I left off? Ignore
the unwritten chapters in between? Characters
remain the same, yet forever changed by the problems
and wounds they let in. Every life is a rose petal
and it's fall echoes like a sparrows song.
It's a slow process of progression from one
side to the other. Your goal a reality
or a dream – a plain difference when you try
to write it in a letter; gazing so carefully
at the words, the words gaze back at you.
And you giggle at your own hallucinations. In the dream
of our imagination the children whisper
of men’s faults. Calling for a home of peace so close
at hand in the green fields.  Before the moment
of waking up, we are larger than life. Nothing out of place.
Writers have not run out of ink, but out of hope
and confidence. There forever remains a silence 
                before pen touches paper.

 Finally autumn inspiration kicked in; the weather is perfect for melancholic music and reading. Even Ollie has been a bit more lazy than usual. The first picture was five years ago, something like that, and even though people say I look young, I think I looked younger back then ;)

Sunday, 27 October 2013

Poem: Between silences

red of the sunset on the grey clouds burns
under the cover of longing the spirits escape
speaking in a foreign language of a time they felt free
amongst the shadows of ourselves the poets sing
between silences capturing raindrops to help us breathe
in the water of evening the waves turn
shipwrecked against the tide of time we drift away
blue always above us as we make paper scrapes
to hold a scent of freedom which once made us feel alive
between silences building a hiding place


Sunday, 20 October 2013

Poetry: October colours

the red of the moon on the horizon
sea currents humming beneath the surface
face the wind leading us home
playing a soundtrack to our lives
from the saddest part of our souls a rose grows

wind with a touch of cold
tiny pink blossoms dangling
colour of my cheeks when eyes meet yours
I dare you to catch me
before snow hides our footprints

brown leaves falling like snow
covering the roads we tread
lovers keep your engines burning
under the hood of your car
days will slip by like the last i.v. drip

It's middle of October, but I feel like September was yesterday. Weeks just roll by, I can't seem to catch this crazy rhythm of our lives. I am aware of how time goes fast when our pregnant woman gives birth, but to me it seems like yesterday when she had her first visit. But it's been nine months in between. Last week, I think it was Wednesday, I drove to work, and the sun was shinning, it was warm outside and I had do drag myself into the car. But when I drove through the forest the leaves where falling down like snow, tapping on my car window, as if to say "Wake up!". And they did, they woke me up to the peace, to seeing this beautiful season before it's gone...


Poem: Voice of a tamed wolf

words leave your lips like a voice of a tamed wolf 
                in silence, with a touch of moonlight
you sense the power they could've had
as the feet seem to remember some path of old
but can't decide which one feels more like home
hundred battles you fought to stay sane 
                your uniform laying on the floor
on your way out, you stumble upon it, every time
a reminder of dreams you had to let go
all black beside you now, only images firing up in your mind 
                like stepping into quicksand
a week is a day, and a night is a minute
running towards an unidentified goal
or drifting away from what you achieved
you watch how everything changes 
                transforming back and forth into a swirl
changing the nature of living
but you keep waking up inside your skin
and are already missing those waking moments
which need no modifications to be perfect