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Fjord Fisherman at Dawn

Wave after wave, come carry me away
from home on shore before the break of day
my nets to set, my duties to attend,
(revisiting the ones who earlier went
whose ghosts now hover in the mist at dawn
above the waves who stole and hide their form;
I breathe mist in, I breathe it out again
in silent conversation with you now again)

Fish scales that glitter on the deck below my feet,
a pace away the sea awaits me – cold and deep –
how many of you fishermen before my time
have fallen for this childhood love of mine
now resting on the bottom of its shrine?
I hear your voices on the morning breeze,
in splashings when the boats the surface tease;
I sense your presence, you who are long gone,
but it’s not yet the day for me; I’m heading home

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Fragile Dawn

Fragile Dawn – I barely see you
as you shimmer through an eyelid
halfway gone before you’re here,
halfway gone while you are here –
You bring promises with you
that, forgotten, fade with you
in the bittersweet gradient
of morning sky and clouds –
A barely registered pulse
of colour and of sounds
that goes unnoticed by and large
and passes at a glance.

A single bike whirrs by beneath my window
with the buzzing of a fly.
A factory chimney across the bay
spews rosy haze.
The sound of rustling leaves,
suddenly turned up high,
reaches me as you set the world ablaze.

Your beauty lies in this
ability you have perfected;
to make things beautiful
that normally
go undetected.

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to the girl

are streams of music, tones of rain
and moisturizing breaths you share,

are a song that comes and goes –
unnoticed though by most –
that follows me asleep, awake,
and lives inside my palms

breathe out tenderness and contours,
breathe in life and dance
and paint a life with nothing
that has meaning


curls of heat that stir the air
on a hot summer’s day
and fuses floral scents
with everything, everywhere

are everything I see –
you are in flowers, are in trees,
are in valleys, are in hills,
in the earth and in the sea

a breath of freshness
yet to be renewed
in waves that lap these
strands of welcoming seas

and a continuous harmony
playing its soulful airs
of tension between sea and sands

and YOU
as you recline and you observe
the ordered mayhem you create –
that is created from you –
spiraling outward from you
in its warm, entangling curls

a softness like the finest silk,
a moisture like the thickest mist,
a penetrating scent of life and light

and YOU
who just perpetuate –
who just persist –

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Gold Stripe

Gently tuned clangs from the ivory
of the piano keys –
a breath disturbs the dusty air,
the dust grains now break free –
amidst the tunes they dance
as if by music struck,
awoken into life
where now they run amok –
the golden stripe of sunlight
enlivening the keys
and the frail and tender breath
keeps them alive and free –
lit by the sun they sparkle
like particles of gold,
accompanied by Chopin –
what beauty does it mold

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The Memory of Music

Don’t play it – no more melody
reminding me of you –
don’t play the song we used to sing,
don’t sing it like you do –
no sound to ruin what my heart
is hoarding, true and pure;
there is no singing that today
is better or more sure.

Don’t play those notes of piano chimes
I used to play for you –
I will no more be reminded of times
we spent on those, me and you.
Whereto you have gone and wherefrom returned
since we last played this song
I do not care – I do not want to know –
by leaving me you did wrong!

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Only This Lives Forever

a rhythm,
no, a beat –
but in-between
the sounds
it rests,
a string
makes music
without sound –

a pulse,
again, a beat –
an un-tuned,
fine-tuned air,
a seed
of music
in its latency,
each and every
property –

only this
lives forever –
only this
the beat
out of need

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When It Was

When it was, it all was real,
today it is a shadow –
the lush green grass, a lonely cloud,
the daisies on the meadow –

When it was, it all was real,
but felt unreal to me –
then how much more unreal today
when I’m across the sea?

When it was, it was: It was!
Today it is a dream.
A dream that sweetens present days
with its soft, warming gleam

A welcome, numbing dream I dream
when the present seems too real;
when it was, it all was real –
today it’s just a dream.