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Where Are My Sunsets?

Where are my sunrises?
Where are my sunsets?
Where are my days?
An endless night
has taken their place.

Where are my colours?
Where is the music?
Colourless it fades.
A blurry image of a world
now passes by – abates.

Where are my sunsets?
There’s no sun to make them.
A distant globe up high
whose light retreats
remains cold in the sky.

Where did you go?
Why did you go?
Now what of me?
What do I do?

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The Moth Inside

The moth inside me yearns
towards the people in the crowd
with their invisible light –
the aura of their company invisible by sight –
although each contact only causes me to burn.

Yet still I find myself
dwell on their presence by me
though from a safe, slight distance –
their presence cast the only light in sight
and so I must return – if only once again to burn.

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Light Requires Darkness

I carry with me a darkness
that prevents me from taking flight,
a burden of thoughts that possess
and bars me from the light.

I thought that I should name it
to understand and will it away
but names tend to bind things
and so might make it stay…

Instead I tell myself
and the whole dispassionate world
that light requires darkness
in order to ever unfold.

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I Have No Voice That You Can Hear

I heard your question.
I strove to answer.

The words swelled in my throat,
they got stuck, wiggling their way out,
writhing, tearing at my windpipe –

You just stood there.
You just stared at me.

But the words were there –
it wasn’t for lack of trying –
it’s just that I have no voice
that you can hear.

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On the Verge

I am waiting to disperse,
I’m almost on the verge of dissipating –
let my components find rest
if that’s the only kind of rest to find…
I’m ready to slip past
the past, the present, and into the future,
a future waiting in the dark
in which I may or may not play a part…
I will flit away someday –
I will run with the sun
over this small globe
on light feet, light-headed, freed
from the chains my body imposes
knowing neither joys nor pains –
would that be happiness?
Or would it simply be a change
from one form to another,
yet again, and yet again,
proving once again
all higher thoughts in vain?

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Two O’Clock At Night

Two o’clock at night;
got up
and lit the lamp –
how long did I sleep,
how long been awake?
Darkness presses down,
the lamp struggles
sympathetically helpful
to keep it at bay.

I walked through
a large and cold house;
foreign, familiar –
past or future.
Someone’s death had caused
my presence there –
I went around and searched
for something; who knows what.
My head drummed with poetry
all starting with the line:
“What has happened?”

I moved some furniture around
and then some more.
I turned my back to hear
them relocate themselves.
All that I touched,
all that I moved
remained in place a second
and then returned
to where I moved it from –
nothing could disturb
their languid movements.

And two o’clock at night
I finally woke
completely exhausted
from all that work.
Now I wander aimlessly
about my flat
touching everything
to make sure
that it seems real.

I tell myself
a dream was all it was,
and you can just let it slip by.
But in my heart
I know that is a lie.

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Standing There Alone

Standing there alone
who those people are
and what they think.
Milling around me,
but the words do not
make sense.
It’s endless humming
without meaning,
and it tires me out.

From a distance
every word
sounds like a buzz
and people lose
their eyes.
Everybody looks the same
and sounds the same
and move around the same way,
and I laugh
at their concept
of individuality.

I won’t purport to know them
based on having met
or talked with them before –
there is no point,
no purpose
and no plan.

It takes so long
to get to know somebody –
it takes so much work.
You have to see them
in so many situations,
assess their feelings
and thoughts –
and, let’s be honest:
None of you
care for that much work.

So I will not approach you,
just observe
and think.
And write, perhaps,
and maybe,
if the need should strike me,

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Travelling Alone

“How good for you, to travel alone,
it’s so empowering!”
“A modern woman shouldn’t wait for anyone;
run your own show, do your own thing!”
“I’m so impressed that you went all on your own!”

I know there is no point in exclamations,
in corrections,
Technically they are just trying
to compliment me.
But why is it that they can’t see
the errors that they make?
As if I would have travelled
all alone
if that wasn’t the only path to take?

I didn’t go to prove myself,
to “grow” or show the world
what an empowered woman I am –
I went alone because
I have no-one with whom
I could’ve shared my travel plan.

What is it that’s supposed to be
so great
about standing alone in a foreign city
taking pictures of oneself?
As if I wouldn’t rather
have had someone
to share the experience with.

Yeah, sure, I got to spend a whole day
in an art museum
with nobody to complain –
you know what’s sometimes said of art?
That it’s a substitute for love,
and only truly thrives
when needed
as an outlet for emotions.

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I Wake in the Middle of the Night

I wake in the middle of the night
with outstretched arms
reaching for that which slips out of my grasp –
the world, life, sanity,
a future worth living in,
dreams worth dreaming
that actually stand a chance of coming true –

I fall asleep again and dream of dissolving,
disappearing –
I hear voices all around me
but when I answer them
they turn out to be just that;
without senses
though they are embodied,
they cannot hear me
or they do not want to.

I wake in the morning, exhausted
and too tired to speak –

I tell myself that I might as well
live in the present
since it is all downhill from here
and the future gets more and more bleak
by the minute
and shrinks accordingly as well.

But if only someone listened –

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New Poem: “Evening Falls”

This isn’t actually a new poem – it is a new version of an older poem that I wasn’t good enough at the time to make rhyme properly.

All the same, I won’t add a long description as the poem is fairly self-explanatory. You know how, when you’re in love with someone and want to let them know but is crippled by anxiety and fear of rejection? Yeah, basically that.

The night creeps up above us,
envelops us and shows us
light is unnecessary

The evening winds caress us
and breathes their lightness on us
slowly in disarray

We sit and night falls on us
its darkness all around us
we sit here quietly

And had we hoped between us
that night would ease and help us
more so than did the day

We should have felt within us
a certain sense of loss
at not knowing what to say

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I miss it – gentle warmth –
caress of souls, of sun and Earth –
a thousand tiny rays and swirls
from you to me and back again –
an endless, wordless, mindless
and thoughtless exchange;
a promise left unspoken
and a word that’s never said
cannot diminish this presence
of the things we had
together –
lingering a while
once you leave me;
your warmth a pleasant memory
as cold envelops me

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A Tale of Modern Paganism

There were days when the paganism of her ancestors came back to life inside her.
There were days when the cherry wine was a welcome friend.
But there were also days when it didn’t work as well as it ought to.
There were days when she didn’t need it at all – where she was one with the world around her, one with the permeating universal energy and felt the breath of the Universe itself in the wind and heard its voice in the rustling leaves, and let her body dissolve happily into the fabric it was a part of.
On those days she didn’t need the cherry wine.
But then there were other days.

Continue reading A Tale of Modern Paganism

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HER 1: Waiting for Her


It was raining as usual. Since autumn set in the rain had been almost constant. She had hardly seen the sun in over three weeks.
All the same, the weather fit her mood.
She was waiting for the bus. It felt to her as if all she had ever done in her life was waiting. For the bus. For Her. For the bus again. Benching. Waiting for the bus. Waiting for Her. Benching. Waiting. For Her.
The rain weighed down her otherwise fluffy hair, and the drops on her glasses made it impossible for her to see. She took them off. Not that it helped in the least bit. It just made the world blurry instead of blotched.

Continue reading HER 1: Waiting for Her

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HER 3: The Art of Knowing

That head reminded her of something. Something she knew she’d seen before, but at the moment she wasn’t able to accurately match it with anything in her memory. All the same, that ruffled golden hair in front of her seemed familiar. So familiar that she felt like stretching out her hand to touch it, even though she knew that the owner would probably throw a fit if she were to act on her desire.
The head turned slightly when the owner motioned to look out of the bus window. It belonged to a young woman with milk-and-honey skin and long eyelashes. A ripple of sobbing motions ran through her mind. That woman reminded her of someone, but of whom? When she turned her head a whiff of perfume was blown in her direction – sweet, flowery stuff. Like a large bouquet she just wanted to bury her head in to better sense the full fragrance of the moment. The sweet smell mixing with the humid, dank smell coming from everyone else on the bus. The smell of rain.
The young woman got off the bus at the business college. The moment’s gone, she thought to herself as the bus rode on, leaving another nameless passenger behind in the rain. She felt like crying. She had a feeling that she too had left someone behind in the rain somewhere. In fact, it all seemed so familiar to her, as if it had happened before.

Continue reading HER 3: The Art of Knowing

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Hver lyd der udstødes
trækker energi med sig –
min mund udtaler
min dødsdom.

Til sidst suges følelserne
ud gennem porerne
så jeg sidder tilbage
tom, summende
af andres nærvær
indtil processen vender
og mine porer suger
deres fremmede essens
ind under huden
hvor den sætter sig
som uvelkomment

Tømt for kraft
sidder jeg blandt dem –
hvert ord smerter.

Men jeg er for tynget
af sediment
til at
kunne flytte mig.

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Du kender mig ikke
og jeg kender ikke verden
men vi foregiver begge
kendskab –
vi ønsker begge at forstå
ting der overgår
vor forstand –

Et glimt af et menneske der taler,
munde bevæger sig
og øjne danser,
hænder glider gennem luften –
aldrig i ro.

Jeg forstår ikke mennesker
med deres korte glæder,
korte sorger,
korte tanker –
men jeg foregiver kendskab
da jeg skal forestille
en af dem.

Et glimt af dig
under glimtende lamper,
hvirvlende rundt i dans
i selskab med
en Strawberry Daiquiri.
Jeg forstår dig ikke –
med din klingende latter,
smilende mund,
usmilende øjne.

Et glimt af mig
set fra oven
med en bog i hånden
og en verden i tankerne
der fjerner al evne
til at fungere lige her og nu…

Jeg forstår ikke mig selv –
at jeg ønsker at forstå?
Hvad med dig?

Et glimt –
dit smil –
div kvidrende stemme –
ingen tanker for i går,
ingen tanker for i morgen;
tanker for et ‘mig’
som ikke er…

nej –

du ønsker nok egentlig ikke
forståelse –
du ønsker nok livet nu og her
og at få det overstået,
og krydset af som fuldført
på din endeløse bucket list
rejser og oplevelser,
fester og sammenkomster,

Et glimt af os begge
da vi var børn –
med fødderne i vand
under en varm, venlig sol
inden vi skulle tilbage
til det sted der kaldtes “hjem” –

erindringer er subjektive –

børn ser så meget for meget
og forstår så meget for lidt –

Jeg kendte dig aldrig rigtigt
og du kendte ikke mig –
ikke for alvor,
kun i glimt.

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Du holdt om min arm –
solen skinnede –
vi snakkede –
vi grinede –
det var varmt
selvom det var tidligt på året –
du rystede på hovedet
så solens reflekser
dryssede ud af håret –

Du overskinnede solen
og jeg stod i skyggen –
ryggen var vendt mod mig
da du havde alt for travlt
med at skinne for alle andre
nu du ikke længere
kun havde mig –

Du strålede stadig
som en flamme
da du tog afsted
i andres selskab.

Grænsen mellem kærlighed og had
består kun af ordet –

ensomhed –

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Jeg er hende

Jeg er hende
hvis øjne lyser op når de ser
ting du ikke kan se –
jeg er hende
der forærer dig en digtsamling
i form af stilhed –
jeg er hende
som accepterer din tilstedeværelse
og måske havde kunnet lide dig
hvis du bare ikke
talte så meget –
jeg er hende
som ikke hører hvad du siger
fordi dine ord blot er en
irriterende baggrundsstøj
bag lyden af vandets brusen
i mit indre landskab –
jeg er hende
der tænker ved at skrive
i stedet for at fable løs
om ting jeg ikke forstår –
jeg er hende der forstår
at al den snak
kun fører til
at man længes
efter stilhed.

Jeg har stilhed
draperet omkring mig –
hvis stilheden regerede
ville den være
bedre fordelt
mellem alle,
men nu klamrer den sig
kun til mig –
jeg er hende
der en dag vil
blive kvalt af stilhed
fordi I andre
så meget –
så højt –

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Where I am heading there’s no light –
you brought that with you too;
it rested in your golden hair
and when you aren’t with me here
I’m left in darkness and despair.

Where I am heading there’s no sight
to thrill me (how compare to you?),
no smile can match the one you’d wear,
no happiness the one we’d share;
no, nothing’s worth the half of care.

Where am I heading off to, Light –
far-off I can still see your hue –
where am I heading off to, where
find rest when everywhere
without you nothing stirs except despair.

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The Road Into the Wilderness

What do you know
about the road
into the wilderness –
framed by the pines
in silent lines
of endless loneliness

The road, the road
which trails its track
through miles of forest-land,
without a destination,
void of end, beginning
and of any plan

The only travelers
traversing this way
are the likes of me –
they are the ones who stray
out of the beaten track
wishing to truly BE!

And when they reach
this almost-empty road
they know what there’s to know;
the world is void,
the meaning’s gone;
there’s nothing left to know

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I gravitate towards you
as you pass –
a road that leads elsewhere
than where I’m headed at –
a meeting, brief exchanges,
empty air remains –
an era’s past in my timeline,
another’s come – it’s just the same
just you are gone –
a flash of amber from your eyes, you’ve left,
and I – alone – forget my way;
the signs are sometimes difficult to read alone

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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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Insel des Einzelgänger 1.

Monologue: Where I Stand Now.

“I walk alone, remember not
a time when this was not my lot;
I walk alone, my melody
the roaring of surrounding sea;
I walk alone, my song is this,
be left alone my only wish.”

“I am a loner, this is true,
supported by the rain and dew,
by wind and sea, by summer rain
that makes me sprout with this year’s grain.”

“A voice, a voice in distance heard,
it says my name; speaks dreadful words;
but should I heed it’s message, take
for granted this prophecy I hear,
or hope that none of what I fear
shall ever cause me to awake?”

The day shall come when you whose ship
with arrogance parts currents now
shall either be deluged or be
just swept away; revenge of the sea –
slowly perhaps, or perhaps fast
you shall be gone; you cannot last.

She walked along the street, singing,
heard nobody else speaking and heeded nobody’s greetings:

“Such a weather as today,
such a day!
All I wish is to be swept away!

My native ocean
where are you now?
Where are the waves
where do you flow?
Where is my ship (if it still is)?
Carry me off
to the horizon
where I glimpse in the far-off distance

some summits I can’t recognize.

I shall explore and I shall find.

At least I’ll try and should the wind
Impertinent carry me off
away off course

way into distant unknown lands
then what?

As long as I’m alone as long as I am free

I shall not care what I shall get to see.

Where is my ship
– it’s silver keel,
it’s silky sails
full with the wind,
let’s go tomorrow is too late,

I feel a sense of haste
I know not why,
I have to go, I have to run, I am compelled –
I know not why.”

But still she waited, slowed her speed, stood still
awaiting someone who wasn’t coming –

“I want to travel, travel far away
tomorrow is too late –
but not alone,”

awaiting answer she went quiet, but no answer came

“I want to travel, travel, travel
onwards, finding
new horizons
beyond the constraints of the map
but not alone?

I need someone, someone who will
accompany my search –
I cannot go alone then I might just
as well stay here –
oh, what’s the use – when no-one cares?”

“Loneliness is
an empty hand – another hand that slips
out of your grasp,
and disappears –

Loneliness is
the distance separating hearts,
the veil that covers scars
and silence in itself –

Loneliness is
the emptiness dispersing when
two hearts are in accord,
but comes to choke you when
nobody’s there to see you –

Loneliness is
not finding reason to cry,
since no one hears or cares –
and never crying means never to care –”

“As in the grass I rested on the dike,
I never felt alone, not for a second –
I was alone, but people near,
I heard their voices, knew their presence,
so I didn’t care I was alone.

I knew when I no longer wanted solitude
I had the option to go and join their games –
not having the option makes the difference,
that’s what makes you feel alone.”

“Back on my island, proudly in the sea
protruding, stretching up to meet the sun
defying waves and tide with constancy
(seemingly), there I never felt alone.
I was a part of all, and all a part of me –
the island and the sea and me a part of all,
the sky, the sea that joined at the horizon
was all the world, and I could hear the hum
of life in every movement around me –
and all was part of me, and I was part of all
and loneliness was not an option, not a thought
that I could think – I did not know of it,
for I was all and all was me –
and all I heard the sound of sea
of wind of seabirds; quite a symphony
was played for me each day, and I was free,
alive and whole; ALONE, but never lonely.”

“But here – this cold, unfeeling place
where nature cannot show its face
and no one cries and no one cares –
the rhythm is a curse, it’s not a cure –
and loneliness the symptom of disease,
you cannot be alone, but can be lonely
among these crowds of people – that’s the irony!
No, for companion give me clouds and sea –
and give me sky and sun and rustling grass,
and when I watch the fishing boats return
I shall forget that I’m alone, and then again
I’ll just be me, a part of all and all a part of me –
an entity in its own right, facing the sea –”

“Loneliness is the eyes that wander,
never meeting yours.
Loneliness the voice that staggers
to find footing
but is never heard.
Loneliness the sound of people passing
without stopping.
Loneliness is watching people live,
but not feeling alive yourself.

Lonely –
the condition forced upon you
by yourself,
by not living the way you wish (but
not knowing what it is you wish), and
therefore slowly corroding
your happiness, by living
a life without life – loneliness
is the symptom of a disease
which disappears the instant
you are actually ALONE.”

“I left my island, left behind
the place
how unwise –

now I’m left in a no-man’s-land
marooned in crowds –

I’ve been deluded, been deceived,
I thought myself free, but in reality
I haven’t been myself since leaving home,
I want my island…

(where’s my ship gone off to?)

but now I know that I cannot return alone,
the time has passed,
and I have changed beyond bounds –
I used to be at peace
but after meeting people I
have lost trace of
my starting point, my sails are hanging down
empty of the breeze that carried me here…

my island!
how I long for you!
but can you
accept it if I bring
somebody else to see you?

my island! part of me, and I a part of all…

can I accept
the necessity
of showing you off to an outsider’s eyes,
the disbelieving, disapproving gaze
of someone unacquainted with our vows?

and who would sail with me?
who’d risk the trip aboard my ship

(if I can find it)

other than myself? who would, and why?

I never should have left my island,
never should have boarded ship,
I never should have set my sails
at any other destination,
now I have become what I’ve become
and what I am, no longer me…

can I go home – I cannot go alone –
who will accompany me on the trip…?

with what intentions, what designs –
and what transpire then when we arrive…?”

“The prophecy came true, the one
I heard of spoken as a child –
strange rumors, that I for one
not used to heed, but now…”

The prophecy came true, I didn’t know
I’d met it till too late and I was stuck,
the prophecy – the unclear wording, metaphorically
has trapped me unknowingly, and I do not know now
how to escape – for who would follow me?
My self’s been whisked away and I cannot return alone,
nor find my ship unless someone should vow to
follow me –
I am marooned in other words –
I never shall be free.”

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Distant One

Though you can read there is no guarantee
that you should ever seek out word from me
though I have written countless poems too
solely addressing, solely seeking you.

But if in distant reach, in other country, you
should find my words and read them through
and understand the depths in which I sought
to gather them, and unto you them brought.

And if you should feel moved, if you should know
instinctually the span of space that go
directly from my heart to yours the moment when
you read my words – you read and comprehend,

then feel my warmth in words inlaid,
the deepest depths of feelings left unsaid
laid in-between my words as codes for you
to warm yourself at when you’ve read them through.

I write to you, address you best I can,
and with no guarantee you’ll understand,
though I can’t see your face nor read your mind,
wish you can nonetheless make sense of mine.

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While You Outshine the Sun

Dancing careless
through the streets
in your flower dress
with music in your voice
and summer in your eyes.

Unnoticed by your light
I stand here in the shade
while you outshine the sun.

You laugh and flirt and talk
with a promise in your walk
to every heart that you have won.

You hardly notice they are won
focused as you are on you
while you outshine the sun.

Unnoticed by your light
yet drawn towards it too
I linger in your presence
as the summer wears on –

I see each bait pass by you
on and on and on again
and envy each and every one
although they are forgotten
and discarded in a moment
by your lightness.

I see you move and move and move
and never cease a second.
I’ll follow till my legs give in
although you never see me.
I’m just the shade that needs be there
to balance out the light I see.

I’m just the shade unseen by light
behind you day and night.
Mine is the unknown love you’ve won
while you outshine the sun.

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Trail of Smoke

You are a trail of smoke inside my head.
Will it condense and turn to rain
which falls to cool my smoldering heart?

You are a vision pure and innocent like death –
a secret being born out of my heart and brain,
and memories don’t live, so you never can be dead.

You are the one I seek when I feel lonely,
I smell the air for signs of she who isn’t here,
I embrace the air, hoping that it will condense.

You are a trail of smoke; innocent, frail,
my heart’s longing for what isn’t here…
A trail of smoke that can’t
and likely never shall condense.

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You’re Here

It was too late when finally I realized
that for the first time in over three years
we’d been to the same place at the same time,
but without knowing the other one was there

I saw you not, I heard you not; but you were there,
I sensed you not in the bustling crowd; but you were near,
I left without having seen the object of my dreams
and thoughts of it are almost too much for me to bear

Should I now think it comforting to know that
seeing your face would just remind me of the past
so not seeing it is better, since the past is lost?
How could I find that comforting when I myself feel lost?

Lost without you, the only thing to comfort me now
is thinking that we are still united somehow –
trapped together on this planet, breathing the same air,
you’re not as near as I would like, but at least you’re here

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Above Lightning

My aim not to be seen has been cut out for me,
as I soar past, above your home, all I can see
is dark, looming clouds stretching far and wide
towards oblivion; to the end of my sight –
occasionally lit up by bluish flares of light
as thunder has enveloped the place where you might
hide from me who hover under blue skies, free,
between the thundering menace beneath me
and the ethereal blue where no clouds,
save some feathers,
will venture to disturb the tranquil weathers –
I went here to see you without myself being seen,
but neither can see either, and it seems my aim has been
a mere illusion, worse, perhaps a dream

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The Streetlight

You stood there, lonely shadow
cast you on the pavement,
the streetlight lit your hair on fire,
I stood in the shade, admired
how your breath escaped your lips
in clouds of damp heartbreaks

I stand under the golden light
alone after your sudden flight,
the melting snow reflects
what remains of the streetlight’s glow
after you stole the most of it
with your escape

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New Poem: “Her”

I saw her in a vision –
an image of perfection –
I know her to be real
yet unreal there.
She didn’t deign to look
and I am not surprised –
as always she despairs
in her own sphere.

She could have gone with me –
I could have let her be –
anything could happen
in the night that can’t distinguish –

but I am left here now –
love has burst out from me –
it ran out like a river –
it flushed all goodness out
in all its passion.
All it left was dregs;
the heavy, dark remains
that I am left to tend
here all alone.

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New Poem: “Where Are My Sunsets?”

Where are my sunrises?
Where are my sunsets?
Where are my days?
An endless night
has taken their place.

Where are all my colours?
Where is all the music?
Colourless it fades.
A blurry image of a world
now passes by – abates.

Where are my sunsets?
There’s no sun to make them.
A distant globe in the sky
whose cold light retreats
is all that shines up high.

Where did you go?
Why did you go?
What of my sunsets?
How will I ever know?

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New Poem: “You See What’s In Me Hidden”

You see what’s in me hidden,
you know what I will say.
You know I’m with you smitten,
and yet you stay away.

I do not need your arguments
and reason has no power;
if you don’t share my sentiments
tell me! this very hour.

But nothing – nothing’s spoken
and such it must remain –
my feelings are unbroken;
in silence they remain.

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New Poem: “The Truest Love Poem I Shall Ever Write”

I’ve loved you since my childhood.
I’ll love you till I die.
Your immaterial material being
has made me laugh and cry.

I know each nook and corner,
I’ve walked each street and path.
And though I’ve left in person
I left behind one half.

I catch you in my thoughts
quite often unawares,
no matter where I am
I’m caught up in your snares.

I miss your tree-lined streets,
I miss your chimney smoke,
I miss the fog horns to whose sound
I oftentimes awoke.

I miss your tough, hard people
with their surprising warmth;
unsurpassed hospitality
made me forget all want.

I miss you; yes, I miss you
wherever else I go;
You have me, I am yours
no matter where I go.

For I cannot forget you!
there’s no home left for me –
I couldn’t stay with you
and no place else appeals to me.

I’m lonely all the time now
though not for want of folks –
for want of you, my hometown,
and your sweet, soothing voice:

The voice of sea gulls screaming,
of factories and fog horns –
the rhythm of my heartbeat;
the voice that calls me home.