Author Archives: blitzken

Advice to my nephew turning 30

Thought I’d write some words of wisdom,
But I couldn’t get them to come,
Nonetheless I’m writing this to you,
As it is with that old adage,
Thirty is a rite of passage,
So I’ve jotted down some stuff to get you through,
You’ll be fine, but time will tell,
If no one saw, you never fell,
Karma’s a bitch, but just as well,
For if you scratch an itch, it just might swell,
If it’s what it is, it was meant to be,
But perception is reality,
Half-full or empty’s not the gig,
The problem is your cup’s too big,
Just be yourself, I share your pain,
Don’t bring a towel into the rain,
Knuckle down, it’s not rocket science,
Revolt, or consider compliance,
Doesn’t matter either way,
Tomorrow’s still another day,
In the big picture, we’re all just squat,
A little bit of cosmic snot,
Trouble’s not worth a hill of beans,
Oh,
And don’t forget to eat your greens.

To Sleep, Perchance To Dream

Sleep, where is thy sweet caress?
You tease me,
Though I must confess,
Of late you leave me wanting,
Merely taunting me,
Not wishing me well,
Instead reducing me,
To a reckless shell,
Did I offend somehow?
Let’s mend it now,
I do apologize,
Now I beg of thee,
Anoint mine eyes,
Stroke my cheek,
Remove my sorrow,
To sleep!
And let us not speak of this,
Upon the ‘morrow,
(Though I say forsooth,
In truth, that will not play,
For the ‘morrow
Is in fact today…)

Kick Me Again And I’ll Come Up Grinning

A body blow,
A psyche slam,
I know I should have let it go,
But Hope’s a stubborn thing you know,
And so here I am,
A crippled wreck,
My emotions at your beck
And call, and all I ever get,
Is kicked again, and then again,
And then, just when I think it’s better,
Hope peeks out,
Till I get your letter,
Like a bitter cold and icy wind,
And Hope rescinds,
My house of cards blown well apart,
Knives twisted in my naïve heart,
Shattered,
Though my face won’t show,
Still I know,
This will repeat itself,
My Hope won’t stay up on the shelf,
It’ll peek again, try to be brave,
Till one day you dance upon my grave.

My Dickensian Christmas

Christmas Eve 2012,
And as darkness settles down,
Swedes around me celebrate,
Through all of Stockholm town,
But me I sit reservedly,
As that’s where I come from,
Awaiting Christmas ghosts deservedly,
Past, Present, and Yet To Come,
For I like my Christmas Dickens’ style,
With just a slight dark edge,
Putting everything I’ve done on trial,
Having many bets to hedge,
You see Christmas Eve for me,
Is all about anticipation,
More good than bad? We’ll wait to see,
The result of that equation,
Perhaps old-fashioned, I’ll admit,
This weighing up and warning,
Yet for me somehow it makes legit,
The magic of Christmas morning.