Author Archives: blitzken

The Land Of Stuff

I’ve landed in The Land of Stuff,
Where no one feels they have enough,
Where every message from every store,
Consists of more and more and more,
Now “Jumbo” and “Mega” just convey,
The normal size of every day,
“Bigger” and “Better” both implored,
To keep the economy moving forward,
Disturbing, cuz sure as the world is round,
What goes up,
Must one day come down.

Just listen.

Everybody thinks they know.
There must be something.
Try it this way.
Say it that way.
They’ll respond to this.
They’ll respond to that.
Just give it time.
Sooner or later they’ll come around.
Just don’t give up. You can’t ever give up.
Don’t give up?
Who the fuck do you think you are?
Give up?
What the hell does that even mean?
No matter what I do. Anywhere, anytime,
They are in my thoughts constantly.
I’ve reached out, so many times, and been slapped down,
again, and again.
I have a right to survive as well.
If you want to offer me help, and support,
An ear to listen, then fine.
But don’t pretend to know. Don’t speak of that
of which you have no experience,
no knowledge.
Give me a hug,
But not your fucking blind ignorant hope.
My hope is chiseled. Focused.
Doled out deliberately in small doses,
for where I think it might be most effective.
At times, even after all these years,
It slips away from me,
And I find myself, against my better judgement,
Hoping with reckless and wild abandon.
Tlll I reign it in,
Knowing that that way sadness lies.
I have hope, a goddamned motherlode of hope.
But I will not squander it foolishly.
It will be tempered.
It must be tempered.
Forged, and made strong in the furnace of my heart,
Able to withstand
The time, and the journey,
No matter what the cost.
I understand never, oh yes,
from too many angles,
So don’t give me your platitudes,
Give me your shoulder, and perhaps a smile,
In the darkest times hold me,
But don’t placate me.
I know of what I speak, from the depth and bredth of my being.
Respect that, learn to just listen. Nothing more.

The People On My Fridge

Pretty soon I’m off to see,
The people on my fridge,
I shall take my expat journey,
Time and distances to bridge,
There’ll be hugs, and there’ll be tears,
Then the years will fall away,
There’ll be lots of catching up,
As well as time to laugh and play,
Then the people on the fridge will wonder,
Why I just can’t stay,
I’ll admit I kind of wish I could,
But I won’t try to explain,
I’ll just hug and kiss them gently,
And then fly back home again.

Don’t Box Me In! (Walt Whitman says)

I like things,
But I don’t collect them,
Drawn to people,
But I don’t select them,
Don’t have a kind, a style, a type,
Can’t describe me with a magnet swipe,
I’m curious, a blesséd curse,
Love to explore the broad diverse,
(As a side note: I am slightly awed,
When I meet a diverse broad)
But seriously,
Don’t try to peg me,
I beseech, cajole, I even beg thee,
With a world that’s daily more complex,
We insist on labelling with an “X”,
“X” marks the spot – so we can see,
The consumer type you seem to be,
Answer these questions, check these boxes,
So we know what your preferred stock is,
Well I reject that!
No, no, no!
Walt Whitman said it long ago,
Am I filled with contradiction?
Of course!
That’s what makes truth stranger than fiction,
Not narrow-minded, all that that exudes,
I am large, I contain multitudes!

America Day Eh?

Ah, my friends, you’se Americans,
Yes, yes, you know, you’re the ones,
Who sometimes with some wit and luck,
Get mistaken for a Canuck,
Ah, just teasing now, don’t go smashing,
I know ya’ll take some bashing,
You’re always welcome up our way,
If there’s conscription in the U.S.A.,
We love you dearly, and we’ve got your back,
Here’s a Canadian flag, for your rucksack!

Friendship & Understanding

We’re all on our own journeys
All our choices are our own,
Not always a reflection
of how we have or haven’t grown,
We make mistakes, we stumble,
We each learn in our own way,
Sometimes all that we can do
is to take life day by day,
We should really fight the urge
to both judge and to compare,
Instead offer true friendship,
Shoulders that are always there.

SUMMER HEALTH ALERT

Last bus home at night
Then the first bus in the morning,
Is not sustainable
And should not be habit-forming,
Behaviour that should really come
With some kind of health warning,
But one must take advantage
Of the weather while it’s warming,
I can always sleep in winter,
When the weather comes a-storming.

Wish I’d Looked Into Your Eyes

If I’d only looked into your eyes,
I believe I would have realised,
Would have eased the panic and the fear,
Let my heart speak and let my head hear,
Would have seen me in you standing there,
Broken the spell, made myself aware,
Could have slowed things down, applied the brakes,
Thought of more than just my own heartaches,
Would have known what’s true, felt what is real,
Before stepping on the hamster wheel,
Because after that things went too fast,
Can’t stop ripples when the stone’s been cast,
So I find myself, a decade on,
Wondering what I’ve done, and where you’ve gone,
Wishing I’d been, just a bit more wise,
Stopped myself, and looked into your eyes.

MIDSOMMAR

(to the tune of These Are A Few Of My Favourite Things)

Sill and potatis, and strawberries too,
Dance round the pole because they tell you to,
Act out små grådarna in a big ring,
Although you know it’s a quite foolish thing,
More nursery rhymes acted out willy nilly,
But just a few schnapps and you don’t feel so silly,
With all of the food, and the drink thrown your way,
No wonder it feels like the longest day,
Friends and family
Get together,
Full of fun and cheer,
And if you’re not a Swede,
It’s still generally agreed,
It’s the most Swedish you’ll feel,
All year!