Category Archives: Poetry

Full Circle

It’s hard to know what to say…

At this point, pretty much
everything that could be
said about it,

has been said.

So what else is there?

Well…

Last year in the midst
of all the ten year
anniversary hype,

I suggested that maybe
it’s about time we got over it.

But thinking about it still hurts.
I don’t think we will ever
truly get over it.

Some people say America deserved it.

Last year someone I know
mentioned on facebook
that 9-11 is the day the
whole world sucks America’s cock.

Others refuse to believe that
we live in a world where
these kinds of events,

just happen randomly.

It’s somehow more comforting
to believe that it was
planned all along.

But I will not entertain
the idea of a conspiracy.

At this point
after everthing that could
have been said about it,

has been said.

All I know for sure is
is that is today is
a Tuesday,

and it happened on a Tuesday.

Full Circle

And thinking about it still
hurts my soul.

CLINT & CLAUDE’S POLITICAL THINKTANK

Clint said to Claude
(The orangutang)
I’m gonna go talk
To that Republican gang,
Give’em what for,
Set’em straight on some stuff,
They think they’re right,
But they ain’t right enough!
Give old Mitt a hand,
He can’t do it hisself,
But Claude rolled his eyes,
Because even he realized,
Clint would just make a monkey of himself.

Not Yet September


Today I saw
some maple saplings
already turning red and gold.

You are too eager, baby trees.
For it’s not yet September.
Not yet.

Perhaps being so young,
they did not know
it’s still summer,
even though
it is getting colder.

The grown up trees know.
They’re still as green and leafy
as they were a month ago.

Now the autumn chill
seeps through the crack
of the open window,
and penetrates the thin fabric
of my sleeves.

My arms are cold.
Time to take out
the heavier things.

I won’t close the window.
For it’s not yet September.
Not yet.

Flowers or Weeds?

People pass through our lives,
In a million ways,
Some of them for a stretch,
Some of them just for days,
The affect that they have,
Be it blessing or scar,
Says some about them, but
More about who we are,
Where we are in our lives,
Our desires, our needs,
Do we see hugs or knives?
Friendship’s flowers or weeds?
Our perception is key,
And it seems time will tell,
But when looking at me,
Use your mirror as well.

Shakespeare’s Laundry Day

(NOTE: I live in Stockholm, Sweden. “Tvättstugan” (pronounced tvett-stoogan) is the Swedish word for laundryroom, and is the traditional battleground for this otherwise calm and orderly populace.)

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Storm the tvättstugan; detergent in hand,
Take stand against the forces at the door,
Or close the wall up with crumpled notes comprised
Of veiled passive-aggression,
Take stern command, leave no impression,
That  perhaps e’en one minute
Of your allotted time shall go unused,
Your stance infused with strains
Of righteousness and piety,
Let all who come near see,
That in peace nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility,
But when the blast of laundry calls our senses
We take our ground, raise our defenses,
Brace our weight against distraction
And imitate a tiger’s action……

The Domestic Philosopher

There are many things to wonder about,
Whilst taking all the garbage out.
Like why we throw out so much stuff.
Are we recycling enough?
And what if a truck came everyday,
To take all our past mistakes away?

There are many things to contemplate,
Whilst watching laundry agitate.
Like how detergent really works,
When washing away all that dirt.
And if it’s good at cleaning clothes,
Can it also remove stains on souls?

There are many things that make one think,
Whilst scrubbing out the bathroom sink.
Like whether to get a plumber there,
When the drain is all clogged up with hair.
And can we really ignore our worries away,
If we don’t think about them everyday?

These are the things I think about.
The things I try to figure out.

How come it’s harder to clean up my life,
Than it is to clean my house?

August in Scandinavia

Mid-August here in Scandinavia,
Summer clothes if you’re so bravie yeah!
Milk every last bit of northern sunshine,
Knowing winter might come at any time,
All bets are hedged; you just don’t know do you?
Sweaters on the strand, brollys ready too,
You might start in sun, then run for cover,
Or start in cloud, and then soon discover,
The day has turned, one way or the other,
It’s just so bloody hard to be prepared,
It gets to the point where each day you’re scared,
You could start it out, all sunny glowing,
But not be surprised if it starts snowing,
You might think that an exaggeration,
But that would be a complete negation,
Of all the times you were caught unawares,
Thought you were prepared for the weather’s dares,
But no matter how you tried to prepare,
You were soaked clear through, near frost in your hair,
They say here; no weather’s bad, just your clothes,
Well I’m here to say, I’m not one of those,
I can’t carry my wardrobe on my back,
I need a small clue each day when I pack,
Each day on TV weather people say,
Well, we’re not sure; it could go either way,
Leaving me to wonder, where I can find,
A job where I’m not right half of the time!

Feel Through

Feel through the neediness,
Feel through the pain,
Feel through the part of you
scared to be hurt again,
Feel through your anger,
Feel through your scar,
Feel through the part of you
not sure of who you are,
Feel through your emptiness,
Feel through your tears,
Feel through the part of you
afraid to face the years,
Feel through till you come to
the place we are all of,
Feel through the heart of you,
Feel through to Love.