Pepper

black grain of steamy crashing bite infused in tea to kick your ass
grind ground gravel of spices dry darkness contained by glass
kept dry, makes dry, where is my water?! WATER!
eat a banana to guard against stinging
mushy banana to salve burned tongue and cheeks
what’s up hot mamma from Louisiana cajun bom bom bom
God damn gravy and shrimps in peppersauce
black pepper springs to mind
but why do I forget the gleamy shiny redness of madame Jeanette
a cajun queen a snakebite in your tongue
don’t chew on the seeds don’t chew! don’t eat?
must come with warning
“be careful hot!”
may burn suddenly green ones burn slow
four seasons in one pepper mill

Ode

Dear heart that pours this music out,
Allow me to confess out loud:
when you’re pouring out those lines,
that flow of sound with gushes of quiet
expressing what’s at the centre of you,
I am in your power.
I can do nothing but follow that stream,
and try to go where it goes,
stand in the midst of it
let it overflow me
for I want to touch it’s source
let it resonate with me;
so loudly that it moves my core

Make it cut right through me
and relentlessly lay bare
what’s inside that was forgotten,
or swept aside to be ignored,
overgrown by time.
Open up the wounds below
put them out in open air
let tears of salt fall in and burn
and clean them out to show the truth
of any open endings.
till gently they’ll be washed away
And all that’s left is here and now
and being moved by you.

stir

tastes like iron salty coffee
depending on the the space it’s in
hard yet bendable
with enough heat and proper pressure placement

smells of iron, coffee with the memory of soup and tea
worn out silver shiny stained crooked
did I say shiny?
scratched surface
ting ting ting,
tic tic toc
different pitch in different glasses
or when thrown in with others

lean and easy small to grip
light as a feather
fun to fiddle with
it will be to hot when drawn from
boiling water
feels like the ice-cream when dipped
in cold
BE CAREFUL! don’t lick when hot!

proud of scratches
it knows what it’s worth
famous like Uri Geller

Gentle Force

Go away you gentle force leave me be gentle be forceful but be somewhere else

Go to the clouds and be a ring around the moon not to say a circle not to be a circle not in the nearness of me.

You gentle touch you force of nature repetition makes a gentle gesture a powerful blow

The gentlest touch erodes my facade, the sweetest word makes me burst into tears, tears become clouds and clouds become rain and rain becomes the sea and the sea becomes the salt upon my skin.

So go away you gentle force Don’t be a circle don’t be a cloud don’t be the sea or the salt upon my face

Rainsong

23-01-2015 //

Let the rain come, drops of silent silver sorrow
let the rain come, salt on dreams I got to borrow
let the rain come, pouring on what’s left behind
let the water wash away the dust that made me blind

When the rain comes, in your eyes I’ll find a mirror
When the rain comes, makes me weak and brings you nearer
let the rain come, show me how your broken heart
can be mended, waves of tears will tear your fears apart

[let me – find the words,
– say the salty truth out loud and go from there.
– go one step at the time, and
– even if it wasn’t there – find a way]


let the wind blow, shove away the clouds of sadness
when the wind blows, steer this ship away from madness
and the wind knows, slowly how a doubtful soul
can be bent and, gusts of time to pass will make us whole

[let me – find the words,
– say the salty truth out loud and go from there.
– go one step at the time, and
– even if it wasn’t there – find a way]

 

Christmas tree

24-12-2014 // Always green, tough pointy leaves that can sting like needles when you touch them, but can be soft as a brush when you stroke them in the right direction. Like a spiky hairdo, which was hip when I was in high-school. A little fetty too, like the wax that keeps the spikes spiky and leaves stickiness on your fingers. If you would crawl under, or in between two trees – like I used to do with my brother in the forest next to the house of my grandparents, looking for secret pathways or open spots, huts or holes to hide in – they would tickle.. Like the tips of fingers that softly stroke your back and give you goosebumps that quickly spread to the top of your head and the tip of your toes, like lightening striking. Like the touch of your hand, that day when my feet were cold – in that house where we had celebrated, and were grateful to be there, together as a family, even if it was just for that day – through the blanket as you tucked them in, and after that the rest of me. Like a caterpillar in a cocoon, safe and warm in a shell, on that couch, waiting for transforming sleep to catch up on us. In that room where we would wake up the next day looking out on the garden, and see the tree the hadn’t changed a bit.. //

traces, strings and untied laces

04-04-2015 //
(maybe) …it’s all about leaving traces,
footprints on new tracks
attaching strings, untying laces,
loosely strung over cracks
of things that broke before?
what else is left in store?
stronger, weaker, wiser, wasted
weather we miss or loose or gain
there’s no way we wake-up ended
always there’s another way
to just keep going, finding out
where it’s at and what about
we choose a path and find a wall
there’s our gateway to the ball
the ball of open endings
that somehow, looking back connect
because that’s what opens do in fact
they fill, the story can’t be left untold
it finds a way to have it’s say
settles not for come what may.
until what may has come
and has left it’s mark
as a spark for new beginnings
in a chosen some…
//