My Poetry
I started writing poetry in 1993, but it was only in May of the next year when I wrote "Timeless Birds" (to be found in the samples below) I felt that what I wrote was any good, and since then I have written hundreds of poems as well as published four collections of poetry.
Sometimes subtly complex, sometimes seemingly simple is the poetic landscape of rhythmic lyricality that shape my poems. They carry the reader on a timeless flight through the intensity of human emotion, brushing on the perennial subjects of life, death and love; and through descriptions of nature and the world, not necessarily as it is, but as it is perceived and felt, filtered through the boundless imagination of the human mind.Below are some samples of poetry, sorted by poetry collection.
The links on the images of the book covers will take you to Amazon.com from whom my poetry collections can be purchased - at the momemt just as printed editions.
| Eternal
Moments |
The
Secret Box |
The
Wind is All Quiet |
Et
tre står her i parken |
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 |
 |
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| Poems from the collection "Eternal Moments" Before the Morning Sun The ocean spoke, the waves they sighed, Sustained the silence spun its tale A sudden stillness spoke of storm, I Stare into the Sun So lost within the frailest eloquence, Eluded by the glow of embers red; Enclosed within a world that slowly rends, I hide behind the words I never said. Embrittled is my every espérance, For me there is no calm and warm repose While waiting for the moments of jouissance; Intrepid Fates, you are my only foes! The crystal sea reflects the morning sun, And ripples shimmer like those tearful eyes; It’s all too true my pains have just begun, Endearments gone beyond the warming skies. I stare into the sun, and it’s too late: My eyes go blind, my tears evaporate. * * * Timeless Birds In twilight sit the timeless birds And so aflame with beauty’s song, Their souls alight with passion heard Through all the sky and all night long. The magic song feels so divine, Ascending through my conscious streams. Eternal moments you are mine, Enchanting all my sweetest dreams. * * * Tonight Tonight even the moon is crying, Her tears the distant stars, And listen: solemnly sigh the treetops To give their last goodbye. The night when even her light is dying Each tear she sheds is mine, Knowing nothing is ours tomorrow: No songs, no starlit sky. Laments drift in the wind’s weak whisper, A thousand birds sing so dim a dirge. The night is gone with the thoughts of sorrow, All for when my love was hers. * * * Poems from the collection "The Secret Box" A Letter Received with longing’s sweet content, Your letter my heart stirs; Words graced by pictures beautiful, A floral perfume: yours. * * * Eternity Dancing Soul merging with the music, You caress me without touching And allure me with a glance. Your body is a poem, Created as you dance. * * * Rites of Innocence Tonight, is Gratitude my patron saint? Awake, but in a dream of moments fair; I see your outline in the starlight faint, But touch your naked skin to feel you’re there. It’s like the songs of angels in my heart To hear your breathing flowing mild and meek: A miracle like music torn apart; And beauty’s tears caress your hair and cheek When, overcome by love, I start to cry, Remembering dancing in the magic field Of sweet exhaustion where our bodies lie; And still you’re in your gentle slumber wheeled As if the pinnacles of what we sense Became our sacred rites of innocence. * * * The Secret Box There is a box, a secret box Where anything could hide, But guarded by some seven locks You cannot get inside. Within this box, this secret box Are feelings strongly hushed, And guarded by some seven locks There lies a mirror crushed. Each shard of glass reflects a tale Of whispers in the wind, The cloudy evenings, grey and pale, And voices from within. Each shard of glass can sing of those Who sought eternal youth, But never found the blooming rose That held the only truth. And in this box, this secret box There lies this rose so fair, But guarded by some seven locks You cannot see it’s there. There was a word, a secret word That once unlocked the soul, A word your dreams have three times heard: The distant fog bell’s toll. And there’s a key, a secret key That conscience cannot hide, And if you found it, you would see Whatever was inside. But in this box, this secret box Of things you’ll never see, And guarded by some seven locks There lies the only key. * * * Poems from the collection "The Wind is All Quiet" Gold on Green The morning sun has reached the treetops, Gold on green and green on gold. A banner flown, when conquered Is the night, that like This daylight’s force of life unfolds. * * * Inside a Draughty Cell A loaf of bread to eat, no more, Inside a draughty cell of stone; To work and read all through the night By a single candle’s light, alone. Just water from the rain to drink, From dry and wrinkled bony hands; No visions but from books I read Of nature’s grace and foreign lands. No glass inside my window frame, No fire to keep me warm; An ancient woolen cloak is all That keeps me from a passing storm A life of sleepless nights, of work Inside these walls of stone Until the day that I must die By a single candle’s light, alone. * * * Queen of the Night Your skin is the night: dark, glistening, fragrant with the air of moonlight sparkles, softer than sighs; the taste of sunsets, mild and colourful, filling my mouth with dreams. * * * The Wind is All Quiet The wind is all quiet, The fog a white veil That nuptially covers The virgin white sail. The foam of the ocean, Of waves yet to be, In the bottle that, broken, Weds the boat to the sea. * * * Dikt fra samlingen "Et tre står her i parken" Den tid vi har Den tid vi har, Den tid vi fikk, Den tid vi tok, Den tid som gikk. Den tid som svant Så altfor fort, Uten at Vi alt fikk gjort. Den tid som burde Evig vart: Et øyeblikk Så mildt og sart. Den tid som var To sjelers dans Med lys fra Englers stjerneglans. Den tid vi tok, Den tid som gikk, Den tid som er Den tid vi fikk. * * * Elskovsdiktet Når alt en dag forfaller, mistes, Selv kjærlighet vil svikte, Da står igjen med evig glød Kun ordet: Elskovsdiktet. * * * Et lite dikt Et lite dikt: En røst av undring og av håp, En stemnings hvisken fra et dyp som ingen ser Før ordet lutrer sjelen med sin flammedåp Og skaper diktet i sitt bilde; intet mer! * * * Et tre står her i parken Et tre står her i parken, Et tre blant mange trær, Men risset inn i barken Står “A og H var her.” Det var for lenge siden, En vår med vin og sang, En pike som jeg kysset Ved treet her, den gang. Et kyss som smakte nektar, Som duftet regn og vår, I øyeblikkets skjønnhet Ved treet her jeg står. Når året er som vakrest I vårens blomsterdryss, Da står jeg lent mot treet Og minnes dette kyss. * * * |