Greyhound days

Standard

Here is an old poem; from over a year ago, I think.

How distant I feel to the glossy «mummy-magazines», they make me queasy with their fake, pastel version of existence.

Burn the magazines and be real, with your child, your lover, your life.

 

Greyhound days

They slip away more every day

The open spaces within my mind

 

Room for roaming

My wild leopards

Bush fires

Jungle sweat

 

Occupied by

Child, man, needs

Thoughts taking flight crash and burn

 

Dinner

Laundry

5.30 alarm

 

I need more

 

Where are my night thoughts

The darkness

What took them

– just time, domestic

 

Gone, the watching of tree patterns on the sky

Endless moments

Soul sky high

 

I need more

So, in a hard voice I tell the boy

Go away

Instant regret of mother heart

(that wild thing in me)

 

The walls fall in on my forest clearings:

The childhood fairytale

of dancing elves

The existence of princes

Joyful fear,

knowing dragons are in the caves

 

Dishwasher

School bullies

Stretching exercises of the soul

Finally, the boundaries are unseen

 

Oh yes, there has been

Fear, pain, boredom:

No lack of challenges

 

Racehorse days

Greyhound days

I try to catch even the shadow of my soul

Before sundown, exhaustion

 

Love is the jailor

Insane love, wild love

How fortunate I am

To be an invaded space

 

Advertisements

Legg igjen en kommentar

Fyll inn i feltene under, eller klikk på et ikon for å logge inn:

WordPress.com-logo

Du kommenterer med bruk av din WordPress.com konto. Logg ut / Endre )

Twitter picture

Du kommenterer med bruk av din Twitter konto. Logg ut / Endre )

Facebookbilde

Du kommenterer med bruk av din Facebook konto. Logg ut / Endre )

Google+ photo

Du kommenterer med bruk av din Google+ konto. Logg ut / Endre )

Kobler til %s