Ode to a Vølva's longing

Sitting forlorn at the desk of her youth
Vigga the Vølva was contemplating
how in a coronavirus time
she was going to survive mentally
without her beloved forrest hut.

Her cloven diaspora from somewhere else
was getting to her vividly
not because she was in a bad spot
but she had promised innards
at one point in time to live elsewhere -
bred and born her family's ties
were strong - yet her sense of self
had turned into a primal screaming essence
without any help - without seeing
the petite paradise  any time soon
was enough to strangle her emotionally
and getting her blood pressure way up
to its maximum thereby endangering
herself to never see the visual symbol
of her freedom and her self-preservation.
Alas, she must try and figure a way
to sneak over to her "room of her own".
Arcadia was for her the people
the connections to the little foot path
of history mingled with grapes
of vines and olive trees - almond blossoms
in spring - on summer's nights
the cicadas whirling wings - the swifts
and the bats outside her window
gobbling up the mosquitos by the million
her dreamy view of a steep hill
reminding her that she was just a dot
and nothing else - but a speck
can have its own place in the humdrum
it was not about anyone's judgement
just her own deep conviction
that for some reason she should be
there and not here - it was her mother's
comment when she, the Vølva,
was of an age of late childhood
the you - (and everyone else) are alone
always - no explanation followed .
Of those words came over the years
that  - yes - we are all alone together
but in a small community with
various and sundry souls around
it is easier to take instead of being buried
in suburbia with pristine lawns
in air conditioned rooms in boxes
of people who are either too scared
or too snobby to talk to/with each other
thinking that life is gyms/parks to
drive to - and heaven forbid you should
walk to the mall, only a car would do.
The middle ages and ancient towns
are sturdy - mired in history
the Vølva feels that she is part
of a whole of a line - a blimp
or a grain of salt - a caretaker
of a little hut in a village - only
for an instant - it belongs to her
in her solitude among Visigoths
and Occitans - back to Romans
and even the Greeks - ancient minds
a  cornucopia of different lives
gathered in a small speck of place
and yes there is loneliness  too -
but in a beautiful environment
vitally tolerable - and sexually
stimulating - with the wine
good food and good moods
the "aloneliness" is in the mind
albeit invariably seen as non-existent
or at least it becomes hidden
Vigga the Vølva moped and the muse
left her barren once more
she had her say - for the time being
acknowledging the loss of heyday
away from her dream time
elsewhere - grateful that she still
could claim her dreams of life
and once you take a mirage away
then she knew that dear death
would not be far behind.

Pyramids - here I come....not

Got an email - urging me
to write a humorous comment
on life in general
send it to the top name
No way will I do
any of those schemes
of pyramids and such

On that same day
another proposal to submit
a new recipe of mine
to a top name - in
so many days I would
get 36 new suggestions
for cooking  - hot

Desiderata are growing
ironically this week
would have been gaping
at king Tut's treasures
in London - exhibits galore
Egyptian artifacts I love
Tomb propositions I hate

A house mouse

One evening at home
during Corona shutdown
a black mouse appeared
ran along the wall
shocked I screamed
for my husband
so surprised no scared
just weird that
it materialized now
and that somehow
it kept us grounded
in total reality
a mouse in our house

Another eve again
it came  and said hello
Methinks his name is Henry
after the pirate "Jack Avery"
This swashbuckling
started his career in
a town called Corunna!
This little creature
captures our minds
traps have been set
no  dice - no mice

Yesternight after
almost a five-day hiatus
again he came to visit
we were sitting quietly
reading books.
Hubby found a hole
in a wall - Henry's
 escape will be like
his namesake's cache
Henry's hoard was
never found -
and the current Henry
will not be bound.

Hudsult

Hormoner svinger i verden
det ved vi alle
hjernen drypper af oxytocin
til kraftige og smalle
men at nære et berøringsbehov
i en ensom verden
er dog trist og må bekæmpes
ved en daglig færden
af knus og kram og solskin
og en masse tumult
for at bekæmpe en sorg
over den saglige hudsult.

Stop press

The press does not stop
at the current time
and should not
No way should it stop
to reveal
unfairness
violence
hatred
manipulating
conniving
absolute disasters
and not so absolute
Never before have
the press been
more needed
Never before have
the press been
so maligned
Never before must
the press not
stop press.

Dear friend

A dear friend of mine
Was born today in Aussie
Not so many moons
As I can log on
But he died
I still think of him
Often  -
my youthful guy
My sometime
Soul mate
It was too soon
For me to leave
My known world
For many years
I resisted until
Life forced me
And I was happy
To meet you
Dear heart again !

A day at a time

One day at a time
is all we can do
but that means
that we have to
make do with two
things : life - love.

Tristan and Isolda redux

Listening to Liebesnacht
A long night’s love
But king Marke’s loss
Of friendship and trust
Is much more gripping
Thus  this dark trauma
Sings of sadness’ sounds
Reducing Tristan and
Isolda’s endless plight
Of their dual dream
With the kind Cornwallian
To  - at last - Liebestod

Apology to Wagner

Gaia's pibe

Yonder hills and dales
of Arcady and Hails
here is Spring again
and yet so in vain
not for mom nature
since the sure rupture
of industry and tourists
she is no  skull - a Yorick
She blooms and thrives
humans cut with knives
so a plague beckons
while death seconds
and says Gaia's breath
is my go-to meth
the seas and streams
taste a new pipe dream.

in time of bound

Retro-Introspecting
housebound
cleaning closets?
throwing out stuff
it is not - that I can't
it is not - that I won't
but it is just not me
don't look back much
I am living today
because that
is after all - all I got
if that is retro
or intro - speculation
that is fitting
for a day inside
my cell - hell -well
of loneliness
 

Corona limerick

There once was a covid from hell
it sounded like a doomsday bell
it danced and pranced
took lives most advanced
We all felt its boom boom death knell

Crown on the earth

Pride will be our bane
because we are so vain
coronavirus and more
will evict us galore
nature will desire
with water and fire
that  humans die out
and earth turn about.

My traveling companion

Standing outside
Waiting to be gone
A colorful reminder
Of bygone trips
A broken handle
Can no longer fix
Alas dear friend
You served me well
On happy occasions
One or two not so
Most of the time
With cabin fever
Dancing away
With your content
A time in the hull
With multiples like you
But you were special
Because I entrusted
You with everything
So fare the well
My little companion
A striped carry-on !

Leaps again

A day of unusual dimensions
Time warps to counting
A second worth's of life
Diminishes not the hour
Nor the daily routine
But on this day every fourth
I must forever remind
Myself of a onetime choice
Changed the road more
Or less traveled forever
That particular moment
Of love of hate of living
Of the unknown- now!

Valmuens vinddans

Valmuevalsens vaklende toner
var på det sidste
en tøvende kavaler
svang med håndens styring
fjerlet kunne valsepigen
ikke følge den ensommes melodi
det var en trist dans

Valmuerne vuggede i vinden
lokkede pardanserne
vemodet forsvandt
tonerne ændredes - tango
vildt vejende hvirvlede
markens ægterøde vildblomster
en dårende dejlig jalousidans

Til Torsten

Et nu-glimt

En mulepose
Til en hest
Med stråhat
Og blomst i
Som en fjer
Er et fjernt kig
Udi fortidens
Billedverden
Hvor alt ofte
Stod stille
Og prustede
Viftende i
Vinden blidt
Og generedes
Af de altid
Stedseværende
Sværmende
Sorte fluer
Barnets åbne
Iris øjne så
Op på dyret
Nu som da.

L’homme faible

Un jour perdu
Horror vacui
Une heure gâchée
Horrible perte
Une minute écartée
Horreur abîmé
Une seconde désolée
Humain détérioré

Girls have fun

Girly outing
Here in Aix
Wow factor
Jazzed up
With a song
Synthesizes
A friendship
Cackling is
In between
Everything
Else and more!


To Julie

Et forår i landsbyen

Der er en som slår græs
Luften fyldes af nyslåethed
Atter føles solens varme
Som et gennembrud.
Nedenfor kirketårnet
Sidder tre gamle gubber
Ser på biler folk og hunde
Som kører går og klør sig
Altimens strålevarmen
Går helt ned i det inderste
I kroppen som begynder
Som trætoppens knopper
At drikke vildt af varmen
Fra den forsvundne ungdom
Og uskyldens håb og hoppen
Der løber som en forjaget
Etude af Debussys format
Kun for at stoppe brat
Og erindre at intet varer
Kun en kort stund opleves
Livskvaliteten i et lille
Samfund af en utrolig blanding
Og sladder og beundring
Had og kærlighed af
Alskens slags - men
I dette vårmoment hvor
Tiden står stille et sekund
Forbliver jeg forundrende
Stille og accepterer
lyden, lyset, livet her.

Dust haiku

Windows show winter
dust and grime to be polished
highlights by sunshine

Le clown

Le clown fut fatigué
Il avait travaillé
toute sa minable vie
sans connaître le plaisir
d'un amour à vieillir
sans une petite amie

Le clown fut sur le lit
de sa mort - un quasi-délit
il ne chercha que l'arrêt
un personnage humble
manqué mais l'empreinte
les enfants son rôle l'aimait.

On ne sais vraiment jamais
si un jour le tache serait
le tien de participer sauf
on est tous les joueurs vifs
qui mourrons définitifs
les clowns des petites fosses

L’autre miroir

Dans des jours qui viennent
La vie s’exprime quand même
L’espoir envers le désespoir
Au fond dans ma miroir
Se montre un visage pâle
Dans une brume infernale
Est-ce que c’est l’existence
Qui reste entre la chance
Et le destin qui me guide
Envers l'énorme vide?

Candide revisited

Candid Candide of voltairian voyeurism
Saw how savage the world’s values
Descend dauntlingly and vividly
Our hero haphazardly  trawls through
Now or then not much has changed
Neither Candide nor the earth’s clowns

Greedy for days in ??

wow - another day in little paradise
wine - from a local vineyard
well - deserved at a pillow
want - ed no more - just life
what - was the desire if not that
wow - not greedy just another one

Against thoughts and writings

Fatwas are laws or interpretations
a judgment or adjudication
and sometimes a dead warrant in
Islam

Papal bulls were used
to reign in kings and others
to start wars and infallibility of
the Pope

Responsa in the Judaism
are answers to the questions
regarding life community
to people

Strange what three main
lines of thoughts will
demand of their
followers

Dead warrant fatwas
issued will ask for not only
the thoughts  but the life of
writiers

The winter

Vigga was merely not only mad
The vølva was furiously feeling cold
iced within her old frame - not fabled
not truly feeble either - just jinxed
that life was taking its toll (what a cliché)
alas there was something strange
within herself, body or soul -
wondered what it could be - hell
was not hot - hell was for her icicles
ice-laden and ice cold - beautiful
as such devilish images of inbred
cultural and pervasive preordained
beliefs of a tedious tradition -
hammered in through mother's milk
- alas - she was a vølva but her birth
(some of her umpteenth upbringing)
was of the festering male dominated kind
it was in the lovely language that
she swore she would forever like
- but it snug in the patronizing patriarchy - 
without her wanting to hear it
and  her expressing the esoteric feelings
of being quiet about herself -
the only other being the highborn Sophia
her sister-in- spirit  would know.
She muttered again chilled
by recent male-dominated domains
of their tremendous tediousness
that why wherefore and how could it be
that persnickety people were gullible
that evil was not out in this world.
She had had too a along and lengthy life
to be still astonished and in awe
that history again would be written
by the odds of truthiness gone to pot
and frightening followers frump
a search for doing what is right
sometimes surely doing it correctly
but by the wayside throwing it
to the terrible bunk of burying
everything everywhere - truth torn
from itself a historically hell
again - not unlike the Dante's
descent into the deep dipper.

Tugging her cape around her
wasted waist wallowing in self pity
she shook her now whitish mane
chilled and not quite shellacked
- I am a old fool - she mumbled
numbed by the wintry weather -
but  I do not believe benevolence
has gone from the caring community
there are people searching for
statutes which will lead to
some kind of hope and hankering
a long time albeit in coming
but each generation will try
and do better or else - humanity
itself iced from not remembering
recalling that history will gestate
another generation's lack thereof.
And, of course, they have forgotten
to acknowledge that Gaia rules
and she is tired of not being able
to breathe, to joyfully jingle
so she will be coming with
withering storms, killing quite
obviously her own wonders
sealing the steers so that only
nothing is left, viruses will proliferate
happily until the common man
(read con man) realizes suddenly
that he needs to change his needs
so she the Earth may prosper
in earnest - otherwise she will
icily implode of man's improper
care taking skills - the so-called
dominator will be deathly doomed.

Vigga the Vølva wiggled her toes
in  her heavy wintry booths
walked down to her little brook
looking so forlorn  but as she
stared along the beige brown brink
she suddenly spotted a small
green shoot - quietly - inaudibly
her gloved hands grossly shook
and she bent down to look closer
yes, true the verdant wonder
was there - and a wow-factor
took her by sudden surprise -
mayhap miracles could come about
rose herself up brushing off
the dirt from her woolen cape
- hopeful - she started to walk
briskly along the downtrodden trail
reminiscing the old poet's thought
after the cold spring must come! 
     

Delivery extraordinaire

The postman has a cold
So much to his dismay
He has to go in the frost
Angry at having to sway
Over while picking up
the missives he has got
He fiendishly flaunt
His hellbent virus’muck

The postman has a cold
And the goods he delivers
Will come with not only
Bills, ads' he shivers
An occasional personal card
Parcels and whatnots
But are embraced with
His loving care snot.

Body talks

My body is bothering me
I took it for granted
it is telling me what!
I don't want to listen
eventually I shall have to
just because it is stronger.
The adage : Mind over matter
is that matter matters
and all the owner can do
it to obey to hear or die!

She from Gravesend limerick

There once was a lady from Gravesend
She did what she had to round the bend
She analyzed the folks
She found a great bloke
And her mosaics suffered no blend

Lies, and lies and ...ad nauseam

Lies lie well in a liar's mouth
especially in politics
here we call it truth with a doubt
a bag of hypes and dirty tricks
soon this lie will become truth
at least to those without a sleuth
of skills to dissect and digest
what or why - somebody's behest
alas this is my umpteenth shout
for honesty and a testatrix
of today's world gone to the south
just hit the frauds with a brick.

Troy

In a newly minted
Newspaper article
Troy with its war
Is mentioned today
With Priam Hector
Helen and Archilles
Did it happen or
Was it a forceful myth
Does it matter at all?
The rightful conflicts’
Owners or historians
Will create heroes / heroines
And they will prevail
Whether truthful or not.
Alas today’s warmongering
Personae cannot become
Even Patrocles or anybody else
So this message was just
A reminder of our own idiocy!

Instinct

Follow your hunch
With a withering wave
Of feelings galore
Do not give a bunch
Of why’s and not’s
Just insist of yes
Life isn’t an easy lunch

Mayerling

Mayerling un village
En Autriche
Avec une tragédie
Il y a longtemps
En ressemblant
Des autres histoires
Tristes
Les contes des fées
Modernes filmés
Ressemblent
Les anciens trajectoires
Chacun et chacune
Cherche son but
Et hélas le temps
Passe vivement
Ainsi la vie bizarre!

My humble advice

Child rearing first time around
is a mother's conundrum
do you do like this or
do you do like that?
The advices from all around
come in by the thousand
you have to do like this
or you could do like that
What happens if your child
will not sleep or eat
what happens if your kid
is doing not like what
every other child does
according to the experts
and what about vaccines
or anti whatever you hear
Child rearing first time abound
saving yourself is my counsel
if you do not then how
can you help your little one?

a page of life

Looking at people on my Fb page
I see faces that have vanished
This year and the other years
But unless you delete them
They live on in the realm
Of imagination and become
Beacons of yesterday’s lights
- a memory book of your life -!

40 years ago

An unsure wench

Forty years hence

Gave birth to her first

A beautiful boy

Who was not her toy

But an absolute joy

The boy shot up fast

Time flew did not last

A bud who did burst

Into a great man

Not truly a ham

A dude giving a damn

About his family here

Creating a life where

Sharene and their kids

Were his second to none

His Aussie brood shone

Like his eyes undone

Proud parents of Dave

Wishing you a shave

Of life and joys lit

A gold chandelier

A true cavalier

Hurrah for you dear

Aussie revisited

Six times I have been a visitor
to a place many call home and hearth
Six times of family events
of grand and smaller affairs
three kids arriving - weddings
birthdays and holidays
a death after a meeting of minds
winter - summer spring and autumn
lives parallel to everyone else
upsides downsides just
here where I feel at home
yet this is not mine but
everyday's anybody's living
could happen to somebody
with an open inquisitive mind.
Seventh time coming up
to one who loves unwaveringly

Generation gap

When I was your age
then....
do kids pay attention
nah
maybe when I am dead
then
do kids pay attention
too late
what did grandma say?

Hurt feelings

Screaming kids - arguing
trivial stuff - tiny objections
but they are healthy and alive

So does it matter if they kill
each other - seemingly?

Somehow sibling rivalry
will survive this too

Yet the adults get upset
and they are steaming
much longer than the kids

They have moved on
whereas the adults linger

Cold haiku

White wintry tree stems
Shimmering blue icicles
Portray earth’s design

The old clock

I live with her now
My sound deep
Bangs every hour
Telling her grab
Your second now
Not when you are gone
Another will wind
Me up and I obey
Just like when
Your father bought
Me in the antique store
And took me from
My birth town London.
I remember when
I first became alive
Vividly wound up
By my eager maker
1819 so I am actually
Two hundred years old
during which time
I have served you
and your family keeping
the hours and half hours.
I know that for a time
I cracked up -
the repair watch man
took away my half time
chime  - sadly for you
and surely for me.
I know I had company
when I was at your father's
he had at least two others
in the dining room
yet you picked me.
I was the simplest
and you always told
everyone why- my sound
on the hour.....Bong
Bong... Bong...bong
Ere your father
I was for four years
quiet in an antique store
and hidden during
the war years in a loft
at the beautiful manor
in the country in Derbyshire
Also there I kept time
in the dining room.
The olde master of the house
had inherited me
fair and square from his mum
who had brought it with her
from Suffolk as her gift
to her new husband.
Back in the eighteen hundreds
I was placed on a gilded
mantelpiece in a sitting room
So much goings on
Between the lords ladies
Their children and grandchildren
They took  me for granted
And their servants wound me
Up as it was their duty
Only once I truly loved
The slender careful hands
Of a young man’s attention
But he died too soon
I heard from the parlor maids’
Gossiping about him
He was popular with her ladyship
So one morning in October
When the hunt was on
He apparently got accidentally
Shot - the rumors that I heard
His lordship had perhaps
Not aimed at the waterfowl
But at this gentle finger servant
Long time two hundred years
As long as I am well kept
And oiled I shall chime
Bong bong bong

Et måltid

Længslen efter at sove
Som gafler i en holder
Omfavnet i en grønforet skuffe
Bliver større dag for dag
Lemmets skæring
I det bløde kød
Er et knivsblads partering
Smertefuld nydelse
Ved skeens spøjt i munden
Af frugtsalatens variation
En fjern drøm som
Nærmer sig langsomt

The Voelva's health

She languidly stepped over stones
leading from her fire-heated hut
to her sister Sophia's home in
the nearness of her neighborhood
in her familiar fine woods
The Voelva Vigga pondered
a pretty much hidden thought
she was having some internal
instant mutterings - murmurs
that her olden bones sputtered
she needed to take necessary care
of herself - her inner innards.
Step by step stone by stone
her feet fecklessly did not obey
her will too well - in short
they rebelled roughly roundaboutly
and she had to forcibly coerce
herself onto the willowy way.
Luckily she had brought her stick
Without any other thought
Then a wander in the woods
When one is wobbly on the feet
Is rarely a feasible feat - avoided
And abandoned at all might
- trodding along her well-worn path.
Seeing that Samhain had come
that it would be a full moon soon
thinking what she Vigga was
going to ask her  serene sister
about her health - what to heed
what to do when the panging pains
got to be to distressingly dolorous
she reached her highborn sister's hut
knocking before entering gently
huddled and almost haglike
Vigga the Voelva whispered her hello.

Her highborn sister Sophia - hastily
beckoned her visiting Voeva beamingly
Come-in and sit down, dear sister
Tell me what brings you here so
hastily and huddling - you are in pain?
No Vigga the Voeva answered - not
truly in torment but just a muddling
moving of my female inner innards
And it should not be like that -
Highborn sister looked at her sibling
smiling with a sadness of knowledge
Alas - albeit you do not have a pain
pounding within you - recognize
reality of the ages - cricks and cracks
here and there will be our lives - lest
we die and are freed from discomfort
It is how you cope congenially with
the whole arduous aging whatsit
We shall quaff an herbal tea and
celebrate ceremoniously that
pain and weird worries will prevail
posthumously but for today the positive
ideological idea of smiling serenely
is all it takes - Sophia poured from the pot
a cup of hot herbal essence to
Vigga the Voelva -  essentially forcing
her low-spirited sister to lighten up
and see that age is what age is
and if she gave in to internal ageism
then she would die dejectedly much
earlier and earnestly than expected.
Sophia - her sister would not let
a weakened voelva get away with it.
So Vigga after tasting the tea sparked
in the chalice that her sister had
handily offered her - she smiled
you placed some strong stuff
in this tea of yours -yellow bark
for fevers and golden dandelion
and a shot of weatherworn whisky
and something that I could not say?
Sophia the sister that Vigga the Voelva
loved like she was herself  smiled
and laughingly voiced with utter mirth.
Well -Vigga - to take the brunt off -
the sadness of your brainwaves -
you will be dancing on your way
to your homely hut with the hearth
and then light your fire once more
thinking that the winter will not
be that harsh and your heart's hot
blood will flow freely once more
when sunny spring returns with rapture
you will capture your inner self
and your warmth will spread its wings
flapping for freedom and felicity. 
With lighter foot steps Vigga Voelva
almost  sped to her hut near the brook -
healed not - but unbroken in spirit.

Brexit limerick

There once was a Brexiter named Boris
He consulted with Hamlet’s Joris
To exit or not
Give it all I got
I will retire to the town of Norwich

Old lady’s lament a la Seuss

Old woman’s woes
From heads to toes
Internal blurries
Birthing flurries
Irony hits big
Not from a wig
Using a Pessary
prevents Pregnancy
Now up another
Descent a bother
Some bladder prop
Tell my body stop

A novel’s birth

Inspired by an article
Novels’ best beginnings
What would mine be?
Describing a crime book
Espousing a life’s turn
A sci-fi or a romance?
Darkness took a darker view
Child’s chilling nightmares
Three thousand year’s tour
Or
Love’s loom wove a single weft
Would this solidify a thought
That waved a thousand ships’
Wondrous goodbye or hello
To my prize œuvre?
Alas not - lack of storytelling
Skills and desire for a craft
So readily applauded
And admired by me.

Un message un matin

Un message ce matin
d'un grand sourire putain
voila commence un jour
vif que devrait se montrer
aujourd'hui va tout passer
dans le trou aux alentours
le bonheur de reception
vaut bien plus de reflexion
je m'abandonne tout a fait
acceptant l'esprit parfait.

Existential seeking soul??? Ha!

Blather about yourself
tell what you are about
talk about your dreams
or even your nightmares

Where were you born
what language speakest thou
which segment are you affiliated
or where do you see your soul

Questions rain/reign within/out
a person's self esteem
or sense of self will be
coming from deep state

Can you truly know thyself
will you trust your reactions
when sometimes you im/explode
for unknown dark reasons

Will you ever be the person
you want to portray - a portrait
a steel individual - just right
and no cracks - whatsoever

Will you be the sad portrayal
of an olde woman's skeleton
of a bunch of experiences
leading to absolute nowhere

Or will you go screaming
bloody murder to the grave
wearing your birthing wrinkles
laughing of yourself/world

I lost what??

A fleeting thought
Of insightful idea
Vanished from
My addled brain
And the wave
Did not return
Leaving me
To mourn greatly
My lost genius!

Une tonelle

La vie court trop vite
sans que qu'on se rende compte

Elle passa la jeunesse
d'une fille très insécure

Ses années vingts pardi
un peu confuse et bouleversée

La trentaine trois enfants
deux hommes - un pays nouveau

Les ans quarante fut vifs
les enfants et la perte d'une mère

Cinquante encore des enfants
et un rêve réalisé

Ses années soixante la maison
et ses amis ailleurs brûlent

Soixante dixième encore
travail et les petits phantasmes

Une vie d'une femme
mère et grand-mère, jeune encore

Mais un jour je tombe
dans une tombe d'outre-tombe

Who am I not

I am not a Catherine the Great
as I do not rule, Russia or even my own life
I am not Virginia Woolf
a fab writer who formed words and changed
the way one could express
not even an Elisabeth Cady Stanton
waving the feminist flag
or Gloria Steinem from my period
I am not a Hillary Clinton
nor am I a Ruth Bader Ginsburg
but who I am is something
uniquely human - just
like any other woman
trying to live true to my sex and my needs
 - they are not yet met....

Change from??

Change is in the air
from where
I do not know
but it is coming

Maybe it is I
who is channelling
some other wipes
going up / down

Change is here
now and feeling
it so strongly
the air carries me ???

Searching for ideas to write a praise

A fun mensch turns 80
known for 10ish plus
what is he like?
this bloke - weighty
in all sorts of ways
a charmer - a teacher
a father and granddad
like most- a potpourri
a great cook - transcends
whatever you want
he is the hubby
of my summer friend
a good deed's lion
of helping people
in need and life
you are my - sir Brian!

Old bodies

Old buddies
teeth clanking
breast sagging
midrif bulging
thighs wiggling
vulva descending
toes ingrowing
old body declining

But my old body
have served me
somehow - well
and I am grateful
alas too late
I now start to take care
and appreciate
my old buddies.

Sadness of the wren

Political quagmire
In a « democracy «
Is a true nightmare
With a » demagoguery «
You cannot find
Truth of any kind
From « honest » men
Who existed then.
Scattered dreams
Of public mistrust
Scream from seams
Enough stop enough
Hopelessly blind
To people’s whine
Of helplessness’ ken
The song of a wren.

poetry - what?

Stood in a museum store
somewhere
looked at poetry books
to buy - maybe
yes there were many
wonderful ones
and they talked about
existences yours
and surely mine

Stood there in wonder
somewhere
realizing that here
on this blog
I also write some kind
of thoughts
whether labelling mine
or others poets
it is you to slam

Stood in a place for
culture anywhere
knowing in my heart
that my thoughts are
not less than yours
not more either
they just have not
been published
yet : just here

On a bench

She was a he

a human being

that I met

she strummed 

a Spanish guitar

we chatted

for a while

a gentle soul

sitting dreaming

just like me

on a bench.

Pensées sur l'achat inutil

Crème hydratante sur mon visage
aide à me sentir mieux
si c'est vraiment le cas prouvé
C'est comme de croire en dieu!

Alas je suis sceptique et vieille
et la sotte s'achète des produits
pour qu'elle rêve d'être saine
alors le mensonge est la parodie.

Une adhérente des banals bénéfices
d'une industrie de beauté
 mais je le fais quand même
mon miroir me l'a fait doper.

Des pensées finales?

Une ère d'un être
qui fût la mienne insidieuse ?
Entre deux siècles

Jeune et
plein d'espérance
vers la fin d'une époque

Moyenâgeuse
au début d''un autre âge
et découragée

Vers mon expiration
montre une petite lumière ;
des petits enfants

My motto- manifesto?

My manifesto of life
is simple
 - love
thyself first
you can then love others

be kind to people
do no harm
embrace nature - trees
especially
since they make us breathe
and bees - they pollinate

ideas of youngsters
is really all
we need and we the older
should be like the young
curious and curiouser
and forget never
that we were once
like that

My motto
in a nutshell:

love
a tree
and (a) be(e)
curious

A day of reckoning

A day in bare ass
sitting at the desk
doing nothing
but pondering
at another year'
gone by too fast
too quickly -
changing
from younger skin
to older wrinkly -
experiences?
more mature??
doubtful but
enjoying health
good humour
and surviving
like anyone else.

Trauma - no? Fiends!

Friends come to me
when I least expect them
they know I hurt
they just joke and make me smile
so I forget my darker thoughts
of not being here but there
of  being a spectre gone
so within these walls
alive and smiling
we are all in this
together - a little place
where we found life!
They tell me to light
the rest of my days.

Un point

Une nouvelle coupe un peu radicale
celle-ci n'est pas une pipe terminale
celle-là ni  est une chose vaginale
je suis comme je suis ; point final

il castrato

Une conversation d'un cimitière
d'une urne à une autre
dans une chapelle funéraire

Deux âmes féminins contrastés
une mère et une femme
d'une bataille pour décapiter

C'est mon fils unique aimé
Je l’ai accouché d’abord
je me l'avais tout sacrifié

Madame, j'ai veçu avec lui
pendant plus de 50 ans
j'ai le fait jouir jour et nuit

entre les deux dames cendres
la discussion se poursuit
toute la nuit laisse entendre

des bonnes sentences violentes
il faisait pour moi ceci
ll m'a obéi toute son existence

Mais moi, madame, deux enfants
et une vie intéressante - pardi
il me s'était voué en dansant

Mes chères combattantes âmes
lui encore vit en deuil
arrêtez vos croco larmes

Laissez l’exister s'il vous plaît
sans vos bagarres internes
il castrato vous rejoindra en paix

The Voelva's blues

The Voelva sat listlessly listening
to  Jazz Divas boisterous Billy
and Enchanting everlasting Ella
praising their vibrant voices
and wonderful rhumba rhythms
really realizing how beautiful
these merry melodies still were
talking tales from the thirties
until the the silvery sixties
the bluest blue sounded in
blistering silvery skies and
the vagrant Voelva's eyes
started glistering gloriously again
on a sunny slightly windy day
sixty to seventy years after
and she praised mostly modernity
and the ingenious inventions
of the recalling replay of notes
from so far away and so clearly close
that her moody moods vanished
and she only heard the jazzy jolliness.

Revenu et devenu

Mon âme est revenu
dans le beau midi
sans autre chose
que le hasard s'impose

Mon âme est parvenu
dans le sage midi
sans autre clause
que le destin ose

Mon âme est survenu
dans le béat midi
sans autre narcose
que la vie s'osmose

Barndommens regnfrakke

I strålende sol på stranden
kom jeg i tanke om
at sådan var det måske
en gang for længe siden
jeg husker dog stadigt
min barnsdomsregnfrakke

Erindringsdråber fra før
var ikke altid tørre og smukke
der var rusk og røg
med for mange byger
hist og også pist
men paraplyer var der

Syntesen af turen på stranden
var da jeg gik i vandet
ved barndommens sandstribe
at jeg overlevede indtil nu
med minder fra alskens vejr
og lod regnfrakken ligge

Philo-verden

Tavst stirrede hun frem
på verdenen uden at se
dybt nede i hende var
en fortid - en nutid - men
fremtiden hvad med den?

Tavst så verdenen på hende
en lille bitte mikrobe
som var totalt ligegyldig
for den - en støvfnug
der var i et mikrosekund!

Tavse gloede de sammen
frem - for hende en dag
- for verdenen et øjeblik
hvad hun så - var verdensaltet
og verdenen forsvandt.....

Et mindehus

Igen på kultorvet

Kiggende op

På et mindehus

Kælder og kvist

Bag til er ti års 

Arbejdplads

Men erindringen 

Tårner sig trods

Alt om ca otte

Måneders erotik.

Une vie?? Normale??

Mon enfance - une espérance
Ma vieillesse - une kermesse
de mon existence - une survivance
d'une vie feminine et bien sibylline
Voici un être qui se dit maitre
de sa vie interne - une totale baliverne

Vignettens forvrængning

forvrængningens
ideal af ordets magt
danner rynker i
en dalende vignet
fra håbets tavshed
alt andet forsvinder
hvis man vender op
eller ned på vrangsiden
spejlbillede af
det tyste verdensbillede
og intet er som det var

Hjemlands gruk

Et gensyn af den bedste slags
er en duft af lakrids og tobak
en lyd fra togets rullen afsted
blandt mennesker på raske fjed
barndomslandets indtryk igen
en udlandsdansker vender hjem.

La vulve d'Eva

La pauvre vulve d'Eva
Adam ne savait pas
comment elle fonctionna
elle était dans un état
où son corps rebella
et se disait - "merda"
la vie - pas comme cela
un amant qui corresponda
vraiment à la vulva
qui appréciera et la baisa
alors la petite se réveilla
et surtout s'émerveilla
-  une chimère d'Eva

Un temps au passé

Littéralement l'orage passe
devant ma fenêtre ouverte
l'air s'éclaire devant mes yeux
après cela le déluge intime
peut respirer vivement
si le vent le plus douce
pourrait effacer le temps dur
pour la terre effrayée 
battue par le soleil dompteur
la terre n'aurait plus la chance
d'avoir le loisir et le calme
et moi non plus

un sentiment pas sentimental

Mon peau est trop vieux
Mon esprit est moyenâgeux
Je me sens triste ce matin
Ma vie me brûle les mains
Inachevée et décomposée
Mon cœur non-décontracté
Il y a quelque chose gênante
Qui me serre - défaillante.

Une prière pour mes enfants

Trois individus
tous nus mis au monde
les miens musiciens
mes enfants
loin d'eux - j'y pense

Un premier
comme je suis fière
de toi - mon gars
traversé des obstacles
incroyables - réussi

La deuxième
elle est formidable
un jour elle trouvera
son but et son destin
elle s'occupe d'une vie

Le cadet facile
sourire et serieux
liseur et penseur
avec un don de
plaire aux gens

Voila les gens que
je lègue au monde
sans rien qu'une prière
de les accepter
et les aimer comme moi

Power of words

Words that kill
Words which maim
They are out
Over and over
Words murder

Connectedness

Girlhood - a difference
A Tiny tinsel
Of a holiday time
Knotted  the scarf
Of just having
Diverse mutualities
Doubling our broods
Scribes of many moons
Traveling travails
Moods of  Mothering
- Responsibilities  -
Reliving  our
Very paths to ´hoods
Woman-granny-
Mistress-work-
Inner-outer
Neighbor - solitary
Just being two
Ladies alive
Contented to
Be connected



To Sandra

Une nuit douteuse

La philosophe d'une nocive nuit
remplie des errantes idées
cherche à se comprendre
les textes tourmentés  qu'elle a lus
n'aident pas -ni sa vie pleine
des experiences exceptionnelles
car chaque fois elle rencontre
des problèmes prodigieux
les prémisses ne se ressemblent
elle est devenue plus vieille
arborante de sagesse d'une déesse
sauf la déconstruction phénoménale
serait souvent une effigie
une mémoire sans fin sans rien
qu'un désespoir s'entrebâille
le cerveau de la dame damnée
à se demander pourquoi
elle ne s'apprendra à se taire
car cela fut la solution singulière.

En regnfuld sommerdag
Med blæst og cykelslag
Er mit Danmarksbillede
Langs Øresunds dybblå
Tramper jeg pedalen på
Barndomshenstillede
Minder af en særlig slags
Flere brus af gammeldags
lys og duft fremstillede.

Le cadavre de Cazouls

Le corps inconnu
D’un individu
Trouvé dans
Les ruines
Médiévales -
Le distant brume
D’une cimetière
Ou d’un prisonnier
Avec un trou
Dans son crâne
Reçu de sa prison
Sans qu’il puisse
Se défendre -
Un homme
Mystérieux qui
Nous parle
De son temps
Lointain -
Un cadavre
Cazoulin.

Exilée d'incertitude

Tes mains touchent
mon corps chaud
Ton esprit excite
mes endorphins exilés
de l'équilibre latent
Cédant mon incertitude.

Une Arlequinade

Scheherazade raconte une Arlequinade
les êtres humains sont des radins
avec leurs sentiments de lapin
dans leurs propres palissades
Il y a des belles choses vivantes
comme les histoires attirantes
mélangées aux marinades
la raconteuse se tua un beau matin
en regardant tous les citadins
elle les eût mixés à la myriade.

Théâtre du monde

Le festival du théâtre
A Avignon
Est un boudin de l’humanité
Il y a tout
Les gens divers - un verre
Rempli de
Vrai ou de faux sentiments
Avec couleurs
On peur avaler ou vomir
En goûtant
Joyeux ou malheureux
Les parfums
De la viande présentée.

life's lift

Arguably the best advice
Is to trust your inner ifs
Nobody is knowing nothing
Only you are one heck
Of a sure lady - offensive
To many but who cares
To this day I grab it
And world beware: am
Positive unyieldingly post-
Caring what anybody could
Think about the tales
Of an a happy older
Woman who does not wail
Life is : that is life

Temporellement

Un jour commence
après un autre jour
un vérité si simple

Un jour sera le dernier
d'une vie et autres
et  c'est aujourd'hui

Demain est si loin
attrape-le - le temps
jadis - c'est un vie

La liberté

Le quatorze Juillet
dans un village français
des citoyens d'autre fois
pas d'aujourd'hui
battus pour leur liberté
nous leurs descendants
dans notre idiotie
croient que rien ne
la mettra en danger
nous sommes naifs
nous sommes coupables
de ne pas garder
la liberté  sacrée
et la chérir comme
nos petits enfants
Quand la liberté
nous échappera
on n'a  que nous mêmes
de remercier de l'avoir
oubliée collectivement
un jour comme ceci
un beau quatorze....

Et forsigtigt gruk

En kvindes krop
strøget med fjerlet
umærkeligt håndelag
en morgenstund
antænder følelser
af absolut velbehag.

not a garden of eden

A garden of jazz
Somewhere outside
Beautiful moon quiet
Space above stars
conflicted with death
Because that follows
Everyone everywhere
Dog’s green glittering
Breaks the monotony
Makes me smile
Despite the trajectory
Of fucking craziness
Cannot stop neither
Life nor the music!

les non-plaisir d'un zizigramme

Des jeunes des vieux
des machos des timides
envoient des zizigrammes
c'est un fait ennuyeux
un désir spermicide
des rêves pénétrâment
leurs cerveaux spongieux
donnant des idées liquides -
 -mais messieurs -
pas aux vraies dames.

Le rêve d'un été

Le chaleur d'un été
reste dans ma memoire
un verre de vin rosé
entre mes mâchoires
les faits débouchés
perdent pas leur lustre
sans être découplé
dans le lit de Procuste
Le boisson des dieux
tourne en cauchemar
retournant en banlieue
sans la saison nénuphar

Refrain:
Un rêve d'une femme âgée
reste le moment baladé

Passerelle

Je marche de la modernité
jusqu'au Moyen Age
et ce petit passage
ne prend qu'un éternité
éphémère et transitoire
dans quelques instants
je passe le court temps
d'une vie dans l'histoire
il ne reste rien du chemin
sauf dans les flots fluides
les grains et  les miettes
dans un vieux parchemin
un page tout à fait vide
un zygote vaut un gamète .


En passant d'une maison moderne
jusqu'à ma maison ancienne

Pasi

Et menneske som bare var
og levede sit livs drøm
kunne det hele - ville alt

Fremtiden -? stoppet
totalt tilfældigt eller ikke
du er nu pas(c)ificeret

Gruk om lidet gøren

Laller rundt
og gør meget lidt
lidt eller meget
er lige vidt

når solen skinner
er det som hip
at tankenerne
flyver på et trip

så tiden er tavs
flyr godt afsted
man den følger
også helt med

selvom lidt sker
i ens inderste indre
kan man vel ikke
gøre meget mindre.

To dage!

To dages dovenskab
Svier enormt
næppe nødvendigt
dog to dages resprit
hvor alt og intet
skete og var som
luftkasteller
i vindens dybe
ginnungagap!

Adalaÿs - chatelaine revenue

Comme chaque été
dans les garrigues
lent la chatelaine se promène
elle fut prisonnière
pensant au passé
surtout à sa domaine
qu'elle se retrouve
dans son élément
une femme amazonienne
voyant son village
modifié surtout
un rêve hallucinogène
en se trouvant
au le Moyen Age
un temps schizophrène
quand  elle revenait
du prison du pape
sans crimonogène
elle se defendait
et son patrimoine
la vie contemporaine
qu'elle s'envisionne
ne soit pas sans
des grands problèmes
Où serait le chateau
pour les modernes
dans leur vie quotidienne?
Où serait le respect
des faits des anciens
qui fur au mesure proviennent
de leurs terres vinobles?
de la mémoire vieille?
Là - une question draconienne?

En kasket

En glemt kasket
hang over en stol
i mit køkken
Du er ikke glemt!

Un matin normal

Matin villageois
sors de ma maison
devant la mairie
il y a des vacarmes
des démolitions
je regarde comme
des autres passants
je parle avec du
dame du village
elle me raconte
ses souvenirs
de cette place
en train de changer

Je continue
mon chemin
et je parle avec
ma copine de
mercerie
fait un achat
chez le buraliste
trouvant enfin
mon café  dans
au comptoir
de mon café

Là j'entre en
conversation
avec un homme
qui lit toujours
son journal
chaque matin
en buvant
un demi ou deux

Je lis aussi
dans mon journal
Le monde
depressif  -
fatiguant d'observer
que le monde est
toujours le même
et rien de nouveau,
sauf la date -
solstice - 15:54

En commençante de
retourner vers
ma maison
encore je rencontre
une autre dame
avec qui je monte
sur la place -
elle aussi narre
ses légendes de
notre endroit
et subitement
une voisine
apparait - et
enfin je quitte
les gens retournant
ici entre les murs
qui me protègent.

Un soir - un coeur

Un soir - seule - mon âme
se pacifie et respire
sans les devoirs de mari
des enfants que j'adore
mais sans le savoir
m'encombrent et calmement
me tuent lentement sùrement
sauf dans mon petit coin
dans un village inconnu
là je peux
douchement
moyenageusement
aérer mon esprit
tombée sur une masioenette
il y a 13 ans cette été
et c'est  seulement la maison
qui me dit de faire ménage
de la reparer de la soutenir
comme tous les autres
"propriétaires ont fait
devant toi - à peu près
environ  des siècles
et des siècles -
tu sais - je resterai là
quand tu seras morte!"
oui je la dis je sais
mais entretemps
tu me donnes une vie
sans savoir comment
et pourquoi.
Je te suis reconnaissante
mon petit coeur.

Bonnie

a wag

Hungry for love

two wags

Hungry for food

three wags

Hungry for shelter

Gazillion wags

You gave us