WISPY

Astonishingly , you are present

Like the imprint of a wispy cloud that was

Just here

Just now

About Poetry

In today’s world, especially in times of pandemics, how much do you think there is also a need for poetry? Can’t be estimated. Always 100%. In poetry, what exactly does the form and content mean? The content is what the poet wants to share with me – the form is the way s/he does it – what it means is up to me – I think – Is poetry a form of spirituality? The Highest. What is the poetry under darkening skies? The hope that the darkened skies is not the ultimate reality What will become the death of poetry? Nothing can stop poetry. Maybe there could be an insane poetry-hater-dictator, but the poetry would just go clandestine In today’s world, especially in times of pandemics, how much do you think there is also a need for poetry? Poetry would be a way that we could breathe deeper without catching the bacteria.Maybe even turning our experience with the bacteria into wild and beautiful poems. In poetry, what exactly does the form and content mean? It means something in the way it will interact with our soul Is poetry a form of spirituality? The highest Are Night Stalkers airborne? Who is asking? Can you describe yourself in poetry form? A giggler with a kind of clownish costume – and around her, a multitude of putties are giggling too – and this giggling is holding the whole Universe – What are some good examples of difficult, cryptic poetry? If I would give an example here, it wouldn’t be REAL cryptic, would it Are airborne units elite? In Norway, they are not What are the forms of poetry? Inside – outside, up- down and diagonal – and then, there are these cryptic kinds of poetry that are really an abuse of poetry ItSelf – they are zigzagging, and just describing them make me sick What is the highest form of poetry? The ones with very few words where you just go OHHH because what you experience is so VASTLY beyond words. Like God Is any mail airborne? Well, BORNE is maybe not the most accurate word for it – Why does no one realize that poetry is dying or already almost dead? Well, the ones who “realize” this are very sick indeed and they need poetry to wake them up, but the sickness is their hanging on the belief that poetry is for wussies Is airborne mold dangerous? Of course it is, you moron Can EOD be airborne? That depends on the meaning of EOD. There is SUCH a variety. We all know that.

Morning

MORNING Some days I simply don’t exist I move slowly without slippers exploring the space around me delicately as a cat waiting at the mouse hole not waiting for the mouse just delighting in the waiting Time rolls out before me like wind-ups of infinitesimal wispy clouds Wherever I turn I am

Fake Words

I found out that using a fake-word-automat, there is still a meaning going on in the poem – just that now, I have to be an active co-creator.

I found out also that there can absolute NOT be any fake words.

Like here – where our Poetrygroup leader suggested we use such an automat:

The Plifal dimped and begged and moaned
And fell on knees and fainted

While Defas was more brave and strong
And brought me swans, self-painted

The Looplab wooed me dancing wild
On jungletoes with garnish

Yet Doggax, more inventive, styled
His purple hair with starfish

But sweet Querassa won my heart
And swooned me with her presence
and fed me sips of gunglegoo
and tiny leaves of pleasance

Photo by Chris Abney on Unsplash

no caption needed

Dissolving

Sharing a poem today – wrote it last year.

D I S S O L V I N G

As the pixels melted together in a soup of zeroes and ones

mixed with tiny bits of amoebas and dinosaurs,

I turned to my husband and said,

The web is going, dear.

He looked at the screen and nodded twice,

His director-eyes gazing into stage designs not yet created.

“Shakespeare knew this.

The world is a dream, and we are all being dreamed

And now the curtain falls.”

We watched as the screen dissolved

Outside the large windows

The spruces had moved closer, emerald green

Fragrant and filled with grace

The duck pond swelled with pleasure

A red fox stood still

His tail quivering

I watched as the walls dissolved

The skies were alive with blue and orange birds

They screamed and circled our home

As I watched my left thumb dissolve

My beloved took me in his arms and

smiled and said with tremendous basso-profundo-voice,

“It will all go, my love, the Dreamer is waking up.”

He kissed me and we dissolved

Nobody watched

***

If you want to share, I am happy if you share my credits

This one seems to be in the state of melting –

Heart Talk

Gallery Yopriceville

My newest poem – “Acrostic form” – meaning the beginning letters form a sentence.

I attend a wonderful poesy- group where we receive a theme and write a poem from scratch. I have participated since we started it almost 15 years ago – and this week I happened to win! The leader posted this heart to me 🙂

On Your Toes “Always allow the heart to speak first” he said. “Never believe your smartreason, else you will crumble into grief with a twinge of wisecracks and wordiness, You are here now. I hear your Earth voice tiptoeing into my heart. A new start. Right here. There is nowhere to go”

Angry – and

Enough already!

I have not been able to to paint/draw for about 2 years now. All that comes is ANNGRRY pieces like this. And so I stopped resisting and gave it space – which felt glorious.

The today, when I watched it, I grabbed a pen and started writing. This is word for word that came:

A day in May

has much to say
about my way
to form and slay
 the SHALS and MUSTS
and eat and scream
and dive in stream
and dip and swim
and laugh and beam
and come alive
is bestest way
with giggles and
a form of pray
that whispers lightly:
It's just a dream.
Now come alive 
and have ice cream

I notice the turnaround into “dive in stream”, and enjoyed the change in energy in that shift.

I had just ended a session with a friend and  suggested creative means for her to deal with huge rage. So I thought I would do that too.

These poems – silly as they are, are so healing for me. They just come. Such blessings. I think one of the Divine’s attribute is playfulness and silliness. I also experience that any form of play is transformative – I will set the intension to allow what comes through me / patients  with curiosity and wonder – always trusting that what we have started, not knowing where it will go, WILL go into wonder and transformation, when we let it.

If you are interesting in case-stories from my 30 year practice as therapist, you might read some reviews of When Fear Comes Home to Love

You Never Know

I am a member of a writer-group – and we have also a bi-weekly poetry contest, where we are given themes and certain rules to obey. Maybe you can see the format for this poem?

You Never Know
Do not regret being kissed by
Elves. Enjoy their antics, 
Fun and feisty fabulousness 
Greet them with grateful gestures
And then wait for your wish to be fulfilled.

After you’ve swooned in sheer tipsiness 
Before you fall asleep in upside-down elf dreams
Caress your beloved and 
Discover her dimple anew.
Then pay the elves seven fresh moonbeams

This is probably arranged for me by elves.

What to do on a twiddledaddle day

You know – the days when you are on the sofa mostly and can’t get anything done. Just read a post from my blogamigo Kathy: https://upwoods.wordpress.com/2020/12/05/zamfizzled/

She describes it very clearly.

My recipe is food with cream in it and writing nonsense poems.

My Others

Moanie Molly is mean on Mondays

frivolus on fridays and

satyrical on Saturdays

Pretty-bow Prune tinkers with truth

on Tuesdays and

tortures toddlers on Thursdays with

a terrible smile of too- twinkling -teeth

Wednesday is my day – Woolly Wendy

is my wame. I call them in through

my windows of welcome

I wind them warmly into my

wet and woolly wembrace,

tucking them in, wriggling and wailing

wrapping them up in well-meaning waffle words

Sunday is sublime-day.

All of us together.

Singing in the supersonically choir of sunflowers,

Visiting soothsayers and sweet-shocked solicitors,

Swimming in star shined seas of sovereign surprises,

Summoning slithering salamanders

and cute little ducks.

Then we go home

and sleep the slumber of

sincere sinners

and saints

Hide and Seek

For those who love to play with metaphors – I wrote this hide-and seek – and FIND-poem some years ago.

Convincing

I challenge you to find me I said,
Behind whatever disguises I offer!
I will find you, he said, even if you hide
In the crack between centuries.

I turned myself into a deserted
Garden, rusty iron fence with croaking
Hinges, whining and complaining at
Human touch. Dry and brown spotted
Leaves on the ground, cracked flagstones
With tired yellow grass

I filled the sad house with mold and cold,
Dust and rust, and hid my heart in the cellar.
My disguise was so convincing that I
Disappeared into it, I became the deserted
House with coleoptera, spider webs as curtains,
I forgot it was a game

For eons I forgot
Then – one day the sky was filled with pink
Like a bed sheet of happiness drawn all up to one’s nose
And you sun-rained through the cracked roof
Into my creation!
You met me in the cellar stairs
And grinned
And I remembered that I thought I could be lost!

How did you recognize me, I asked
And you just shook your head at such
Silliness
What took you so long, I said
And you said: beloved, we just parted
My heart burst out in daffodils
We frolicked for quite a while
And then I wanted to play hide again
It feels so darn good to be

Found

And seen through

 Feel free to share, provided you give me credit for it:)