Linear view vs. Masonry View

Tag Archive for ‘Poetry’

Stone Beach reflections

Stone Beach reflections

Photo Ulle Haddock©

I’m the same as you, but not the same. On this spot by greater forces. We co-exist, united.

Like reflections. Depending of light created eight minutes ago. In ancient H2O.

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Stranded

Stranded

Like an island in the stream, caught in a maelstrom.
Life streams on, flows past you.
Stuck in vortex on an island of rose bushes.
Tearing thorns from loss, beautiful flowers of memories.
Stream of life passes by, calling you out again.
How can I leave this island of roses?
How can I leave this comfort of pain?
Waiting for the flood to wash me of.
Should I make a raft of rose bushes?
A raft to float down the stream of life.
A raft of loss and memories.

Writing is a way to deal with things in life. After loosing my son some weeks ago I have struggled to find the strength to write again. Writing this helps me deal with the sorrow and if it can help anyone else I will be glad. Please share, like, comment and subscribe. Also check out my other posts.

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Cows

Cows

A cow died today. It was laying there in the field. In a unnatural pose. On its side. Did not move when approached. Alone. She was dead.

Was she missed this cow. She had a calf. He missed her until another cow gave him milk. Alone in the field. Lying there in her unnatural pose.

The pack left her to drink water. Lowed to let the farmer know. Something was wrong. She was missed, it was not normal. Lying there in her unnatural pose.

In some religions a holy creature. I understand why. Majestic and calm. Feeding on the grass. Reuse four times. Milk and poo a natural pose.

Walk but seldom run. The majestic cows. In tune with nature. Considered to be slow on the uptake. But take it easy her natural pose.

A cow died today. The farmer picked her up with the tractor. Why did she die? A plastic bag in her throat or a bite from a snake? Ended in her unnatural pose.

Did the farmer care? She was insured, was she not? But a tear in the farmers eye. All creatures in his care are precious to him. Lifting her up from her unnatural pose.

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Cows has been part of my life since I was a boy growing up on a farm. They are gentle creatures and brings calm to the surroundings. Was this cow I found dead in the field just a production unit in the farmers books. Or was she more than that. I think all living creatures are worth our respect and that is why I think she was worth this poem.

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Nightmare

Nightmare

They come crawling at night. Piercing your brain. Waking up in a flood of sweat, gasping for breath.

Bad dreams, bad dreams. Thoughts that bring you down. Black dreams, black dreams. Nightmare after midnight.

Go back to sleep, counting sheep. Just before dawn. Black dreams behind your eyelids. Gasping for breath.

Bad dreams, bad dreams. Thoughts that bring you down. Black dreams, black dreams. Nightmare after midnight.

Stumbling to bed. Crying for sleep to come. But you fear the dark, fear your thoughts. Let it come, count the sheep.

No dreams, no dreams. Oblivion of sleep. Breathe hard, breathe hard. You will come out strong. Don’t be a loser, you are not a loser. Beat the dark, shine the light!

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This was originally written as a song text but so I dared to call it poetry. If you like it please share, like and subscribe. Check out more on my site.

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Painting

Painting

Today I painted a house. My sons house. Taking down the wood around the windows. Making sure it is well done. Well done to sustain the windy autumn and winters. Autumn and winter when rain comes down almost horizontally. Hammering against the windows and the trim boards.

The soothing strikes of the paint brush against the wood. Before and after are clear, simple. Protecting the wood against the forces of nature. Forces to reclaim, reclaim the wood. For now, and many years to come a shelter for my son. I cannot save him from his inner demons. But I can shelter him from the forces of nature.

Nature that we love so much. Offers recreation and keeps the demons away for a while. Walking the forest to pick mushrooms and watching the wild life. The birds, nightingale singing its lovely tune. The hawk screaming and fighting with the seagull trying to steal its eggs. Go out with the boat, just sitting there.

Painting, gently back and forth. Like I stroke my sons hair when he was a child trying to sleep, soothing. A layer of protection against everything that wears down. Around the windows always white. White as the gentle snow. Snow that muffles the noise. Painting a house, my sons house.

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