Dreads shadowy steps
down dark tunnels.
Light ahead never draws nearer.
Footsteps echo,
pale face in the mirror.

Dhaka 2014

This week’s poem inspired by The Nordic Embassies in Dhaka’s Women’s Day celebration which included wonderful and very moving dance displays.

Beautiful in blue

Tall man in blue sari,
strong muscled arms,
long lovely lashes,
sparkling
on stage.

Whirling, twisting,
dancing his soul out.

Leaping his longing,
spinning his passion,
writhing his suffering.

Wringing our tears
tickling our fears.

Accepted,
adored,
showered in applause –
as long
as the music goes on.

Dhaka 2015

This week’s poem, written first in Danish, is inspired by three small, but important people who have recently come into my life.

Dear niece-daughters

So much to say, so much advice to give,
but I’ll keep it short, for you’re still so small –
I’ll just mention what is easy to remember and simple to understand.

First, you need to know that it feels good to do good,
so, always do your best for others and especially for yourself,
then things will go well for you.

When you are kind and soft to others, you do not make yourself weak,
on the contrary, you become strong –
feel for others and let your feelings run away with you.

To be beautiful, be as like yourself as possible,
although it can be difficult, especially for lovely young girls.

When you grow up and go into the world to seek your happiness,
do not look for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow,
but seek joy amongst people – that is where true happiness is.

I wish you a strong and beautiful life,
filled with empathy and emotion,
filled with adventures, large and small.

Denmark 2015

.

Denne uges digt, på dansk, inspireret af tre små piger.

Kære niece-børn

Så meget at sige, så mange gode råd,
men jeg holder det kort, for i er så små –
bare lidt i kan huske som er nemt at forstå.

Først skal i vide at det foles godt at gøre godt,
så gør altid jeres bedste, for andre og især for jer selv,
så vil det altid gå jer vel.

Når man er rar og blød ved andre, så bliver man ikke svag,
nej, tværtimod, man bliver helt og stærk,
så føle for andre og lad føleserne løbe afsted med jer.

For at være smuk, så lign digselv så meget som muligt,
selvom det kan være svært,
især for smukke unge piger.

Når i bliver store og vil ud i verden og finde lykken,
så kigge ikke efter krukken med guld for enden af regnbuen,
men led blandt mennesker – det er der lykken findes.

Jeg ønsker jer et smukt og stærkt liv,
fyldt med empati og stærke følelser
og fyldt med eventyr af både den stor og den lille slags.

Denmark 2015

.

Better late than never, last weeks post has landed with a buzz and a sting in it’s tail.

Wasp

Hot pin stabs my palm.
Brush of papery wings against reflex opening fingers,
gasp of surprise as you buzz through my sight
escaping via gaping window.
I’m left clutching a handful of pain.

Gazipur, Bangladesh 2015

Driving through the windy grey February landscape of Denmark gets the thoughts swirling.

Cross country

Grouping them in pairs, in families,
making assumptions,
norms, prejudices, ignorance.
When contradictions interpose
fix flickering gaze.
There’s so much more than that.

Uncovering truth
like wind molding trees,
bending East,
not by storms but by prevailing conditions.
At most times, in most places,
unchanging.

Big bang happened, alone in emptiness
she’s reaching out into darkness.
Stretching, seeking, extending,
feeling the irresistible urge to know,
who else is here?

Danish roads 2015

Thinking a lot about my son struggling towards exams in a few months time and with some serious stumbles and hurdles along the way, I came across a poem from last year.

Dyslexic Diaries

On a shelf under dust,
with chargers and disks
lies a book, overlooked
where your scribblings survive.

In a Spanish note-book
amongst unfinished work
lives an elf armed with knives and a bow.
Across pages he sneaks,
crossing lands on light feet
and I wonder what language he speaks.

There are battles you drew
between armies of ants
armed with swords,
beetle tanks,
now forgotten in drawers,
in the midst of a war.

Signs of Tolkein’s I find,
Tintin, Halo and Shrek,
all adapted and changed by your hand.
Amongst papers in piles,
Slow maturing in style
unknown worlds that were part of your life.

Dhaka 2014

Days that blow hot and cold in ways too complex to explain, when you wonder if you ever really get to understand anything or anyone, least of all yourself.

Contradictions

Yes, I am strong,
but you are thoroughly fooled
if you think that is all.

Optimistic, yes,
resilient, robust but try, for a moment
to estimate costs.

Calm, but consider
what lies over,
what lies under,
rolling across landscapes
distant thunder.

No strength without weakness,
no hope without fear.
Yes, I have power.
I also shed tears.

Dhaka 2015

Raise eyes,
green patterns on pale sky,
golden light floods waking world,
disguised in ordered steps skips happy girl.

Dhaka 2015

This week’s poem needs no introduction or explanation. Just too many thoughts.

Sleepless

Floating like a bat,
skin between my fingers,
my belly a screeching infant,
demanding comfort and warm milk.

Hanging upside down
thoughts flood in like blood,
I am dizzy,
dizzy.

Falling
….. asleep.

Dhaka 2015