Happiness

All of the years
days in thousands

scarcity of words
and the left unsaid
multitude of the ones
that stand for nothing
in the end

how many are the deeds that
truly made significance

mind full of memories stuffed and crammed
tiny little smallest ones
hovering shivering in obscurity
pains in sorrows of the loads
as if poured on you
for all the tons worth

thin with joy
yet giant leaps
dozens of acres sized moments
few a dreamful forgettable ones

the ones
are they happiness

Broken acts

I am a therapy to myself
in words

a road winding like a creek
in spring time
snake on a rock
slush in hailstorm
books in foreign languages

a flower
grinding its way through
tarmac
through or
from the crack?

success always comes with price
and likelihood

what I want, where, when
with words


acts are broken

not functioning
hole in the tank
fuel is consumed in the
act of filling up

with words I write pain to words
with words the pain to pieces
as words to sentences
dreams

then if and when, dreams

acts broken

convict of self-made prison
out of pain, with
words to sentences
invented dreams to escape

words for words as words
in a row I place
as words to words to utter

since acts are broken

Ropes, Poisons, Guns...

Oh, I wish I was a
citizen of US of A
would have bought one
from local Walmart

and gone out under the stars
and felt the cold sting under my chin
last look at the Orion
and gone happily ever after

or I wish I'd had access to goblet
of the good old poisonous cocktail
what a wonderful way to end the days
with cigar and wine or even
cognac, unless,
it's too fine to be spoiled
with the poisonous lime

but no, not in here and now;
cannot even get a prescription on insomnia
alternatives scarce: rope is so barbarous way
and wrists, well, I might be
couple of pieces short of being a man

so "Here I stand. I can do no other"
and thinking again - I'm writing again
re-married and occasionally having a ball
of my life, writing these thoughts of sorts

Few Lines of Letters

8th grade
I had lost what I am
in realization
that I wasn't truly what
I actually was

did not know but the fact
that I was only shadows of what
the others made me

popular, local celebrity at
the age of t-h-i-r-t-e-e-n

lost in that swirl
broken the rules, hearts
and something fragile inside

pain increased as despise,
first sober thoughts were
disguised from revelation, to be turned
into self-hate, cutting
withdrawal, snake slithering to
its pit

I was squeezed out from fluids of live
turned inside, and the inside out
burning insecurity in
expectations out
-side

hibernation, the ice four age teen
like a dying species
alone, loneliness grows exponentially
I made acquaintance with the moon
soul mates surrounded by stars and occasional
shivering lights, magical waves
of polar lights

cold, lifeless, visited still by friends
I did push away them

breathing poison through my lungs to heart
and brains just enough,
and slowly too, to keep me alive
to see my death fuller and fuller, constantly
thinking of bursting

I found a way out of my self-made solitude and
yes, I met my redemption
in letters and words of books as I
hid myself in them

I found a way to dilute the poison out
in words of a poet greatest
on the earth:

"Thank you for life, Mother
Few lines I made letters today
That's all. I am happy."

For all the muses in the world
I took upon me
those simple
words

and do still
and forevermore
when levels of poison
run high to be cleansed again
"Few lines...That's all"

------------------------------------

Quote is from "Onni" a poem by Lauri Viita (translation is mine), a Finnish poet that died tragically in young age in car accident. The very same day the news of his death was in papers Finland's most acknowledged poetry magazine published his poem "Onni" = Happiness

Hurry On

In hurry, I hurry on, like a hurry
never before
as long as I make it round
four corners
of the street of life

hurry,  hurry on to where
from whence
as long as I carry on

who knows where this takes me
the road
as long as I hurry on
on with hurry

through the scattered noise
and motion
filling my head 
going insane

if I don't get along with the hurry
I just be better off dead
if I can't shake off
this life
I hurry on

Between Packed Ice

A prisoner
inside my head
heart is closed
squeezed between
packed ice

receptive?

with a dozen spears
pierced through me,
deathly,
spiky to be considered
as human

sun's shine lights
but
warms not
it teases
when wind is shut off
like flashlight pointed
straight towards your sight

start off with a wrong foot?

rather with wrong body
yet underestimated expression

in a wrong life
how's that?

anger has no limits
when it pivots inside
deep
compelled to silence

passer-by's careless smile
cuts more severe than
cutting your wrist
bitter bees covet
every cavity and
expand your mind's
universes beyond everything
with bitter sweet
poison

another day
or yet
give me another
life
or
death

Shades of Hell

The greys
with all of their shades
clouds with all the possible shapes
life with all its emotions


how heaven is so





attached to hell


bound so often
by one single word
or act
to chain of events

countless to imagine the colors
and hues of skies

hell does not burn
for it is black

and dark so that
as embraced
to its very depths

one begins to imagine black
not to lose sight
sidotut joskusyhdellä sanalla
     teolla
          tapahtumaan

laskea en saata värejä
sävyjä taivaan


helvetti ei pala
se on musta

niin synkkä että
syleillessään syvyyksiinsä
siellä alkaa kuvitella mustia
nähdäkseen

***

elämän laulu on
kaikkia sävyjä, musiikin
genrejä
vaikka pitäisin vain
kahdesta
digitalisaatio
tuo soiton kaikkialle
24/7
joskus tahtoisin vain

o l l a

Rotten Sad

Love
arbitrary in talk
cemented in seasons
and symbols
over used  worn-out
as if it ever could
conquers all brings back to life
mends bends   does every trick

love
spoiled shunned
yet isn't love all marvel
home of
each man's shivering esteem's urge to find
and be one

love
the power to be
all you need is...

to lose one
lose love
still be loved
to run out of pain
so lost, one does not find
emotions inside

the terror
to look into
your own child's
eyes

    past any description
         for      you

I look back
numb
empty

-------------------------------------------------------------
"I can't feel anything but sadness" was the prompt in contest. I wasn't gonna enter. Hadn't written for couple of days so i started just to dribbling with words; there was a thought (another besides the contest) of writing something nice and positive for a change and started "love" then me hit me and forgot the positive: "arbitrary" and got on making the  dullest lines "conquers all". About then it hit me...the saddest of any possible; something to easily win feeling "anything but sadness". To be crushed so that one feels nothing - there is not a single thing in the world beyond nothing, the power in it!

I finally had idea of writing and just kept on but making true statements on love like "urge to find". We all have it, and to be loved. And "the song" came to mind and i thought this is the time change gears from 5 to REVERSE after   ...   "lose". Afterwards i decided to leave it open but for my sake i'll give here my interpretation. I did write it as lose like to die before time. And to lose love - to lose capability to love after a heavy loss (or dual version: dramatic events in life). Yet "still be loved" as the people around you do no matter.

The terror, this is what hit me in beginning when i was still just dribbling with words. Five years ago i was in the state of mind obliged to experience this "terror". My children were young - in the age that all they know of world is little to compare to the love they know "past any description" for parents. And i had to look them back feeling nothing yet knowing and recognizing that fact at the same time; numb, empty, for many months.

I haven't lost anyone before time but i do have slight idea how it could feel. I was just bruised by me - a bit more heavily then than ever before. Mind is sometimes bit shaky to go out of control.

I like this poem, funny how it started and came to (version 1.0) completion. There was only one word i crossed over a second after writing it. Otherwise non, its here - the dribble

The Barren land

I now know there will be no return of
you ever again, maybe

I would rather let it be
and leave you withering away from
my sore veins
medicined far prolonged with your
wawering distorted unbalanced friction of
hues mind has tasted
you in your sublime
rest wasted and thrown away
useless to my yearning
resident in mortality
the barren land

at utter most gives life to a pine
distorted with nothing to root in
measly twisted branches out lack of nutrients
a dwarf birch at most
starving suffering survival
a weakling unable to give strength or
height to climb as to scope beyound to navigate
possibilities in or to another life

you are lost from me, gone, away
simmering life out of me
senseless solitude of my puszta
eating away inside, grinding my mind
by shadows of a black hole

(I do still dream of you, of us)

gone
as life from
barren lands viewed
in moments to marked as beauty
but never in time to nurture any more life
blackest of holes of my puszta
forlorn darker than pain
strive away under
smile without
roots 

so weak to have requirements of
shine
nor last to give or to receive any
which it was to harvest, designed

scales of greys have blanketed skies for months, longer
oppressing all under, nascent hope or movement
skies get under your skin, only to disturb and turmoil
I wait, though it be
for sake of waste

clouds to darken beyond the darkest of any black
fire from raging thunders of light
for the dam of my eyes, to crack, crumble
cave, and release along years of harvested tears
to the barren land

Mother

In front did you know
the moment, felt it you may
rustling inside did you hear
that it is me

was it then you started, to weave
rope, completed in time
to the needs on occasion to come

to a rope to pull me into life
with it as quagmire into you
to pull through stressed early years
without sleep, like on tarmac
in a sledge pulling me behind

intertwining  an add-on rope, you did
giving the limits like on a neck of a dog

where did it come the anchor rope
that too did you do
and how had you knowledge
resiliently strict twined

along rebellious years I hid to banes
readily made was, of course
where had you strength to do that too
      and on time to throw
            a safety rope

at last I did find a way with an axe
to cut off our ways
loosen apart rope(s) had become

mine escaping to freedom
thine holding to it's own

diverging ways of two
in the run mine got lost too
in places that even shadows don't shine

lost ropeless crouching cries
no where or strength to go
a way with an axe I  came across
with it writing to stone

MOTHER: do you have rope to home
yes,
always

--------------------------------------

I don't know does this work at all in English (Finnish is a superior language). I thought long  and hard and almost deleted this but egoism or need to share - who knows - decided eventually push the "publish"

I wrote it to my mother on Mother's Day this year since she insisted that I can't waste money on flowers. This one is so personal to me that it's impossible to say how bad or good it really is. I'm blinded by love on this one.

In Between Nights There Is A Space

I dream 
of a dream
where I don't have to wake up

a dream 
arriving by request

awake

cars, blurry people
pouring without reactions
on my sight
an impressionistic paint
in motion

shaky  nausea
eyelids like oppressive rugs
circus tent's heavily flexible canvas

hum in the head
dust in the wind
corpus stiff as iron wire

wind bends trees like string a bow
will I bend too

bloodless heart
beats dragging, volatile

towards which night
would I long
the one I know
the other I fear

can't afford to sit yet
not to be captured asleep
day's work
obligation set as punishment 
in command I march through
in line of ants 

slowly managing, to the night

   I can
    
        I can

I can

under the sheets at last
to discover I already slept the day

in harmony of abhorrence 


    insomnia

        insomnia

            insomnia

Waiting To Be Eaten Alive

Spitting sorrows out of your mouth

executing pain in fables

expelling with cursing endeavors

to shift aside by tears

helpless weep

can do non

occurred fact by now

victim you are

wasted effort breaking loose you may

it is you the spider's eating from her web