the most beautiful.

as I step, from the grass

unto the weeds, though

not really, because I’m wearing

an ikea curtain as a protection

layer between me and the

stingy things- I walk on slowly

like walking in a sleeping bag

when camping and not wanting

to let go of that warmth.

walking with your bed-

like warm arms holding you

while every simple thing

feels extraordinary.

the why for the walking on

curtains trough stingy weeds-

to un-knot the garland tied to the

tree at a time when apparently,

there was space for me to put a ladder

without getting stung.

this moment and writing about it

now- the magic of that

the world keeps turning,

and that there are incredibly

beautiful things to find-

unwrap- unravel, and transform.





Almost there

One more step,

and then one more.


The wall – falling apart

And then?

Forward again

patiently waiting for things

to grow and disappear

like friendship and sunburn

long summer nights

growing shorter everyday now

Breaks that take longer than

they need to-

writing poetry while

sitting on the toilet-

breaking away from a

deadline dooming.



My mind slowly seems

to mingle everything from

today to last week, to last month

a year and years ago. As if

all I ever did, saw, felt, said

has to be reviewed now,

just when I’m laying in bed

waiting for sleep to come

and take me on to a new day.


It seems difficult these days

to concentrate- to know the

facts is one thing, but to act

on them… And while I feel trapped

one way or another in my

head – it feels that perhaps, if

I’d give this wandering mind

a walk around the park, then

perhaps, It tires itself out-

And will let me sleep.


And so I take it- to a place

It has seen before, but that

allows for new things. Words.

Perhaps writing a poem about

how it feels to be awake now,

won’t help. But at least I have

something to show for all the

digging around and strolling

through memories I did.


This wandering mind longs to

travel, but for now, a walk in the

park, should be enough.

DSC03382 (2)

To just sit here and let it all be.



I used to make lists-

What I want- I would write

on top. and then anything like

learn a certain skill, buy

something I’d seen, something

I admired. I think ‘a boyfriend’

even at some point got onto there

List of things little moments to

sit and dream. Smal things,

but also bigger things. Get a

degree or something like that.


Thinking of the lists I’m sitting

no again here and think that

perhaps it was never really about

the big things. Never really put

too much on lists like marry by

21 or kids by 23, missed both

by any means. And yet. It’s

funny right. These lists- for me,

these lists were never a kind of

‘five-year plan’ sure, I scratched

a ton of these things off, but I

haven’t been keeping track.

they were never plans. just a step

back to see at that point in time

what kind of strange funny and

spontaneous desires had find

themselves into my heart.


Perhaps, now I once again am

on some kind of crossroad-

I should try to look back on

what I wanted back then, because

I can already feel the freedom

play some gentle music in the

background. Music that underscores

the beautiful process of making

small dreams coming true.

long nights

To take a walk, trough the trees,

to the water, to hear the sound

of the waves against the line

of land, and the beat of the

party nearby. I remember the

last time I was there, months

ago. So near and yet I didn’t

go there for months- and yet,

sitting there reading my book,

being here with someone else

for the first time. It feels not

like home. Like free, like hope

like hidden in the trees and yet

the open water in front of me.

I can stay here as long as I want,




Whatever it is.

Lately, there has been, advertisement

saying something like: if you don’t go

to the hardware store for your project

it’s not a project at all, and so I took it

to understand better what it means to

not be codependent- You don’t buy people

in hardware stores, so they are not projects

they cannot be- they are simply people

that’s it.


And I’m slowly trying to put myself back

together, I’m not a project either so rather

then rearranging I’m trying understanding

understanding better who I am, and how

I love and how sometimes even though it

doesn’t feel like it, it has been it is enough


and last night a guy told a story and made

music and ended up saying something like:

pain is more than the pain, it is a force but you

can only use it for good, for creation for

beauty if you are no longer ashamed of it


And so in the wake of this and fact that

I need to re-route the stories in my head

and how my friend put it: Teach me the

strength to face the people I cannot change

the wisdom to change the ones I can,

and the wisdom to know it’s me.


Making angels

And as we recount

how much we enjoyed

simply making something

we wondered out loud: why?

don’t we do more of what

we love.


Little etched angel

to try- I’ve never done it so..

I’ve never done it, so I think I can,

that’s supposedly what Pippi Longstocking

said and beyond doubts or fears or

the insecurity that has been my outlook

on life, and to, though hesitantly,

truly believe in what I am and why

I am doing what I’m doing.

cause although nothing is perfect

I can make something

beautiful, meaningful

strong, powerful.


Such a beautiful image to find.

Writing challenge- poems


When light makes poetic impressions

So a few years ago I read a free online book that was named writing to find yourself by Allison Vesterfelt, it then was a free download on Noisetrade. The book challenges to just write if you at some point want to have something written. One of the ways to get used to writing is according to her to write ‘morning papers’ just every morning write for an hour, about anything. I’ve tried different forms of this- for instance just write 2 pages per day in my journal, or indeed writing for an hour every day (first half hours is hard, after that, much easier).  This month, however, for the sake of ‘poetry writing month’ in the US, I’ve joined a group ‘Fight Evil with Poetry’ facilitated by the amazing musician and spoken word artist Micah Bourne. I’m now at the 22nd day- one day ‘faster’ then the rest of the group mostly in the US, and it has been a good practice.

The challenge works in such a way that every day there is a prompt for the poem of the day, and these prompt range from ‘write about your favorite food’ to ‘write about something that hurt you from the perspective of someone who hurt you’- not the lightest of topics. It has been interesting for me since I usually write from emotion, or because there is some kind of inspiration or happening at the time that I am writing, and I rarely make time to write poetry about a particular topic. Similarly, I almost exclusively write ‘when the muse strikes me’- I have periods that I write a lot and periods that I write nothing at all. The challenge to write a poem a day has certainly helped me to write more consistently, and also to actually explore the less explosive or clear emotions and thoughts. By being ‘forced’  to write about emotionally challenging subjects It actually helped me to put some ideas and feelings I have known about for a long time on paper.

Of course, the great thing about doing this particular kind of challenge is that I am not alone in doing it. Others do the same challenge and because it is a reasonable ‘anonymous’ group, the most delicate subjects are discussed and explored. What is also very interesting is to see the different interpretations of different writers on a theme. Sometimes these interpretations are similar to mine, other times not at all. To recognize your own feelings in words of others, or to learn to be more open-minded or empathetic towards people that have such different lives, is very precious to me. At the same time, writing about different topics because ‘I have to’, have also allowed for beautiful conversations with friends and family. And have helped me share new found words, that help understand each other better. That to me,  connecting with others, is truly writing to find yourself.