Archive for March, 2013

TO BE FREE 31.3.13
March 31, 2013

13758772-golden-bird-cage-with-bird-inside-isolatedLife is a big stage

I don’t want to sit in a cage

Be that iron or gold

Freedom shouldn’t be sold…


27.3.13 YOU THINK
March 27, 2013

imagesYou think
You tame
A panther pink
But… What a shame
That’s an old tree
Can’t you see?
With branches cut
Crazy Internet slut
Is it still tempting?
Well, its trunk is empty.
Do you still want me???crying

WINTER 24.3.13
March 24, 2013

17.12.12AWinter, go away!

Your stubborn stay

Is soooooo crazy

And  makes me toooooo lazy


Sad 23.3.13
March 23, 2013

Ah, it’s a bit sad,

My dear lad,

To part like that…

My golden star is so afar

If it is golden at all…28.10.12

THE ASPHALT TALE published 22.3.13
March 22, 2013

18.8.12 uz Skr. Pastu pldz I would like to tell you a story that happened in the 20th century at a small, shabby immigrant town, on a dimly grey afternoon. Where days came and went reluctantly, and every new morning arrived as dull as the previous mornings.

Rare, lazy raindrops were silently falling down on a dusty asphalt yard, and on the chalk drawings there. Drip, drip, drip,yaw. A pretty chalk girl with a neatly drawn basket in her hands yawned lazily.

– œGood morning,- she kindly greeted a shy birch-tree who stood alone in the middle of a half-dead grass, sandwiched between two big, monstrous tenant houses. The entire town consisted of houses like that, and there were about a hundred dwellings at the town, and all were grey, dull,boring and ugly.

– Hi, – replied the birch-tree gaily. œHow are you there, the flowered one? Wouldn’t you like to sail away from the endless stamping of feet?

– Ah, I was just thinking about that, really, – replied Malvine, the chalk girl. – œBut, to tell the truth, I would rather have somebody beside me, you know: I am a bit afraid of the big world.

– Right you are: the world is wonderfully big and spacious!

– How can you know that? Why, you are standing on the same place, all the time, as far as I can remember, – Malvine wondered.

– I know a good deal about miracles outside our asphalt world, my dear lass. The morning wind sometimes tells me this and that, when switched on a talkative mood. Especially in springtime, and I have been standing here for eight long years. You are much younger, my sweet girl.
– Gosh, don’t tell me! You can’t  be so awfully old! I am only for the fifth day here, but feel tired to the very roots of my hair!
– It’s because you have been attached to the asphalt. But my branches are
waving in the fresh air, and when the colourful autumn comes, my leaves are
flying far away; but later one or two return to me. Now and then a little robin
comes to see me, as a rule on a crisp winter morning. You know, once I had seven lovely robins on my snowy branches. At first the lovely birds seemed rather arrogant, but as I started to talk, the robins twittered back kindly. And they have seen the world! They really have!
Unfortunately, the birch-tree had experienced something else, and not all the
memories were pleasant. Some were rather painful. For instance, one day, some years ago, the town rulers allowed hooligans to make explosions whenever they liked, both by day and night. Adult men started to behave like schoolboys, and one fool shot out the neighbour’s window. The curtains flamed up, and the poor girl, the neighbour, was in despair. She ran to and fro like a tiny, frightened ant. Another hooligan aimed at the birch-tree laughing malignantly. The birch-tree was irritated by never ending explosive noises, and he then decided to act. He wrote a letter to the State president, a female who pretended to be the queen, but she answered abruptly:
This is not MY competence.
During hot, dry summer weeks a girl who watered him daily saved the
birch-tree’s life. A cruel witch, the girl’s  neighbour, laughed loudly
at that.

– Isn’t she crazy? Ha ha ha.

Well, the witch was not happy herself. The birch-tree had seen her husband
scolding that evil woman and even beating her.

The blind eyes of the houses stared dispassionately fixing all the scenes, now
and then opening and then loudly slamming their mouths (the locators used them as doors).

Drunkards loved to rest under the birch-tree, and they were not the worst
people. Some even mumbled gently to the tree crying their hearts out.

One day the town managers decided to make a playground for kids, very
close to the birch-tree. The workers brought several loads of sand, a box, and
a great slice of grassland was lost forever. The funny thing was that little
boys and girls did not play there. It was rude teenagers that stamped the sand
and kicked the birch-tree, and swore ugly. The birch-tree shouted at the
hooligans, but they either did not hear or did not understand the language.
Strange enough: the birch-tree understood every word that humans cared to

The unhappy tree tried to turn all his attention to the sky, and one day he
saw a white helicopter there, and that gave him some strength. The Pope John Paul II was paying His visit to the small barbarian country.

Malvine, of course, did not know this. Happiness is bliss, isn’t? The chalk girl even didn’t suspect that once there were three birch-trees in the yard, of whom only her friend had survived.

– Listen, can’t we fly away from there? I cannot think about a new morning and the repugnant footsteps tormenting my dear flowers again, – œMalvine fell in a dreamy mood, and sighed painfully.

– Let’s try, but we must try hard, my sweet one, – murmured back the little birch-tree.

And they did try, they did. The dream turned into reality. Believe or not, but one  morning both of them were gone! Miracles happen (now and then) and not in old fairy tales alone. You just have to imagine and wish as strongly as you
can, from all your heart.

Next morning nobody noticed the chalk girl’s absence, and very few cared
about the lost birch-tree.

-Well, – said a little boy thoughtfully, -where is my birch-tree?

His Mum shrugged slightly.

– Somebody must have cut it down, and so neatly that no sign is left of that
The boy started to cry.

– Shame on you. You are a man. Stop it!
Meanwhile, Malvine and her friend had found a nice cottage by a vast, blue
sea, among exceptionally bright exotic mellows where a beautiful and good fairy welcomed them kindly and invited to stay with her.

Who knows, maybe it was the nice fairy and her magic spells that helped
Malvine and the birch-tree to fulfill their wish?

Malvine now was a thin, rather awkward girl, and the birch-tree felt foreign
at the new place. Well, at last he made friends with a maple and a pine, and a
rowan. Especially he liked the maple in autumn when her leaves turned crimson.
And the rowan berries seemed so magic. Not speaking about the pine that was
green all year round.

And this is the end of my story. Malvine and her friend entered a new, vast
and fantastic world, and this is the main thing. The narrow asphalt world now
seemed something like a grim nightmare, a silly tale told by a dull stranger…

March 17, 2013


Love is strong and bold

Always hot, never cold.

That Night 13.3.13
March 14, 2013


That night
I couldn’t sleep
I saw a sparkling light
Somewhere far away and deep
Well, my time shrinks
That’s what I think
And life melts away like ice cream
So it seems

THE BRUSSELS I LOVED 7.3.13 (2010)
March 7, 2013



Aakirkeby January 30, 1996 Is anybody from there here? 5.3.13
March 5, 2013



March 4, 2013

Daily news? Printed or  electronic version? Hard question indeed. Usually I
listen to TV (not watching it), at the same time browsing  Internet sites,
Twitter, for instance. Nevertheless, I would prefer to get a newspaper in the
morning – freshly from print, with nice aroma. I would love to. Though
we live at the electronic age,I would prefer snail mail (not e-mail),
paperback (not e-book), and newspaper (not  Internet news). It must be
admitted:electronic news are more effective and therefore more real, more
vivid news than newspapers. However, I am longing for the good old times
when  could read a newspaper while drinking coffee. I loved the big
sheet newspapers, and was happy to see large newspapers in Paris, and Frenchmen and Frenchwomen sitting with a newspaper in their hands, or put on a cafe table. I saw large format papers also in London.
An old man in the park avidly reading big leafed newspaper, something genuine,from older (and not worse at all) times.Ā My only newspaper, on small sheets of paper (once they were large, and not so long ago) usually comes early in the morning, but I don’t read it sipping my black coffee. No, I am not a person of my dreams. I am the Internet addict, I am electronic news’ eater. I don’t like this at all, but I give in, just because the hasty Age demands that. You
run God know what for, you are in haste, always and everywhere, You cannot sit at one place, you must run, run, run. Why? Why we, humans, have become so nervous and hasty, so impatient and impolite? Is it some kind of plague that
has come over us and makes us all like that? I know poets who write by hand and later retype. I suspect they prefer newspapers over electronic news, like I
do. Newspaper news though often rather rumours than news, are more reliable.
It seems so. To some people. And I belong to this kind . Though, nowadays, I translate and write on my computer and cannot imagine myself writing and then retyping. Loss of time. Time again. TIME. What has it done to us? Turned all the Globe into a hasty, nervously pulsating formation. And we, like tiny ants, are running and toiling. Always in haste.
Having no time for a talk, only for emails, having no time for the traditional,
printed newspaper, only the hasty, crazy electronic news. What a pity. I am
for printed news, I am for traditional newspapers on large sheets!

March 3, 2013

5.10.12 pa logu14.48Cloudy skies

Grey, dark, red or dim

Are so nice!

Watching them every day and night

What a sight!

MY LIFE 3.3.2013
March 3, 2013

11.9.12skyMy life is great adventure,

Some luck, some bit of venture.

It is like zebra

With neat stripes

Black and white.

I wonder what colour might

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