This category is a collection of my favourite poems on this website, so those written by myself. This is different to my favourite collection of poems written by other authors.
Each poem has a different reason for being here. Some, I think, are quirky or witty; others, emotional and melancholic—but all ones I am proud of. Many of them carry particular significance to me. But none, of course, are perfect. I am still very much in the process of learning the ropes of writing poems.
Some things in life are hard to chart
As much as economics would like to disagree
My head was pierced by a dart
Filling it with anxiety
This went on and on until I was wholly lost
In constant distress and pain
My life was shell-shocked, all was paused
Would it ever be the same?
Now, years on
My heart is healing
My head was wrong:
It was scared of feeling.
Let winter be one of joy
And the rain bring you a smile
Fear not being coy
You have walked many a mile.
What's brewing underneath that smile? A deep-rooted contentment Going the extra inner mile It's that smile you give me It's that smile I reply with It's the orchestra reaching a crescendo and a song in its coda It's the feeling of getting to know yourself; the feeling of knowing the road is long and has been a hell of a windy bloody road as I looked over the edge and saw the vast, dark ravine of what could happen but instead I chose to climb uphill and only now I'm reaching the splendour of the sunlit meadows of my soul.
Shouting and throwing things
spilled tears and spilled dreams
is this really how
we ought to deal with life's seams?
My love, look at me,
look me in the eyes
my dear, imagine a world
with no surprises!
As fuming red turns to foggy hues,
and words come out in two-by-twos
take a step back
and see life's funny cues.
No need to spill and make a mess
if only to one another you'd confess
don't bend over and cry
and spoil your pretty dress!
If only we'd see what's life's everyday
instead of fighting day to day
it's not that hard
if you imagine the beautiful future coming our way.
Eyes drooping
Head pounding
thud
thud
A relentless anxiety
to keep digging mud
Shovel in, shovel out
what's the point
of this night out?
Smoke-filled rooms
and dainty hallways
the corridors of life
sweep us away
We mustn't forget
to breathe and pause
because it is in our power
to change course.
Oh Canada, O Canada, Ah Canada!
You’ve treated me well
through no decision of your own.
As your Christmas lights twinkle on the streets
And as Christmas jazz rings out on Wave 98.3
I can look back on it all.
Your majestic landscapes embraced me
as I stood in the palm of Their hands
Embraced me tight when I needed it most
As I showed myself how to be
once more content in my own skin;
I know you had something to do with that.
Your splendid concert halls rang and echoed
with Vivaldi, Tchaikovsky and fellow musicians
My heart rings out with life anew.
This was a séjour of all the senses,
of all the emotions.
I will cherish it
I will cherish you for evermore.
Your Christmastime saxophone blares
good tidings for all
As in the palm
of Nature’s hand we stand
O help us coexist
in harmony
May festive jazz ring out
on this blessed planet for evermore.
Four months have I resided in your cradle
and savoured your hospitality
You showed me your troubles
and I unveiled mine
But together we learned from each other:
I saw your beauty
and you saw mine.
The heavy breadth of history
weighs down the paving stones
of civilisations’ former glories
and the crunch of fallen soldiers’ bones
This is the shadow in this city
behind the mosque and marble bath
standing tall, proud and mighty
right off consumerism’s path
But five days and I’ve grown to love
this city with its great mishmash
of the tulip and palm tree grove
to variform crowds’ pressing crush
Packed with people poor and rich, t-shirted or covered,
sprawling around the hills like its many cats
through winding jarring hilly streets nearby abducted
by skyscrapers crawling upwards like rats
I will be back, in awe, I tell myself
knowing I will need to get my fix
to add more to experiences’ bookshelf
next time, stay longer: a week, maybe six
What a city, what a grand place
Istanbul, you’ve blown me away
farewell till again I see your face
I’m sure you’ll have much to say.
I think I like to imagine you sitting here
Your body as smooth as jazz
Leaving the confused mess of life behind
Smoothening out its creases
You know I’ve made up my mind
The soft dance of the candlelight
Bathes you in ever-irresistible velvet
Like the crisp crackle of dark chocolate
Melting on your skin, your fingertips
Raising my crown, tugging, pulling, making me affectionate
Oh how that saxophone blares when we kiss
Birds of paradise in utter bliss
In joint unison levitating over life’s jarred days
Oh how I’d deeply wish
You were here to hear this jazzman’s plays.
On a resplendent December night
I last looked upon you in a resplendent way
the thick snowflakes, a glorious sight
they fell on your perfect eyelashes, blinking them away.
This little poem is a search for closure of sorts
and I will not reflect upon you like so no more;
despite the pain, the sadness that contorts
my soul, my joy, all bruised, bandaged now, still sore.
We spun around on the dance floor like two fireflies
glowing in the dim cold winter, bright—
your laugh, your eyes, your hair, my heart cries
such raw, unblemished, naked emotional might.
For a fleeting moment I allowed myself to entertain
a future, in sync, waltzing, laughing together
of which now must an icy memory remain
not should our paths cross, for the better?
Your inner and outer beauty shone like a pale rose
and I understood the predicament you lied before
and, for the better like this, I suppose
this final cry, this final poem for you—and no more.
When you voiced your reflected thoughts—
it is as if all winter stood perfectly still around
snowflakes frozen on your lashes like catapults
shaking, crumbling, melting my ground.
I did not wish to give in to hope
but hope and future joy found me nevertheless
since our profound, shared, mutual joy needn’t cope
alas we were wrong and allowed hope into this mess
But now, I have written my raw, grinding emotions for you
Yesterday, when you told me—I would have
cried you a river if it would mean us two
together, our cheeks a light, naked mauve.
This is the best way forward; but didn’t you know
how much your company meant so profoundly
I will miss the laughter, the perspective it used to show
a faded, defunct light will no longer guide me.
I will turn to other lighthouses on these December nights
but never fill I forget your resplendent sights
snowflakes on your lashes
before my heart crumbles, smashes.
This is how it should go, farewell dear friend
no use in pretending, my heart is on the mend;
good luck to my memory of you—my love is now in this poem, here
for I was forced to extinguish its inner end
this postcard of thoughts I will here write and send
and I know, I hold steadfast I will shed no tear
this is best for you and me, dear.
It’s been many months since
—you could say “an elapsed ellipsis”—
I have felt like this towards
towards a most resplendent lady
And this time—despite having
caught the monarch butterfly migration in my stomach
I don’t feel paralysed
Excited, scared—good scared—maybe
But not petrified, worried or anxious
okay, maybe yes anxious
But she’s beautiful, she’s many things,
she is her—and that’s true beauty.
Check in with me next week. I hope to have an answer.
Worst case, it’s good to keep your heart pace up:
like at the gym but kostnadsfri!
You sit here as the wind groans
listening to grand foreign overtures
you silence the moment the heart moans
for the bottomless taste of foreign statures.
Always imagining where else you could be
as the windowpanes creak aloud
seeing, feeling the rush of the mountain, the flow of the sea,
your thoughts pile on the redundant historic mound.
Here you are, having invested in irregular attire
A shame the peak of it all’s a vest
with your vested interests minding a quagmire
and your mind’s vestibule aflow with alpine zest.
Your thoughts are the only geographical constant
as the seas and oceans they fade into the night
as tonight’s ceaseless winds rampant
wishing, being, hoping to wish to be out of sight.