Red

You speak in red
passion vibrating in your blood red words.
Vocalize, make me listen,
make me believe.
Speak to me in red
and I will listen in purple
sing to me in red
and I will sing with you in green.
Your colored promises
sound so sincere.
They are red
they are hopeful
they are naive.
But I fear
they will make me blue.

Our glasses were full that night

Our glasses were full that night.
Do you recall?
My head was empty
and your body was empty
but our glasses were full.
You saw me through a haze that night
but I saw you clearly
through the white wine.
You sat there under your soaked hat
with your grateful guitar
that made love to your fingers
and I who wanted to make love to your voice
I saw you through the white wine.

Our glasses were full that night.
Do you recall?
The streets were empty in the rain
and your bed was empty
but our glasses were full.
There was something in the air in your kitchen that night
I could see it clearly
through the white wine.
You sat there under your soaked hat
and you and your grateful guitar
you made love to one another
and I who wanted to make love to your voice
I sang through the white wine.

Our glasses were empty that night.
Do you recall?

Kom

Kom sjung för mig. Kom gör mig uppriktig med din uppriktighet. Kom väck mig, vagga mig till sömns, låt mig drömma. Jag lyssnar när du säger inget, jag ser dig när du sluter dina ögon. Jag ler åt ditt leende, det eftertraktade sällsynta som jag längtar efter när du vänder bort ditt ansikte. Du skrämmer mig. Du lockar mig. Du drar mig in mot dig. Kom sjung för mig. Du vet att jag vill det. Du vet att jag får liv av det. Du vet. Kom tryck dina händer mot mig, så där som du gör. Kom andas på min nacke, kom sätt eld på min hud, kom nära. Kom gör mig liten, så som du gör. Kom nu. Kom sjung för mig.

I solen med dig

Jag vill sitta i solen
med dig.
Gömma mig bakom mina solglasögon
så att jag kan iaktta dig
och låtsas som att jag inte vet
att du iakttar mig bakom dina.
Jag vill sitta i din skugga
och låta varma brisar
ta med sig din doft
så att när jag andas
andas jag varma brisar
och dig.
Jag vill inte vara rädd
jag vill inte springa.
Jag vill sitta
och iaktta
och andas.
Låta gröna strån kittla mina ben
och skratta åt det du säger,
här i solen
med dig.

One day I’ll write a song

One day I’ll write a song
that perfectly describes you
and perfectly describes me
seeing you.
One day I’ll sing about the way
you make me feel like you’re looking right through me
when you look right at me
and how I hate how you make me see-through.
One day I’ll raise my voice and hit those chords
so that everyone will hear
and know how I know
that the yellow on my head
and the hesitation in my voice
and the ocean of immensity
are barriers too huge to overcome.
One day I’ll utter the words I have composed
and I’ll hear myself and comprehend
why when you shake your head
and close your eyes
and vocalize your words
and see right through me
I just have to sing.
One day I’ll write a song
that perfectly describes you
and perfectly describes me
seeing you.

Grateful strings

Strong fingers strumming grateful strings,
thankfulness pouring out,
soaring in the air,
making it thick and hard to breathe.
If I could stop time
I would do it now.
The second the collaboration
of strong fingers and grateful strings
sends little shivers
all the way out into my fingertips,
making them involuntarily tap against the table.
I’ve forgotten how to breathe,
how to blink,
how to swallow.
Fascinated by strings begging for attention,
needing it to have a voice
and to tell the story,
I forget how to breathe.
But I remember how to listen.

NYC subway poetry

I read this poem in the NYC subway the other week and it just captured me, had to write it down in my cell phone. Rummaging through my phone now I found the poem:

“My heart burns in flames of sorrow. Sparks and smoke rise turning to the sky. Within me, the heart has taken fire like a candle. My body, whirling, is a lighthouse illuminated by your image.”

Love that.

I am replete

I am replete, by it. By the allure. By the wild-eyed inspiration that comes out of these words. I have drunk, I have eaten, I have devoured these letters. And I am replete. Did you know it comes to me? Some nights it comes. It whispers when I sleep. Suggestively enticing me to drink, to eat, to devour. To be replete.

 But I know if I don’t run you’ll shoot me down with your words.

Red and Blue

Inside is empty. Constrained. Saved. Need to feel, to burn, to surrender. Want to open my chest and see the red and blue beating. So I’ll know. That it’s still there. Beating, pumping, figuratively creating emotion. I’ll always be lonely but never alone.

Funeral Blues

I always cry to the funeral scene in “Four Weddings And A Funeral” when Matthew gives a speech for his dearly departed Gareth. It’s so poignant you can’t help but be moved by it. We should all be so lucky as to find a love as the one portrayed in the recited poem by W H Alden:

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever; I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood,
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

“Funeral Blues” by W H Auden