Del et dikt du har skrevet eller som du liker

[Sanjar]

Til deg er jeg festet
og slapp jeg fri
ville jeg kveles
Rot som gift
og gift som vann
Ruvende kongekrone
Veien er hard
inn mot ditt hjerte
Der næres munner
tallrikere enn øyne
Bærer et navn under
likbyrden
Løv som bark
og bark som jern
Selv høybåren byrd
brytes ned
Skyggen av vinger
spres i det fjerne
Hør tasling fra fot
og høylydt hvesing
Se tre møyer i arbeid
en hvitkalket brønn
Herfra vokser du
fryktinngytende galge
Ygg-dra-sil!

 

 

 

[PokemonGone]

-So this is another place we go?
-Oh, no Suzie, this is it, it's done
This, a last step to come along
We made it, we aren't left alone
We have eachother, as always
There's nothing else to do, m'love
now hug me tighter and move on.

Where'll you be when times get rough

and the pulse begin to shut, the clocks

when the tiny clockwises finally stop?

I hope to meet you there or to know

you had a moment of comfort, peace

to set aside all those times you fought.

 

 

[PokemonGone]

There is something called life
I'm afraid to experience
I can watch it rushing around
as I look outside
What a wonderful feeling
The colours fullfilling my eyes
spreading up against the sky
Nature is never deceiving

Endret 14. desember 2020 av PokemonGone

[PokemonGone]

I remember you every day

I know, 

it's hard for me not to do

But I keep it cool along the way

inspired by wonderful views

Just wanted to say,

with all that we've been through

I wish you a merry christmas

and a happy new year too

[netpuppy]

On 10/21/2020 at 6:17 PM, Frida said:

He sits Down on the Floor of a school for the Retarded

I sit down on the floor of a school for the retarded,
a writer of magazine articles accompanying a band
that was met at the door by a child in a man’s body
who asked them, “Are you the surprise they promised us?”

It’s Ryan’s Fancy, Dermot on guitar,
Fergus on banjo, Denis on penny-whistle.
In the eyes of this audience, they’re everybody
who has ever appeared on TV. I’ve been telling lies
to a boy who cried because his favorite detective
hadn’t come with us; I said he had sent his love
and, no, I didn’t think he’d mind if I signed his name

to a scrap of paper: when the boy took it, he said,
“Nobody will ever get this away from me,”
in the voice, more hopeless than defiant,
of one accustomed to finding that his hiding places
have been discovered, used to having objects snatched
out of his hands. Weeks from now I’ll send him
another autograph, this one genuine
in the sense of having been signed by somebody
on the same payroll as the star.
Then I’ll feel less ashamed. Now everyone is singing,
“Old MacDonald had a farm,” and I don’t know what to do
about the young woman (I call her a woman
because she’s twenty-five at least, but think of her
as a little girl, she plays the part so well,
having known no other), about the young woman who
sits down beside me and, as if it were the most natural
thing in the world, rests her head on my shoulder.

It’s nine o’clock in the morning, not an hour for music.
And, at the best of times, I’m uncomfortable
in situations where I’m ignorant
of the accepted etiquette: it’s one thing
to jump a fence, quite another thing to blunder
into one in the dark. I look around me
for a teacher to whom to smile out my distress.
They’re all busy elsewhere, “Hold me,” she whispers. “Hold me.”

I put my arm around her. “Hold me tighter.”
I do, and she snuggles closer. I half-expect
someone in authority to grab her
of me: I can imagine this being remembered
for ever as the time the sex-crazed writer
publicly fondled the poor retarded girl.
“Hold me,” she says again. What does it matter
what anybody thinks? I put my arm around her,
rest my chin in her hair, thinking of children,
real children, and of how they say it, “Hold me,”
and of a patient in a geriatric ward
I once heard crying out to his mother, dead
for half a century, “I’m frightened! Hold me!”
and of a boy-soldier screaming it on the beach
at Dieppe, of Nelson in Hardy’s arms,
of Frieda gripping Lawrence’s ankle
until he sailed off in his Ship of Death.

It’s what we all want, in the end,
to be held, merely to be held,
to be kissed (not necessarily with the lips,
for every touching is a kind of kiss.)

Yet, it’s what we all want, in the end,
not to be worshiped, not to be admired,
not to be famous, not to be feared,
not even to be loved, but simply to be held.

She hugs me now, this retarded woman, and I hug her.
We are brother and sister, father and daughter,
mother and son, husband and wife.
We are lovers. We are two human beings
huddled together for a little while by the fire
in the Ice Age, two thousand years ago.

 Alden Nowlan

Det var nydelig ❤️.

[netpuppy]

Courage

 

It is in the small things we see it.

The child's first step,

as awesome as an earthquake.

The first time you rode a bike,

wallowing up the sidewalk.

The first spanking when your heart

went on a journey all alone.

When they called you crybaby

or poor or fatty or crazy

and made you into an alien,

you drank their acid

and concealed it.

 

Later,

if you faced the death of bombs and bullets

you did not do it with a banner,

you did it with only a hat to

comver your heart.

You did not fondle the weakness inside you

though it was there.

Your courage was a small coal

that you kept swallowing.

If your buddy saved you

and died himself in so doing,

then his courage was not courage,

it was love; love as simple as shaving soap.

 

Later,

if you have endured a great despair,

then you did it alone,

getting a transfusion from the fire,

picking the scabs off your heart,

then wringing it out like a sock.

Next, my kinsman, you powdered your sorrow,

you gave it a back rub

and then you covered it with a blanket

and after it had slept a while

it woke to the wings of the roses

and was transformed.

 

Later,

when you face old age and its natural conclusion

your courage will still be shown in the little ways,

each spring will be a sword you'll sharpen,

those you love will live in a fever of love,

and you'll bargain with the calendar

and at the last moment

when death opens the back door

you'll put on your carpet slippers

and stride out.

 

- Anne Sexton

[PokemonGone]

Ah, Tupananchiskama

Until life finds us again

Maybe together

 

 

Endret 23. desember 2020 av PokemonGone

[PokemonGone]

I used to draw some silly things

when I was little, I used to be

so curious and loud, now

be lucky if you take a word

out of my mouth, I'm too shy

to try, so I don't question that

Am I who I wished to be,

when I was young? No, I guess

I wanted to be someone else

since the beginning, 

I wrote a book with mixed verses

and I forgot which character I play

Another fast christmas eve

Last week of this year, another day

 

[Reidar Tomb]

På Erik Strands hjemmeside finner man noen dikt om plagsomme lyter, flipperavhengighet og stemmer som hyler og skriker i hodet. Diktene kan leses her. Vi finner også en sangtekst som handler om stemmer i hodet: Din tvangstanke er fri.

[netpuppy]

Få dikt har truffet meg så hardt og brutalt som dette. Kort, men effektfullt:

 

"Was it really my fault?"

asked the short skirt.

"No, it happened with me too,"

replied the Burka.

The diaper in the corner couldn't even speak.

 

- Darshan Mondkar

[miaw]

Det er den draumen me alle ber på

At noko vidunderleg skal skje

At det må skje - 

At tidi skal opna seg

At hjarte skal opna seg

At dørar skal opna seg

At berget skal opna seg

At kjeldor skal springa - 

At draumen skal opna seg

At me på ein morgenstund skal glida inn på ein våg me ikkje har visst um

-Olav Hauge

Endret 10. januar 2021 av miaw

[PokemonGone]

I smoke my pain in flowers

sweet, tasty, then sour,

it feels like fire down my throat

A cocktail at this exact hour

might be good for both

Wait thirty minutes for it to blow

finally smoke again

to remember that feeling

the nothingness that doesn't exist

feel yourself a zero

a mathematical error on the matrix

Smoke again to forget that pain

 

 

[PokemonGone]

Conquerors depraved this land

took and stole what they could

neither a coin was left aside

It's a matter of time for them

to comeback, and we leave

killed, r**ed, wounded, at least

the ones who weren't lucky and lived.

Bastards of the New Ages, enslaved

by the history of others, by other kings

different Gods and faces, harrass us

at night, when the birds are chirping

we get up to continue our journey. 

Long lost are the days of our people

far from now are the mythical men,

Songs and beliefs, burried in this land

 

[Thyra]

På jorden et sted

 

Tro ikke frosten som senker en fred

av sne i ditt hår

Alltid er det på jorden et sted

tidlig vår

 

Tro ikke mørket når lyset går ned

i skumringens fang

Alltid er det på jorden et sted

soloppgang

 

Andre' Bjerke

 

 

[PokemonGone]

Forgive me my Lord, for I live in sin
I fear my flesh condems its soul
under your arms don't feel safe, ay
it doesn't feel warm, hug me tighter
and I might meet your love,
I lost your path walking on my own
Guilty am I, smile to me, oh kindness
Have mercy on your rebeld child
whom's lost in evil's eyes, no more
Seduced by those naughty thoughts
but who greets you now, my Lord
and falls on its wounded knees
to ask for your love once more

(Pd: jeg er agnostiker men jeg liker å skrive om livet til pilegrimene)

[AnonymBruker]

Prøvde meg på poesi. Ikke skrevet dikt før:

 

Du er i det som finnes, det som er

Uten deg ville jeg ikke vært så nær

Og når isen brister og våren rokker

Da ringer for oss vårens klokker

Min dronning, min brud, i sommerskrud

Du lukter og smaker, som bjørkas mjød

Og dypt inni meg en klang lød:

Kom, og dans, vær min sommerfugl:

Men slik sødme varer ikke, et varslende bud

Dommen kommer ra den som kaller seg Gud:

Dere skal ikke lenger være sammen

Et forhold som bryter er ikke bare fryd og gammen.

Anonymkode: 6c29e...db0

[PokemonGone]

AnonymBruker skrev (På 14.2.2021 den 16.03):

Prøvde meg på poesi. Ikke skrevet dikt før:

 

 

Du er i det som finnes, det som er

 

Uten deg ville jeg ikke vært så nær

 

Og når isen brister og våren rokker

 

Da ringer for oss vårens klokker

 

Min dronning, min brud, i sommerskrud

 

Du lukter og smaker, som bjørkas mjød

 

Og dypt inni meg en klang lød:

 

Kom, og dans, vær min sommerfugl:

 

Men slik sødme varer ikke, et varslende bud

 

Dommen kommer ra den som kaller seg Gud:

 

Dere skal ikke lenger være sammen

 

Et forhold som bryter er ikke bare fryd og gammen.

 

Anonymkode: 6c29e...db0

❤❤❤

[PokemonGone]

Have isolated myself

this time like a

catterpillar

 on its nest box

 

[pappa messi]

Du takker ikke for setninger, men for ord

[Kågebruker]

William Wordsworth

 

I wandered lonely as a cloud

 

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

 

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the milky way,

They stretched in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

 

The waves beside them danced; but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:

I gazed—and gazed—but little thought

What wealth the show to me had brought:

 

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.