Writer's Notation

 The [106] poems published here in this blog are all original works, penned from 1998 to the present, covering twenty-six years of life memories and experiences inspired by life, art, friends and family. They are taken from the pages of my journal books - books numbering One through Eight. Information and back stories for the poems is posted in the Comments link to each poem.

More writings to come.

[untitled]

 april 2024

the spring started with a blizzard

heavy snowfall

...

some weeks have blurred by

maybe a month, or so

I can't remember anymore

I've been locked away again

stuck inside the prisoncell

of my head

thoughts

anxiety and depression

words to other poems

fill my mind

I've missed far too many opportunities

to write

laying late nights in bed

with headphones on

Daniel Johnston or Waylon Jennings

missing late nights - the middle of the night

alone

writing

yet I don't care

about the weed,

wine or whiskey anymore

-

oh to be creative again.

to create.

once again I'm finding it to be

a severe struggle to be happy.

feeling like

I don't want this life anymore.

Failing...at Life, and Slowly Dying

my ears ring deafening

my heart pounds hard and heavy

in my chest

my stomach is twisted in knots

I am so exhausted

I just want to sleep

sleep away life

yet the caffeine from the coffee

has me wired

wide awake

shakey and jittery

hunger does hit

my stomach grumbles

knowing I should eat

yet I can not

can not bring myself to do so

the thought of food

the thought of eating

my stomach twists and knots more

I get nauseous

I go numb

the shakes and jitters return

overtaking my body

it's a fear

the fear grasps me

failing...at life

falling apart 

-

love and hate, hate and love

beginning to hate the love, and

love the hate

how will this life

of a broken man end?

how will death be?

Out of Work, and the Possibility of Divorce

beautiful days are gone

the fire inside

that once burned for passion

and inspiration

is dying out

the positive hippie vibes

and love was suppose to be

the most powerful thing

it's all rotted away

forty-three years of life

and I have nothing

positivity and love

have become a lie

turning to hate the world

this is no life to live

[untitled]

we shall overcome

words

along with music notes

on the upper left corner

of sculpture art

in the skövde library

I sit

trying to write my thoughts

of despair

those words

we shall overcome,

I need to overcome

those words

they fall into place so perfectly

in this moment of life

a stupid cliche

for inspiration

[untitled]

an april spring tuesday

I stood in the bedroom

folding laundry on the bed

staring off

out the bedroom window

out over the balcony

the paved pathway

cutting through the still barren trees

the woods

it was the apartment in sweden

I thought about the traded view

the apartment in norway

the balcony there

out over the rooftops of wooden houses

the street of lokkeveien

out to the fjord sea waters

two different scenes

still - all mother nature

New England Memories

non-existent

new england memories

I was born there

but raised in the south

now I live in norway

a small seaside village -

son

...

son reminds me

of those memories

I never knew



[untitled]

lost days

almost two months

gone by

the days

and nights bleed together,

pass by quickly

late nights -

exhausted,

the sound

of snoring

lay awake

with thoughts

no work found

only those dreams

vivid, strange,

haunting

the streets

and sidewalks are wet

with melting snow

slush

dirty

[untitled]

second half of january

and on into february

thinking back, remembering

reminiscent

of four year old memories

winter in a foreign land

the hunt -

search for work

needing a job

hitting the streets,

pounding the pavement

once again

walking cold windy

dirty slush, snowy

ice and wet city streets

all with no luck

so far

[untitled]

on those days

when I take the bus

to work

from son

through hølen

to vestby

the best

travelling musique

through the headphones

for the ears to hear

waylon jennings

or

the soundtrack to almost famous

Autumn (The Same Old Bullshit, Never Ending) Pt.II

autumn

another word to call it -

Fall

the Fall

yes, the Fall

falling apart

everything

when things fall apart

not the fourth album

from the Roots

yet my life

...

the weather

these weeks

gray, overcast and foggy

like my mind

fitting the mood

drowning in thoughts,

stress and anxiety

gone -

far too lost

loss of time

time -

slipping away fast

life wasting away

wasting away the Gods

given creative talents

into nothing

Autumn (The Same Old Bullshit, Never Ending)

the Fall

thirty-one days

four and a half weeks

a month

the days just seem

to bleed together now

time is passing by fast

nothing

is really happening

boring times

it's been

all the same

old routine

stuck

in second gear

thinking, thinking,

and re-thinking

writing, writing,

and re-writing

a month's worth

of thoughts

twenty-seven and a half pages

it all seems

useless,

pointless

stress, worry,

anxiety, and sickness

life -

it feels

like it's all

piling on at once

too much

to take on.

one birthday gone by

and another to come

the ending

of thirties

passing a four year anniversary

ending of a job

weeks of

cold, dreary overcast,

fog, and rain

the early days

of darkness

are coming now

with only

a weekend holiday

to Vilnius

to look forward to.

Ending of the Thirties. (The Last Year)

my thirty-ninth born day

the last year

end of my thirties

an october saturday

and I was born on a saturday,

in the morning

outside

it was typical norsk autumn

cold, gray overcast,

heavy fog and rain

...

next year -

the four-zero.

Just Another One of Those Poems.

autumn october sunday

it was a rainy morning

the air outside was chilly

in the afternoon

the sun tried to show,

fighting to shine

from behind

the clouded overcast

with patches of crisp

clean blue sky

the ipod played on shuffle

I stayed sober

drinking only water

eating cheese filled

green olives and peppers

sitting at the vintage writing desk

writing thoughts

the last year of my thirties

losing another job

with the balcony door open

that crisp cool autumn

october air

I stood

in the balcony doorway

looking out

over the quiet street

of lökkeveien

and the wooden houses

of Son - a small seaside village

[untitled]

indian summer friday

late september

a warm day

with clear blue sky

the swedish countryside

small towns of

Töreboda, Mariestad,

and Tidan

me and my cousin

high on christiana tea

ancient world,

centuries old

viking stones

with runic carvings

driving the two lane

country highway of the 202

[untitled]

a mid-august saturday

skåne, southern sweden

drunk on

beer, cava, and whiskey

a four and a half kilometer hike

through the woods

along over grown trails and

narrow dirt roads

out to small country roads,

dirt and paved

walking by old farm houses and barns,

wheat fields and pastures

stopping briefly to pet cows and horses

the sky was clouded gray, overcast

with slight drizzles of rain

- not long lasting

the wind blew strong

a chilly late afternoon

on the way to

an old world school house

for a dinner with family and friends

[untitled]

a summer wednesday night, late

in june

the sun still shined

just barely fading

drinking white wine

eating wasa crisp bread

with butter and cheese,

seasoned with herb salt

and red beet salad and

green olives

writing thoughts

[untitled]

a spring sunday - may

sunny but with chilled winds

kind of a cold day

driving around alone, aimlessly

the small norwegian towns of

son, moss, and vestby

scouting for street skate spots

yet no skating being done

just driving to nowhere

a sad lonely day

[untitled]

why-oh

why-oh

why-oh

did I ever

leave Ohio

[untitled]

the lone tormented soul

of an artist:

skateboarder, photographer, writer.