Life Not by Fiat
Born in this lifeless land of ice and snow
Equally barren as a sand desert
Here neither grass nor trees will ever grow
A massive castle for an introvert
Plenty of yapping dogs and growling bears
To keep your ears constantly occupied
There’s ample time for game of solitaires
Life here cannot be further simplified
Strange it is, my living in solitude
After abandoning it many years
For learning and a career I pursued
Were rolled into a huge ball filled with fears
There life requires faith in many others
No one can claim to be independent
Succumbing to others faulting errors
In the end leading to my determent
Life out here is controlled by the fittest
There is no one to claim they have your back
Being vigilant is always a must
A requirement that all big cities lack
To persuade others to change I am not
Life in this wilderness isn’t by fiat
Blue Green Water
The silent ocean of blue green water
Grabs my understanding of what is life
Thoughts of decades are about to alter
Certain to cause considerable strife
Unlike the cold blue water with its waves
Pounding, pounding viciously at the shore
Devouring countless people, now their graves
Many times heard it roaring at my door
The blue green water I wish to mimic
Rolling to the shore giving gentle calls
Even though there’ll be many a critic
Warning me of the hurricanes and squalls
True, yet the cold blue water they resist
Putting up barriers of every kind
While I would rather choose to coexist
At the open water and not confined
Inger by the Window, Edvard Munch (1892) By the Window
Breathe deeply so you can hear it enter.
Soft invigorating wind on its way.
A mixture of sweet grass and salt water,
Twisting and turning, dancing a ballet.
Precious in scent as it comes in but May,
With calm winds coming off the bright blue sea,
And the frolicking grass yet become hay.
Come quickly! From this window we must flee.
Naked toes shall mix in the grass and sand.
Collecting shells as proof of memories.
Now slowly walking back with hand in hand,
With enormous grins each other’s we squeeze.
Oh, the simply joys we visit in life
Giving us special moments from its strife.
Train Smoke, Edvard Munch (1900) Train Smoke
Life is like a train ride, from birth to death.
We all know our final destination,
Yet there can be solace along the way.
The train makes many stops on its journey,
For its passengers to gather postcards,
And bright stickers to place on their baggage
I see many babies coming aboard,
Held so securely, in their mothers’ arms
With no understanding of the event
At stops, relatives and friends disembark.
Some wave joyfully as the train departs,
Others trodden off, all I see are backs.
I look at my disheveled bag, and smile,
There is not anymore room for stickers,
Then I close my eyes, to see my postcards.
Awakened, I feel the train slowing down.
It makes a grinding, screeching, ugly sound.
Oh, this is my stop, I must now get off!
Evening Talk, Edvard Munch (1889) Evening Talk
Even in the daylight there is darkness
The heavy leaded shield that hides the heart
Not allowing in loving tenderness
Suffocating any flame that may start
A woeful choice to request such a life
Forever absent of a human touch
The ever presence of deafening strife
Keeping a distance, avoiding a clutch
But why should one accept such drudgery
To wait for the day you are in a grave
Being lonely for an eternity
If only with a loving heart you gave
Resisting all love will not set you free
Instead, makes you a slave to hollowness
Thinking you are taking life so bravely
Your thinking is filled with much foolishness