It's raining water now

in the darkness of the December evening

and from beyond the fallen forest

the sound of a grader

still clearing the highway

from snow

30.12.2014

Poetic Epistle to Humanity

World doesn't need mercy

world doesn't need 'charity'

world doesn't need 'kind works'

from those living in wealth

from the privileged

from birth or ennobled by money

We must show no mercy

We must show no charity

We must show no kindness

towards the wealthy

towards the privileged

from birth or amassing of fortunes

We must make a world

where there are no privilege to be had

where there are no fortunes to be gained 

We must make a world

where there is no need for 'charity'

where kindness is no cause to be praised but normal

We must torn down this order that ruins our world

We must torn burn the wealth of thieves

We must trample privileges of the few under our feet

30.12.2014

Reading the obituaries of authors

who translated

Seems like every week

there dies an author,

who beyond labours of

his or her own work

translated that man Shakespeare.

Just wonder how many

of their own works

are left untranslated

when other authors

keen to get on their obituary

the honorific "translated Shakespeare"

put them aside to give the world

one more Romeo and Juliet,

yet another Julius Caesar,

Macbeth....

Culture is kept up,

as a working machine of memory,

with repetition,

but it doesn't progress through

piles of Shakespeare in

hundreds of languages

translated again and again.

Let Shakespeare be,

o translators,

for a generation,

and give us works of your peers

still breathing!

30.12.2014

American Sniper

Even the saddest stories have some

flickering of hope or joy

and the story of Chris Kyle

is no different;

after so many bad things

it finally

had a happy ending;

The killer killed.

27.12.2014

The days of mid-December

are black-and-white,

from the white snow and black forests

of the brief daylight

to the deep ocean of ink

that engulfs the land

when the pale light withers.

In these two colours

the mind makes it's home

of cold and dark,

shivers contemplating bleak memories

as the dour hours of the long night

and the gray aching light of day

come and go,

come and go.

19.12.2014

this morning
on fallen snow

paw prints

18.12.2014

The night is ending

into a black winter morning.

It's raining, water

washing off the snow

that fell during the evening.

Back inside I read the poems

of the dead,

in which they still gaze from

long crumbled towers

on the Yangtze

after sails

carrying friends

into fates long forgotten.

Dust, the poets

of the T'ang and the Song,

water the snow

of yesterday, Villon,

all bound together

by the void of non-being

in which our

words sparkle.

11.12.2014

Foggy, barely freezing day,

frost on the fields

back from the store

drinking coffee beside

the window

watching the trees

vanish into the fog,

deepening darkness.

05.12.2014

Memento vivere

Rejoice now,

for the days

are short

and fleeting.

Every moment in our lives,

every happy day

spent with our loved ones

is borrowed from the eternity,

from those endless days to come

when their laughter

and the joy we feel hearing it

are both silent, unfelt.

04.12.2014

The birth of a poem

A poem isn't born

on the moment

when it is composed by the poet;

a poem is born

when an another

reads the words

it's made of,

awakens it

building a bridge

between two minds.

04.12.2014

A Climate Changed

It's December,

the land bare from snow,

an autumn that just goes on

and I remember

the long "spring",

a second autumn;

half a year of autumn

without green or white,

a world changed

by the human industrial touch.

02.12.2014

Hope is a medicine

some of us

can take only in

small doses.

02.12.2014

In the evening in my kitchen with the main lamp turned off

I'm drinking coffee, with milk

and eating piece of coffee cake

which crumbles when held

between my fingers, sending

small pieces falling on the table,

little light brown morsels against

deep brown lacquered wood.

The coffee mixes with the cake

and the blood from my gums

in my mouth and I know

I would never eat it

if I could see it as it is,

in my mouth, this mix.

01.12.2014

Dead are clay

easily molded in the hands

of posterity, which

makes of them whatever

suits it.

01.12.2014

What is left of childhood dreams?

Bound to Earth and it's soil,

I shall never walk the sands of Mars

I imagined under my feet

in my childhood days,

but there is a bright star on the horizon

over the dead desert

where water once flowed

in now empty streams

and that bright star, Earth,

is me and you too,

on the sky above Mars

and the steps future shall take

on it's dunes and glaciers.

01.12.2014

Afternoon on 1st of December, 2014

Thus dies the day,

transforming to the starless night,

in the darkness

vanish all forms

and all is black.

No light,

just the absence

and thoughts infected with the night

make the mind troubled

during the slow voyage

into the gray morning

when no sunrise

shall be seen.

01.12.2014

I'm tired

my stomach is reacting to stress again

have to worry for so many people

yet never enough

a scare yesterday

followed by one today

aching belly

and a tired mind

connection

to carry me through this night

on the black tide of coffee

I can't sleep wake

to some new scare

better to be awake

read and sit in the bathroom

as legs go numb

25.11.2014

If you can't cry for those

dying now,

don't cry for those

who are but skeletons

in mass graves.

Tears can't revive the dust.

24.11.2014

gaia

in the end

we all shall

embrace the earth

our great mother

and it shall

kiss our crumbling bones

our ash

18.11.2014

in aeternum resonat

all who we have loved

we must give back

to the world

all who we have lost

we must give back

to the cosmos

ourselves in the end

we must give back

to the nature

18.11.2014

mist

above the fields of snow

melting away

winter melting away

for autumn to

stay

18.11.2014

from our hands

the gifts

of life and death

to all

inhabitants

of the world

and to you

of all people

I gave death

18.11.2014

everything coils around it still

mist and remains of snow

among the remaining trees

the clearing hacked

in our lives

the loss forever there

my mother

the un-beating heart

of our lives

your absence

the stumps

of our lives

still here

16.11.2014

A Poetic End

I pitied Edgar Allan,

thinking of his last days

kidnapped and drunk

forced to vote again and again.

But then I read

he supported slavery

and thought

it was a just end for him.

Supporting the enslavement of others

never believing it to happen to him,

I just wonder if he had any regrets

during those days of bondage.

11.11.2014

Ars Poetica

Poetry can be a painting

made with words,

poetry can be a dagger,

it can be a salve

and it can be a soap box

but it should never be

just one of the above.

07.11.2014

kuorevesi

so bleak

these forest roads

on this november

afternoon darkening

the hamlets

half-abandoned

fields on land

that never gave much

the dark waters

solitary

lights

life

07.11.2014

When a rich man dies,

it's a poor woman's joy.

Don't complain that

it's in bad taste.

When a poor man dies

a rich woman doesn't notice.

30.10.2014

c. m. bowra 1898-1971 in his later years

fat don

with a falling face

still after

all those public school boys

raped by their headmasters

rectums with lesions

to give with

the old slumping dick

some oxford tutoring

30.10.2014

"there is someone worse than us,

so don't blame Israel",

they say, the zionists,

like I would be on a mission

to find the worst single state in the world

instead of opposing evil universally

28.10.2014

a coward blames the victim

to avoid being the next one

ensuring there will be a next one

28.10.2014

life

is the fear

we experience

before death

18.10.2014

love

what doesn't it

ruin

changing to sorrow

through

loss

18.10.2014

Years

like leaves

ripped off from

the branches of a birch

by the autumn wind

growing colder

12.10.2014

all the wounds of life

tears

on your gravestone

12.10.2014

Throw a stone,

liberate yourself

in action

if you can't

liberate your body

and your land.

09.10.2014

Cave art from Sulawesi

Stencils of hands turned to dust,

red paint

all that has been left

for forty-thousand years

blink of an eye

09.10.2014

Pale green, orange, yellow and brown

- the fallen leaves on the ground,

the autumn collected.

09.10.2014

Every fallen leaf in autumn

is a a complete story

of life, death

and rebirth.

09.10.2014

Lutwidge the Snark

Those who want to hide

what they are

build labyrinths

for explorers to get lost in

instead of seeing

what was before them,

the burned pages of diaries

which family didn't want

to be seen.

09.10.2014

Do not reach for the beauty

which doesn't itself recognize yet,

only the blossom which opens in self-awareness

shall long be the joy of others.

09.10.2014

Only radical people change the world.

Conservative,

in ideology or in mindset,

only preserve what shall fall,

rotten,

either through the axe of the radical

or the slow decay of time.

And even this,

so long defended

was the work of radicals

of bygone eras.

From the very beginning

of his work of faith

has the preserver lost.

05.10.2014

of time

the past

a depository

of memories

true

and imagined

a path

through life

through

geological eras

through cosmic history

and we

we have the honour

to be included

when 'today'

is no more

and we

as true

and lifelike

and imagined

misunderstood

shall be a part of it

memories

shelved

turning to dust

04.10.2014

Just like hiding a great vice

behind a small one

you must hide a great virtue

behind a small one

and hope that the world

forgives you at least that

04.10.2014

Think of death

as a state of being

and then

think of white sheet of paper

untarnished

Death is not like that

there is no promise

like the sheet contains

of existence

there is nothing

that is the point

nothing

04.10.2014

We can't accept death

because we can't understand non-existence

It's not sleep

no matter what you made

Socrates say, Plato

Dying is dissolution

death is nothing

Not even a void

Not even a hope

04.10.2014

from the void born

you return to the void

like a universe

from nothing

to nothing

and between

all

04.10.2014

sounds of rain

raindrops

from the dark

beyond the windows

lost the hour

the time like frozen

in black

in rest

night and the world

opening away

in to the void

the existence

still

under the clouds

unseen

stars hidden

like words

unsaid

forever

remembered

04.10.2014

Mundus senescit

Reading Issa in the lavatory

can't really agree about flea bites looking lovely

even on a beautiful girl

stress and bad diet

keep me turning pages

as wind howls outside

No world of dew this

but a muddy pool of rainwater

where we float

fallen leaves

bright in the murky light

20.09.2014

To Fingal O'Flahertie from Dublin

1

The problem with Dorian Gray, dear Oscar,

is that one simply doesn't care about him;

a beautiful butterfly turns into an ugly one

thanks to the soot of industrial revolution,

but so many beautiful butterflies remain pristine

that one turning ugly,

figuratively, literally, secretly and openly,

simply doesn't matter.

Let it be a moth that flies into a flame,

at least that will be remembered

still in the morning

as an anecdote to tell to others,

but butterflies - the meadows and fields

are full of them

and their hidden secrets.

2

Mirror to his society,

mirror to his class -

but there are so many others

that serve the same

in their non-fictional existence

from Edward the Bordello Prince of Wales

to the barefoot slum kids

coughing their sick lungs out

among the blackened tiles

of those working class wards

where the Dorians went

only to prey on the weak

and the young.

19.09.2014

non omnis moriar

forgot to take my medicine yesterday

after coming from the lab

so dizzy day today

headache making excursions in the frontal lobe

made a walk in the autumn

falling as thousand yellow leaves

thought about when i last ran

couldn't remember it

fresh air in the lungs

momentary relief

back here inside

among the dust of passing life

a cup of coffee

still sore about scotland

listening to haydn of all people

praise to maria theresa of austria

too polished

too calm

too much Vienna

too much time inside

in these rooms of memory

too few white tablets

too few

walks without destination

where you just lose everything

but the forward carrying motion

through space and time

in that moment

that motion is enough

to keep everything else away

a pocket universe

free of thought

bliss

19.09.2014

an autumn scene

the scattering wind calmed

the fallen leaves of birches

yellow and brown

wet and crumpled

on the ground

under the still green aspens

the oak that climbs

to the sky

more each year

19.09.2014

looking back

all our dreams and hopes

dust and ashes

dust and ashes

we lost

we lost it all

we lost you all

gave nothing

but failure

failure

how we betrayed you

how we betrayed ourselves

how we betrayed

our dreams and hopes

all of them

ashes and dust

19.09.2014

In auctumnus

Autumn forests

in the pale light

of the September Sun

the songs have ended

the nests are empty

now it's time for jackdaws

yellow leaves

falling

like the brief thoughts

the mind entertains

on these walks

outside the frame of thought

of warm, long days

and warm, white nights

of gone summer

the autumn has it's own

thoughts, these brief

sentences that slip away

like breeze lifting them

beyond the reach of thought

and to the damp muddy earth

now the winter is coming

the long dark days

of pure white and chill

with it's own heavy thoughts

that tie one to the frozen ground

under starless sky of clouds

so long until

in the earliest spring

the autumn returns

these empty roads

these empty forests

where the last year

this year

decomposes

to bring forth new life

18.09.2014

De bene esse

We have become

the light of a waning autumn evening,

tired, old

and caressing all we see

with fragile, tender hands.

17.09.2014

you are the blade

that pierced my life

cutting deep

cutting wounds

that can never close

wondrous wounds

ever-bleeding

whose raw edges

are pain of love

16.09.2014

Do not weep

for those who have gone

under the earth

for they sleep

in their mother's embrace

and with all

the generations of their forebears

all the burdens of life

are over for them

and we ourselves

shall soon be tucked

into the mother earth's

bosom

and this brief

moment of existence

shall separate us

from them

no more

15.09.2014