My keyboard
went cold,
though my fingers
were warm, still

Your eyes
were distant,
while we apart, were
looking for answers
with none to be found,

My fingers
warm to the touch
sending impulses back
to my thoughts, warming them
taking them farther
out to you

Distant in your thoughts
warmed a bit, now
by the thought of someone
of you…




As a shepherd
the two homeless waifs, who
stood in my care,
although, others would consider
them to be different
by possessing another origin
than myself,

A family were we still
the three of us,
and looking back
on my decision, knowing that
I wouldn’t have had it
any other way
no matter what anyone
might have thought
about it,

No matter how others might see it, in any way, shape or,

direction, we still were

one family, indivisible…



Today in Denmark
while the wind blew and my fingers
and I dove into the blue
and lost myself


and you might just lose yourself, as well….



This has been a trying week, with tempers flaring to the flash point. Henrik has apparently not been seen, nor heard from this week, rising doubts of his ever returning and gracing the once fine City of Aalborg.

I say once fine, as his absence has affected life everywhere in this city. The famous street, home to night life and fine dining, “The Maiden Ane’s Street” is strangely silent, with signs of boarded-up windows and falling numbers of patrons. When asked why the silence is deafening, the reply might be, “Why should we celebrate and enjoy life when the Enlightened One is gone with the wind?”

The politicians are antsy as well. The Minister of State, Lars Noose, has been feeling like the rope has been tightening around his neck, with rumors of it being the state of the political climate that has caused the current unrest. “Remember what happened in Albania, and Italy after WWII”, thus displaying the mood of the people in a truly ominous way.

Others might just credit his absence to a yearly vacation, or  a Lear Jet trip to the Riviera, but others are not dissuaded so easily. “Enlightened people don’t take vacations, it is just not done!” Statements like those are the cause of the hoards of angry citizens, who have taken to waving pitchforks and scythes in the air to show their discontent. “Off to the Henrikstein Mansion on the hill!” they cried in unison, and were gone in search of someone to blame for their current troubles and woes.

I won’t claim to have had contact with either Henrik, or Sanne, but I knew that given time, they would indeed surface once again, most likely bringing the flowers of springtime, dealing out smiles to the children of Denmark.

One fanatic group has, however, made a name for itself, when it gathered together hundreds of wooden pallets, and began building a new Tower of Henrik, hoping to reach to the heavens to get the answers they demanded. They spoke in many different tongues, but not all could understand each other, being somewhat reminiscent of another, somewhat older tale that told of the same type of occurrence.

I have been asked not to add fuel to the fire by telling tall tales, or hinting of  “Henrik Sightings” in order to create hope among the people, but I know that this kind of “over reaction” has occurred before, and the best thing it to ride out the storm as best as we can.

I’d like you all to remember one of Henrik’s most famous sayings,

Remember the colors of the rainbow. They never mix together, but continue to shine as purely and as true as always!

I would venture a bet where that saying had its origins, but I’m sure most of you out there already know who had something to do with Henrik’s pure inspiration.

See you again soon, Henrik! Wherever you now are…..



P1000708 hdr style

The boundary between my thoughts and hers.

Frozen moments separating us. Unsaid words. Unrequited Love.

Commanding the sun our bonds to break, our hearts to join as one,

The impatience of waiting, locked in the coldness

of uncertainty




What proof had I,
professing to
my love
proclaiming to the world
betrothed to be


we bound ourselves, with rings molded of stronger metals


able to withstand the frozen wastelands, the icy grip of lovers’ past,


Glowing hotter than the lust, others would want us to declare,

the colors, the vision before my eyes, blinding, searing my retinas,

P1000375spejlvend farver

The water nearby glowed red. An impasse, lacking a bridge to ferry me across

The rings glowing colder, her pupils reduced to smaller circles, doubt reigned

down, denying her what others had denied her before,

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The greener meadows, warmed my thoughts, there where we once lie,

Locked in passion. Seeing only what we wanted to see.

Loving what brought us joy, what would consummate our love



Reality, however, runs hot then cold again. Accentuating all else, than what

we wanted to see, encompassing what was found around us, while we held on to,

the course set, an even keel, the rudder running true



Seared. The glow of her love for me. Passionate pink, glowing.

Burning off everything else. Let the doubters shed their cloaks of deception

allowing us what defines our love

what is pure, unadulterated, dyed in the wool,


Revealing the truth


beneath all other layers

of thought…


Dreaming Awake

I dreamed
something that disturbed me
a building aflame

P1000635 spejlvend to gange

or, was it just colored so
a tower, a dark tower
something that existed
along the edge, the boundaries
of my dreaming imagination

P1000635 varmekort

where I walked, where I ran from someone
from something that devoured the light
and spat it out again as the darkness
as it grew, I felt it

P1000635 spejlvend farver

It moved, as I moved
and laughed while I cried
no matter how, where I ran
it followed me, licking the flames
In back of me, and fanning them
at the front,

P1000635 justering farve rød


Just a dream you might say?
well, I dare you to join me next time
while I am cowering under my covers

Waiting for you to wake up



Her lips. How she tasted. What I had to do. I did.


She was uncomplicated. Free and easy. Like a wrapper waiting.

To be unwrapped. I obliged. I fell for her ways. I did.



She tasted like something from my past. A love perhaps. Hot and juicy.

Strong to the taste. Long-lasting. Her scent was on my fingertips.

I licked them in anticipation.

My fingers burned afterwards with the mere thought of it.


A picture of her. Made for framing. I snapped a Polaroid in my mind’s eye.

She colored my tongue. She colored my life.

Suddenly. I’d lost my flavor for her, but

I could always taste her again…..



A lot of people have been wondering about Henrik’s girl, Sanne. Some have been asking if photos of her can be found on the Internet? Perhaps she posed in the buff to earn money for school, or wasn’t that her that was mooning those boys out of her window the other night?

I’ve tried to counter the rumors that she would soon be appearing in the next issue of Hardware Monthly – as Cashier of the Month. “Sanne showing off her assets adorning the centerfold with her many qualities and talents”.

I hear it every day, “Sanne this, and Sanne that“. She is almost becoming as famous as Henrik, himself, though he would probably just laugh and take it in stride, while petting Unicorns, or playing Golf with the Nordic Gods on their famous course in the Danish Alps.

I set about to take her picture to help satisfy the growing hungry imaginations of millions of Danes, and others in the local area called Scandinavia, who also have wondered and dreamed about Henrik’s Gal.

I asked if we could meet the other day to help calm down my readers by displaying her hair with its many colors. She agreed, but then something happened, that I didn’t expect. As I took out my camera and pointed it at her, she just blended into the background, as if she didn’t exist at all. I just shook my head and lowered my camera, which made her visible once again. I tried a second time, using a swifter movement, but the end result was the same. I couldn’t look past the Swedish Keys, or the left-handed levels to see her now legendary hair color and its many nuances.

I asked her how she could be the centerfold of a magazine, if cameras couldn’t capture her essence on digital film?

She told me that in order to protect the mystery of her being, a sort of magic surrounded her. I knew she was really referring to Henrik and his ways, but I accepted her explanation knowing that it was useless to depict the “Sand* Sanne” in other than my mere words could hope of doing.

I know that her colors change with the seasons, without any one season from year to year, resembling the year before. I realize that women are mysterious in advance, but Sanne’s hair makes her one in a million, alongside the other less colorful inhabitants of this mighty country in Scandinavia! I would imagine that even the Danish Queen herself has asked Sanne to divulge some of her hair tips, but as with most things concerning the Royal Family, the true answers are left to speculation at best.

Here is to Sanne! The woman with the mysterious hair….


*Sand means True in Danish.



I wonder now and again, what effect if any, I had on her. The best conditions being ours, a newly plowed field, sunshine, newly sown, ready for our love to grow.


I felt as if the springtime, slow in coming, though making up for lost time, when the first flowers began to show themselves. Her look. Her softness. Her beauty shining through with demure, hiding within her flowers not yet unfolded.


I, on the other hand, burst out in a blaze of glory. The right timing, the perfect moment, being able to hold back what I really felt, what I wanted for the both of us, suddenly exploded in a flash of bright lightning, as if everything else around me paled in the noonday sun!



Alas. Alas. All that shines hotter, brighter than the first Super Nova begins at last to fade into itself. What we know as the first burst of love, cools a bit, moderates, leaving us the way we really are, what others know us to be.


Our path continued to run true.  A single entity, still alight in the glory of the moment, ignoring what lie to the left, to the right, for only what we could, would matter.


The skies, our mood though, disclosed what I, she, had feared all the same, that not all that shines bright, that which attempts to tell us of the road that we both follow, will continue. If it will continue with us both.



Our vision. Our sense of the first glory of our love, faded into grey. Our paths, diverged, with us not being able to agree on the one, or the other.


The effect being that one moment, when both our inner lights shone at the same moment. When the grass burned green and our love, our love could brighten the most uninspiring of any, non-filtered photographs.

Our love….