To call us lovers
an injustice would be

A wayside
a quiet moment
along this stretch
of her life, a warm bed
a simple repast, with eyes
that reflected the emptiness
of an otherwise crowded

She would show up
now and again
expecting it would I never
but she did, and I acquiesced

We’d speak, or rather
I would, making small talk
the weather this and that
while she, silent in her dreams
only would murmur
goodbye again,

I’d watch her go
hurrying down the street
neither looking back,
nor to the sides,
gone without a trace,
just gone again,

This moment
this wayside along
the road that continued to stretch
and bend, and take what it wanted
leaving some behind,
or, along the ditches, the abandoned
cold, being without curtains
and warm people, family perhaps
some others who would really

The key was over the door
over to the side, always placed
always ready if, when
I least expected it, or her as well

One day
just like the others before
no mention of anyone visiting me
just traveling along, not looking back
no more need, or want to stop
searching for something
I didn’t possess,

I’d look out of the window
searching for someone
who never really existed, at all
a face troubled, a low voice
turned murmur, not possessing
explanations, nor thankfulness
of having a warm place to stay
a warm place to be

a wayside
in this otherwise busy
fast-moving lifestyle
not concerning itself

with random passersby..



A few days ago Denmark experienced the funeral of Prince Henrik, the husband of the Danish Queen. His remains lie in state in the heart of Copenhagen, and his final journey from that church to his cremation took place with the last moments shown on National TV. He chose for his remains not to be placed at the Church in Roskilde, which will be the final resting place of the Queen when her time comes.

In that way, I’d written a fictional story about someone who had planned his last day, his last hours on this planet. This truly fictional character was a way of paraphrasing the life and death of the Danish Prince, with his last moments choreographed by his own self, as much as possible.

Blogging might be a nice way to express myself, but I don’t consider telling the world what my present and future plans might be. I have no intention of leaving this existence before its appointed time and anyone who might have jumped to that conclusion is/was just wrong in thinking that way.

I’ve written before about dying and death, because it will come to us all, eventually, but not just yet, and not via a blog.

If you possess a crystal ball that has told you something about my demise, then please keep it to yourself, won’t you?

I’d like to enjoy this ride for as long as the roller-coaster wants to roll, without knowing when it has decided to stop…..

Here is a link to a Danish page about this event: http://nyheder.tv2.dk/prins-henrik

I’ve chosen to delete the story in question, but you are welcome to read the other “fictional” stories on my other site:


filled to the brim with stories, just.

Just stories!

No Turning Back

When I finally decided
when my mind told me
when there no turning back, was

When she decided to notice me
not just anyone else, a passersby
someone who she knew,
someone who wanted her for themselves

I never wanted to own her
to possess her, to live and die
for the sake of her, but

but things change, don’t they
what we want in the start
when our thoughts reach out
farther than our willingness to let go
to hide our emotions, to deny any feelings
to give in letting others take control

More control, wanting, possessing
common words, common thoughts
one that decides, one that obeys
is love really like that?

There are always ways to turn back, aren’t there?
the road behind, or decisions reversed
broken promises, denying that I said, I promised

How do you take back having said, “I love you”
Is it as easy as cancelling a check, or hanging up the phone
or saying, “we’ll do this another time, instead…”

When I am going to take that step, that move
when I am going to commit my thoughts, my heart
to someone who, who I’ve fallen for
whole head and whole heart
with the mundane like sleeping and eating
being pushed to the side, other such things taking precedent
taking over

Taking over my thoughts, my pathway from this point onward
until, until
Never having been able to see the end before there were my journey
mixes with another, sharing a common way, of thinking, of being
wanting, possessing, accepting control to the end of, to the end, just

I wish, I could tell you
advise you as to what is right or wrong
tell you how to love, how to cherish those moments
how could I ever hope to tell you, what I don’t ever really
with 100% certainty, know myself?

What the heart knows, what it tells the mind
if only those two entities could agree
if only they would make it easier for me to decide

I know the decision is mine, and mine alone
I cannot, will not let others decide for me
what is done, is done

No turning back

I hope that she
the one who has caused all of this wonderful

I hope that she understands
why it has taken me so long
these many few minutes
to answer her, while

I considered, I thought
I toyed with the idea, I hesitated
wanting, needing answers
where there were none

Where there only one answer was
when I decided, when I finally chose to say
how I never ever could would find another like her

Not another one like her,

Then I knew
there was no turning back….



No matter
the strength
of my glasses,
not being enough
to see
what was coming
right up until
she stood next to
my sight clearing
like meadows after
the rain,
her love, altering
my sight
the way, I looked
at her,
changed forever,
Blind, I must have
been before,
she opened
my eyes….



Not just one piece
but many, professing to be
evidence in the trial of someone
who resembled someone like me,

Paper, a thin wafer of cellulose, crumpled then smoothed out,
when held up to the light
translucent, echoing the watermark a faint recollection of my memory,
when I once walked these streets
as a free man,

“Struck down in her prime”
A woman, whose company
I chose to be in, when someone
ended what she knew to be life,
and what I would now know to be death
the gallows, a single rope, twisted
I felt my neck grow longer, as the hooded man
eager to get home to his wife, a modest repast
to enjoy, when the day’s work was over and done with

I felt a bit guilty, making everyone wait
my pardon being delayed from the Governor,
while the steak and kidney pie lost its heat and flavor
allowing me no sympathy from the jailers present,

“A woman of means”, was what they said
those that found what few dollars and cents
about my pockets, when the local constabulary
felt the need to break down the door of my home,
my children, screaming for their father, while my wife
covered her face in shame and disgrace,

I’d like to profess my innocence, but her lipstick
still residing on my collar, the disturbance
in the dust, surrounding her body,
when her frail form managed to hit the floor
causing distress and loss of ability
to hold her alive, until the police arrived,
My alibi only spoken by ghosts and spirits
remained only for me to tell about,

This day, when sunny and bright, began
seemed to be like any other, but now
my plans, shattered and changed
as I waited for the next train out of town
bearing my remains, something
waiting for internement in a pauper’s grave
someone, no one wanted to know
no one to cry over, just a nobody it seems

A single piece of paper, crumpled
bearing my name, something
that suggested a meeting between myself
and a chance companion, not my wife of many years,
but someone who wanted the same as I

Someone to share eternity with
our wishes being fulfilled

Just a single piece of cellulose….



shards reflecting
some other time,
pieces of the whole
eyes seeing
sunlight refracted,
reflected, bits and pieces
existing without the glare
of reality,
the strongest feeling
of having been here
Picking gingerly
as not to be cut
the edges slicing
so fine a cut, the blood
such a thin line
of existence, the chance
of ending it all, just a cut
just a cut,
the sounds still haunt me
the ghosts of the moment
fleeing when
the mirror, your face
what life had given
taken away,
the end no different
than fractured pieces
reflecting the day fading,
never to be fused
again into one

Just pieces, faces
edges, sharpness
shattered dreams

What I dream
what possesses
my dreams
of her

Shattered, the shards wanting
to cut, to take my life
saving me from facing
your mirror, empty
a reminder of the past,
when my dreams, intact

Still filled was I,
with the wholeness,
an image of you
reflecting an image
of me

When my dreams
intact again



A trace
a shadow of greatness
sitting on the step
waiting for a sign,
Not all gods
are great,
Not all idols
are worth
Even fallen Angels
have signs
of redemption,
Who though
wants to be saved?
Who really wants
to alter the balance
of power
in someone else’s
Would you want to admit
being less than those
who taught you?
Do you seek
a shadow, a trace
sharing who you are
what you want, what you
need from someone else,
Just a hint
a whisper from someone
whispered to someone
while you waited
for a sign,
waiting still for that greatness
to bestow a part,
of the light of salvation
on you,

Just a hint…



the proud pointer
showed the crowd
what the wind was bringing
“That’s my dog” I yelled,
but the wind being what it was
didn’t tell the masses what, who
was the owner, or why Larry chose
that moment in time to point,
Ice Cream vendors peddled their wares
while mothers held their children high
not to miss out on the marvels of Larry pointing,
Forcing myself to the front of the congregation
the preacher had just passed out the hymn books
with everyone instructed to turn
to hymn number 7
“Larry’s relation to the change in the wind”
the cadence, the candles lit, with Larry still pointing
while I just sat there, marveling
how he showed us the way, leaving me in awe
with only one thought in mind,
“I was never going to make it to the pet store
in time to buy that dog food on sale!

– but that was, as they say
left for the poets to write about
while the rest of us were held in awe
at least until the stores opened again tomorrow



That Song

That song
the one in my head
when I awoke,
when I lie dreaming,

Was it when
was it our first,
when we first met
lost in each other,
my mind only knew you
what occurred around me
a song perhaps, played

When I was dreaming
being together, when you said
when I told you that
if I thought the words fit
what we had, when we, you

When I was missing you
when we were apart, I lost sight
you stopped calling
when that song played, reminded me
when I couldn’t remember the words
and you smiled, and that smile
made me remember, you

That song
the one they played when we
the last time we argued
did I turn it up, drowning out
did I only want to hear what it
had to say,
not hearing what you had
to say,

I wish that song
would get out of my head
it only serves to remind me
of when times were good,
the life we had, when we thought
when we’d smile when hearing it

That song
seen in an entirely different light
with you, I not casting shadows
upon our otherwise sunny

That song
reminding me of something else
someone once told me, what
I can’t, won’t seem to remember

but I still can’t remember the words
we used to sing
when it

in my head…


Doing It Right

She told me, I wasn’t doing it right. Women today. They know what they want. Know what I mean? They’ve been talking to their friends, hearing how their husbands, boyfriends do it, and they want it as well.

Press there, just hard enough, but gently, forcibly, but not too much so, if only you did, what you did before, there, yes, but not like you have done the time when it didn’t feel right!

I didn’t keep a running record of what I did, when, and how, if she seemed to be happy about that? I suppose, I could have had a questionnaire which could have been completed after each time, I we. Nope. I really don’t think that would have gone over well, but it might have saved me some time, when if the next time were to come?

I tried asking my friends, then hers, but they seemed oblivious to my intentions. Were there really so many problems in our relationship, that I had to ask others for advice? No. No and no. Now I’ll be in the doghouse with her, when she discovers I’ve sought advice elsewhere. I’ve tried asking her, you see. Keeping our situation at home, between our own four walls, but it was as if she mocked my attempts at improving my techniques.

“I might as well as the upstairs neighbor, if he can assist me in my search for perfection” what she told me one day, while we enjoyed a cup of coffee out on the veranda. I wasn’t sure if he would climb down the downspout, or would he just show up at the front door, displaying his wares for all the world to see?

I really believed, I could be better, if only I had learned the right techniques. I wouldn’t want her to seek outside help, if I couldn’t execute my duties as her husband, the sole provider of her well-being and happiness.

Before I threw in the towel, I consulted a few online resources. They came up with some good advice, but I lacked some good old “hands-on” experience. I asked the single girl next  door to help me, as she professed to have mastered all the newest ways, and types, without  judging my inaccuracies as someone lacking in this area of expertise.

That night, armed with all my newest knowledge, and the memory of what the next-door neighbor did and showed me, I was ready to try it out on my lover, my wife. I made a romantic candlelight dinner before showing her what my endeavors had done for me, her.

She seemed to hold her breath, when I tried pressing, turning, and otherwise taking great care in my actions. She began to breath heavily, almost squealing with delight, when I showed her how adept I was with my newfound ways of the world. She wrapped her arms around me and gave me the biggest kiss, I could remember from recent times.

It goes to show you what new techniques in the art of making your partner happy, can be had after having mastered how to separate the different colored clothing into the various temperature settings, and performing a perfect wash load by pressing, turning, caressing the right buttons, at the right time.

If I can do it, anyone can….