The fading gasp

of her fossil-fuel love

P1000699 fuel kun

forcing our fast and furious

down and dirty

no holds barred vehicle of love,

to grind to a stop





1981 red columbine

I wish

deep down in my heart

I  could taste your lips,

Columbine red

dancing along a meadow wet

along the folds of the Alpine high

where I found you, demure

sleeping in your dreams

of someone

like me,


We’d tell each other stories

her and I

recalling something that resembled our lives

just hidden a bit in the prose of the moment

While I was climbing mountains, hanging on the one word

to save my life,

she was standing along some road, or freeing herself from a cage

the confines of which, had tried to bind and confuse her


We’d tell each other stories

then critique each other’s works

I told her how I loved the way she crossed her T’s,

but I know she thought my own stories were too silly

for the likes of her,

but she laughed at them anyway, then fell into thought

of some other sentence, she’d been struggling with

while I just kicked the sand beneath my feet

and wondered how it would be,

if our stories finally met, and wove into each other

and, and,


We’d tell each other stories

and I would warm my thoughts with her words

wrap them around me, like a winter coat

some thing to snuggle with, then lay it gently on the bed

tucking in the edges and caressing the folds and whispers,

while I had to write something new for the day,


We’d tell each other stories

and still do today

though her words, and my words

still a world between us, exist

just something to take along

placed in my pocket, sealed in an envelope, written

with more words of my own heart,


We’d just tell each other stories…

Photo. Meadow wildflowers. 1979. Sierra Nevada, California.



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…..



If only, I had

the wisdom of the ages

tips from the sages

residing in my tin cup

never enough

what I wanted, what I got

no matter what others

thought I should say

where we were going

how we could get there,

as long as my gal and I

lost in some foggy love

wandering the streets

and alleyways

my arm around her

wearing our knowledge

on our sleeves,

our hats,

filled with wisdom

on our heads,

awaiting for inspiration

to arrive

DSC02137 wisdom hat







1978 Sierra natl forest beskåret boost

If only your clouds of cotton softness

gathering about my snowy heights, would

my gentle thoughts, of caressing and kissing

your form, billowing above me

shining your radiance upon

my cold faces of granite

warming my bed, of pine needles soft

by your embrace my love,

merely by the reassurance

of your embrace




When I

my thoughts, frozen as a river,

bound by the stones encompassing it1979-08-16 American River2

Locked in an eternal battle

not unlike two lovers

torn apart, between

what love had promised,

what love had given

1979-08-16 American River2b

The reality, the moment exposed


breaking the ice impasse

the waters flowing

drowning my love

while I shaking, and disheveled,

lie on the other shore

drenched in the waters

of my grief




Bench. San Francisco, California. September, 2016.




We could share a moment, or two

you, me, alongside a busy street, populated

by others who don’t know our names,

the wood is smooth, and the feeling warm

and I wouldn’t mind if you sat closer to me

that perhaps you had been thinking of,

and we could marvel, at how this life

these people we are today

living, breathing, enjoying the feel of the warmth

of the sun, while the shadows dance around us,

I might just choose to whisper something in your ear,

what I had been thinking about, waiting for the right time

when I felt like bursting at the seams, if I hadn’t

then you could pretend, you hadn’t heard what I said

then chose to kiss me, confusing me, pleasing me

making the couple passing by, smile as well

when we move along our way, exiting our claim

on a carved piece of wood, waiting for someone

to share in the moment, some might just call



Norwegian Humor

Seen in Southern Norway. 2015.

DSCN1323 kontrast

Meteorological Stone

Warm stone = Sunny

Wet stone = Rain

White stone =Snow

No stone = Fog

One good reason to visit Norway. Your choice….



I was divided in my thoughts, my choices between

a new love, and an old love


The one promised to be faster, sleeker and yet suited to who I was,

while the other being slower, demanding more care and more of my time,


Split was I, my two loves though wanting, needing an answer

but then who wouldn’t want a hunk like me?


who indeed…….