poesi

Two palm trees

Two palm trees, tall, stand beautiful,
The background a pure blue, not a single cloud to tarnish it,
The two almost of equal height, with similar crowns,
A symmetry and order, it feels good,
But there’s something off,
Something slightly frustrating,
I notice they’re not entirely straight.
Then I hear myself think straight
And I start thinking of you and me and our love,
And I find another kind of beauty in these two trees,
A spaciousness and softness unnoticed till now,
Just as they stand here, queer,
And I wonder if completely straight palms exist at all.

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”Two palm trees”, Gaylaxy Magazine, 21 February 2016

I woke up

I woke up sad, having dreamt or remembered a happy incident with him. Sad because I woke up without him. Sad because it was the past. Sitting in meditation, I suddenly smile. Smile because perhaps he is happy right now. Smile because with all the suffering in the world sometimes someone is happy. Smile because I can be happy when someone else is happy. Smile because in a sense someone else is not someone else. Smile because we are all already enlightened.

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Orlando, mi amor

Orlando, mi amor,

I heard, about the shooting. Sorry I didn’t get in touch sooner.

They say the gunman had seen you kiss.

It made me think of us again. Those tentative first touches, your smell, hearts racing. But outside the bed so brutal, my silly rationalizations: Public displays of affection are just vulgar, I said, it’s not about being less gay. 

Lo siento, mi amor. Of course it was. About being less gay. About the terror. I was terrified when you tried to kiss me at the station.

And then te acuerdas, that time I fell asleep on the bus, my head resting on your shoulder? I woke up to an angry voice, I did wake up, that white guy yelling at us, perverts, burn in hell, you yelling back. Hearts racing. I kept my eyes shut, pretending to still be asleep, only later asking qué pasó?

Lo siento, mi amor. I’ve been so proud of you. And I’ve been so ashamed of myself, for not fighting more, fighting for our love. 

But now, writing this, I also see that eyes closed pretending to sleep, I at least remained with my head on your shoulder. At least I did that. While you yelled back. I hope you felt that. 

And next time we meet, Orlando, for old times’ sake, for a future, let’s do a public display of affection. Hell, I’ll even sing your favorite song. Bésame, bésame mucho.



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En hyllest til gress i form av et dikt

Jeg hyller gress i mitt siste dikt som var på trykk i Harvests nyhetsbrev 26.juni.

Juni

Min kusine ligger her gjennomgrønn i solskinnet. Ikke noe behov for poetisk projeksjon, heller ikke spirituell sofistikasjon. Den er materiell og sensuell, vår relasjon. Gress og jeg deler en fjerdedel av våre gener, og i det siste har jeg lært å knele for å komme helt nær. Ikke rart at jeg føler meg hjemme med nakne føtter på denne ekspansive kroppen. Ikke rart at jeg nesten mister meg selv når jeg berører dette eksakte bladet.

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Å gå barbeint eller ligge på gresset er noe jeg forbinder med norsk sommer og alltid gleder meg over. Å kun få betrakte på avstand - slik det er mange steder på kontinentet - er noe langt annet enn den fysiske kontakten med gresset som heldigvis tillates her i landet.

Les hele nyhetsbrevet
her.