Yvonne's poetry

Not sure where to post this. Well, I intend to post my poetry in this thread, as I love writing, both in Norwegian and English. Too bad you don't understand Norwegian, but I might translate some of them. Well, here goes;

A Disease to One's Flesh

Jealousy.

A disease.
A disease to one's flesh.
To one's mind.
To one's thoughts.
To one's body.

Infiltrations in one's trust,
making believes of what maybe is not.
A wrapped up infection.
Sets in like a storm.
Obtaining infection by one's fresh air,
manipulate one's faith of what could be.

In the lack of answers,
when one's being short on trustworthy reply
on what's ought to be denied,
we maintain the obscure of fear
by longing for what we can not achieve.
A stroked becoming of one's addiction.

Yvonne - 04

Regards, Yvonne

A Faceless Man

There is a man without a face,
a faceless man without a name.
He’s the son of nobody-knows-whom,
the father of no one.

He talks rather slow,
but indeed he is a man.
He is somewhat like cellophane,
no one will take notice of his appearance.

He writes his name in invisible ink,
writing lines on the paper which will never be seen.
And as the years go by,
he will just sink further still.

Yvonne - 04

Regards, Yvonne

Coloured Glasses

We see the world through these coloured glasses,
rose coloured glasses.
With tinted spectacles we preserve the
red vision of love,
of blood.
The white view of glory,
the pureness.
The yellow sight of happiness.
The green view of jealousy.
The blue eyesight of coldness,
for the children,
family.
The black vision of secrets,
shed away on a shelf.

For the mankind we serve.
We conceal ourselves on the field that are ours.
A dust of ourselves,
which from where we were born,
shaped by the wind.
By the forces of nature,
made aware.
Breathing ourselves,
being blessed by the suns where we belong.
Washed away by the rivers.
Our memory lingers on,
flowers for love,
our ways to roam.

Yvonne - 04

Regards, Yvonne

Love Digression

I came with my confession.
I couldn’t take the palpitations.
With this love digression
I admit you got my heart in possession.

I couldn’t bare my heart oppression.
I wouldn’t hide my feelings behind ornamentations.
My soul is still a little marked by the perforation.
My mind still need the persuasion.

I will never forget that occasion
of my little orientation.
That oration
indicated my feelings of strong evasion.

Yvonne - 04

Regards, Yvonne

Pity

Lost for words,
because pityness seems so weak,
yet so strong.

Pity.

Don’t say it.
It seem to offend me more than anything else.

I just say those words,
for understanding.
Never for pity.

Just lay it before me,
The weakness I once bore,
which tears my heart.

I get offended more from this ugliness,
never of the understanding.
Then I rather see you leave me alone.

It’s cruel.
Pity.
As in sin.

Yvonne - 06

Regards, Yvonne

With the License to Kill

Bang.
Bang.
A shot in the head.

I fall over the table.
Blood splashing on the walls,
an indication of what happened.

Blood dripping on the carpet.
Bang. Bang.
Two more in my back.

Killing me softly.
It’s like killing a mockingbird.
You only got the license to kill.

Yvonne - 04

Regards, Yvonne

Wipe the Spots Off

Wipe the spots off.
No remains.
Traces washed ashore.
Marks flushed away.
Not a sign.
No nothing.

Don't let it last.
Just one's business.
Nothing more.
It happens.
Everyday.
Hearts are broken each single day.

Even if one feel mostly dead,
it doesn't help much,
because one will always be half alive.
Our own lives,
we do it our own way,
by putting it in the hands of others.

Yvonne - 05

Regards, Yvonne

My Art

It will be fine,
in the end I guess.
That’s life,
right?

Strange how comfort gets disturbed,
when I get disturbed by comfort.
Even though I may admit it,
I won’t act it.

I’m somewhat like a book,
I won’t work until I’m opened up.
One thing is,
I will not apologise for my art.

Yvonne - 05

Regards, Yvonne

Pathway

By the bend,
where you stood.
Where I gazed in your blue eyes.
Blue eyes.
Just blue.

I walk here now.
Not totally alone.
The ghost of tomorrow,
is following.
Watching.

There’s the gate,
Where we stood.
Where I was suddenly left,
left alone.
By myself.

I never looked back,
nor did you.
I believe.
It might be better that way.
Do what’s one’s ought to,
not what one should.

Yvonne - 04

Regards, Yvonne

What Matters

What matters,
you don’t seem to know.
I know it.
know it too well I suppose.

You constantly remind me of that.
Though you’re not here.
Not here at all.
You seem to remind me the more you are away.

Yvonne - 04

Regards, Yvonne

Valentine I

Gifts,
wrapped in red paper.
Red roses,
satin hearts.
Chocolates
and promises you can't keep.
Kisses
and embraces.
Lovely dinners,
beef and wine.
Poetry
and trips to Paris.

I turn my back.
A gust of wind
send chills down my spine.
I throw up,
laughing hysterically.
Wondering.
Where are the unspoken words of truth?
Questioning a stupid tradition.
Heartbroken lovers crying,
shameful.
Making me laugh.

How pity.

Regards, Yvonne

Valentine II

Tendering lovers,
ordering tickets to the modern love.
Catch my breath.
Wish it was not so.
Why can't it be like before.
I don't understand.
Why can't the three little words,
be enough?

Hearts locked up in prisons,
set "free" by their keys
on Valentine's day.
Loved spread,
in the wide world.
Chasing.
Breathlessly.
People like me go hiding.
Valentine oxygen burns up my little lungs,
I'm seeking some stuffiness that suits me.
Find myself as an owl,
sickened by the Valentine sunshine.
Searching desperatly,
but I got my own loving soul.
My own spark of divine fire.
Do not need a note.

Regards, Yvonne

Valentine III

These days,
love's wrapped in red paper,
given with red roses and satin hearts.
Chocolates,
a taste of love.
Loving,
by the promises you can't keep.
Kisses
and embraces making love.
Love suited for dinners,
beef and wine.
Love described by
poetry
and trips to Paris.

Regards, Yvonne

Valentine IV

Still makes me wonder.
Is this fair?
Is this right?
Valentine,
dreadfull word.
It can't describe the love,
whose the others cannot see.
A pathetic symoblic memory,
for those who don't know how to use their skills.
The art of love.
Painted with all the colours of the world,
seen by true lovers.
Real lovers do not need one "special" day as a reminder.
Those who love without a reminder,
are the most appreciated.
For those who feel that every day together is unique.
For those who know that every day together is special.

Yvonne - 04

Regards, Yvonne

The Kiss I

No sweet words was spoken,
not that day.
It was warm,
yet still I froze.

He stepped over and
leaned over me,
supported by the door frame.
Close to me.

So close that when he closed his eyes,
I almost fell asleep.
So close.
That his hand on my chest was my hand.

Straight forwardly,
without complexities.
Nor pride.
I said I didn’t know any other way than this.

I could smell his breath,
the scent that lingered in the air.
A taste of peppermint,
while his soft lips touched mine.

Regards, Yvonne

The Kiss II

He sealed my lips,
while he gently ran his fingers through my hair.
His tongue stroke mine,
then a wobbling feeling of relief ran through me.

It made me want for more when his eyes pierced mine.
But a sudden feeling of shame came over me.
I pulled away.
I could hear him knocking as I closed the door behind me.

Yvonne - 06

Regards, Yvonne

Spread Your Wings

Spread your wings,
just let yourself fly.
Spread your wings,
prepare to die.

Spread your wings,
but beware of the cloudy sky.
Spread your wings,
so I can say goodbye.

Yvonne - 04

Regards, Yvonne

Troubled

My dear you,
you seem troubled.
Maybe bothered.
Ashamed perhaps?

Something you want to say?
Good.
For once,
do something.

Anything.
Don’t just add nothing to nothing.
You might add anything to nothing.
Nothing nor anything can stand by themselves.

Yvonne - 04

I hope you enjoy them. I will post more later.

Regards, Yvonne

Your poems are very very good! Hmmm maybe I should write some more. I always feel like it in the summer. 🙂

Thanks debbiejo! Here are some more;

Hurt

Everybody gets hurt sometimes,
but not always the same way.
I guess,
my forgiveness depends on the intentions behind the hurt.
Sometimes,
I feel nothing but sadness.
Sometimes,
I feel nothing but anger.
Sometimes,
inflicting someone with hurt becomes a sin.
But I guess,
without sin there is no forgiveness.

Yvonne - 04

Regards, Yvonne