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These poems are partly surrealist-experimental and partly zen-inspired. I offended you by dreaming it, so please do yield when your inner voice tells you. This page and it's poems are Part IV of poems.sigg3.net. |
The eyes seeing
Beer-bottle blues, I'm swimming in orange juice. Pass the hot chocolate, please. These buns goes down with ease. Slippery transportation would be fun as long as the eagles du jardin wouldn't be a nuicense. |
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Chocolate tops with vanilla cream inside
I cleared my lungs and were distracted by a brown-eyed virgin who disliked chocolate tops with vanilla cream inside. Then I shouted out blasphemically how she'd starte the machinery by pushing the wrong buttons. Bananas and bread seldom go out together. And that's a fact, too. |
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Det røde speil
Det røde speil reflekterer min atmosfære, og jeg gleder meg på isvognens vegne. |
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I can hear
A sore throat kept me from slitting yours. A dead cat on the road and the helicopters lit my way. Another one of them whores, I thought, and all I did - dispair. For how could I've imagined that I could kill a dragon with blond hair? -Waiting by the red rubins while the cashmachines goes crazily and quitly as a mouse-cat over the floor? No, I didn't and those red bags you've got there used to be my mother's. Please let me know when you've telephoned the dead. I can hear. |
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Clan Fat
Fat girls should stick together like some kind of clan, so when I waved my flag they would swim into the sunset never to be seen (.) |
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Den grå kråka (zen)
En grå kråke satt en gang på et eple, da den hoppet tre ganger og spurte forbipasserende om eplet virkelig var der. Ingen svarte, for de røde lakeistkoene stod i veien og trappen de gikk på var som en avgrunn. "Vi må alle tenke", sa fuglen, "men ikke på noe. Ikke tenk på eplet, så vil det være der i sin opprinnelige form." Alle engler og demoner på den nærliggende sti, kastet alle sine fordommer og la seg ned for dette intelligente dyr. Vil vi noen gang få høre lyden av dens latter igjen? |
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It was no more (zen)
Why, it was something like this: one day at a carpark it was this clown giving out balloons, when one of the black kids present turned out to be son of His Majesty. No sound uttered, in awe; this kid was a lost Messiah to these youngsters. The clown, hovewer how dreadful he would seem, wanted to kill this child. Wise beyond words, this child introduced the clown to Lao Tze's void. Know nothing, practise nothing. Welcome to the void. - The clown was puzzled by these words, and in a confused state he accepted the fact that alcoholism was a drawback to religion. This, however, did not differ from earlier problems solved. Areas filled with dead or half-living bodies, those still alive fighting to their last breaths. The other children agreed and on that day, our clown was maliciously murdered. |
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