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I had a hard time choosing the right poem, you know? I was seeking one that would not reveal too much, nor be too vague. Had to have something in the middle; a balance.

With the written word I strip myself bare, admit things I would have never utterred out loud, even to myself. Some of my works can easily be deemed incomprehensible, however, they all serve a purpose: to make myself comprehend how my mind works. With the written word comes a bargain I couldn’t refuse.

The bigger portion of my poems orbits around forest imagery; around lakes, rivers, waterscapes; around the darkness, the stars and the moon; around mythical surroundings that breathe life into them. This are my ‘panic rooms’, so to speak. Let’s take all this one step further, then!


I TURNED TO GAZE UPON A GROVE

I turned to gaze upon a grove

Those quivering grasses

Tall to my thighs, palms of my hands;

Air claims the trees

As they sway in the liquid rhythm

The greens, the browns

Crouching between the grays



The grove in which I was born

The dryads have tended to

By force of habit, by rule of the forest;

Their giggles flew right to the bark

And crawled inside it, feeding, testing,

Gorging the treacherous tree-leeches,

Bankrupt gone the evil worm world


With sunrays detached from the sight

At times the core of the woods is gloomy

Its ghost-like demeanour

Stings the eyes

Of the newcomers who do not see the

Miniscule sun-symbols carved into the bark;

A lion’s share is what’s inside



I turned to gaze upon a grove,

Arrived to clean the branches

Render it unblurred and seemly

The perfect house to dwell in

The shift in space

And time occurred

And I – the fresh air – remain still

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