Poems: The 10/10 Poem Collection

Hark! The day of reckoning has come for us all! Today is June 14th, the year of our Lord 2018, and I have completed my self-administered challenge of writing ten poems in ten days. And what a journey it was! A journey full of ups and downs, inspiration and madness, sadness and joy. Kind of like real life, eh? Nevertheless, the collection is now here, ready to be read and analysed by your hungry brains and sharp eyes.

Note that these poems are not in order of writing. They were placed where they are now by me, where they all made most sense. Of course, I saved my favorite for the finale. Double note, I added some paintings by Pieter Bruegel into the mix as well, mostly due to the fact that I just enjoy his work very much (and the themes of the poems go along with his paintings a bit too well). Triple note for all you WordPress readers, this collection is best read on my actual website, on a computer, so here is the link to the actual post!

Without further ado, here is the 10/10 poem collection! 

 

 

 

 

 

A Walk in the Garden / a prelude to True Colours

 

My work is done, and I can rest, like flowers retire to rest at night. A walk in the garden would be best, to ease the mind and soothe the soul.

I step outside, momentarily blinded by the glory of the burning sun. My work has taken too long, and I have missed this place so. With naked feet I step onto the freshly cut grass, not unlike the first steps onto uncharted land.

The scene is vivid, like a painting by the Old Masters. What does the palette hold today? Colours of life; from the deepest reds to the fairest blues, different hues of all and everything. Roses and lilies and orchids, blossoming in their own domain.

And so must I, as the mind wanders to the toils of work. I want to remain in this beautiful place, to stay forever in this garden would be a blessing. Alas, my mind is empty, like a fresh canvas, and work can wait no longer.

 

 

 

 

 

Addicted

 

So hard to let go, please let me go.

“Is it because you can’t live without me?”

No. It’s because you’re so expensive, and you’re ruining my life.

Also I can’t live without you, so please let me go.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Unnamed 02

 

Life is a temporary disease

One, just one moment at ease

Just one moment of peace

Just one.

A brief moment of rest

From the tempest of life

From all the hurt and strife

Death cometh fastest,

For all the best.

 

Note: This poem was written shortly after I found out that Anthony Bourdain had committed suicide. Rest in peace.

 

 

 

 

 

Pieter_Bruegel_the_Elder_-_The_Suicide_of_Saul_-_WGA3325
The Suicide of Saul by Pieter Bruegel the Elder, 1562.

 

 

 

 

Now with Sound

 

The greatest muse, the fairest lover, strumming the chords of my heart.

The most fantastic form of art, this is all worth it, to hear that harmony.

Life, now with sound.

Imagine a life without music, a life lived, and lost, and found.

An eternity without love, a curse, so unfair, so unjust.

Death, now with sound.

 

 

 

 

Icarus

 

These wings,

they are mine.

They make me, me,

they break me free.

 

Clip my wings,

and I cannot fly.

Who am I,

without my wings?

 

This is a poem about a moustache.

 

 

 

 

 

Landschaft_mit_Sturz_des_Ikarus_Pieter_Breughel_d_Ä
Landscape with the Fall of Icarus by Pieter Bruegel the Elder, 1558.

 

 

 

 

Waves

 

Memories from a time before, they fade like

Waves, crashing and washing to the shore.

 

Thunder, it roars from the distance,

Unwavering, the tides bide their moment.

 

I wave to the sea, and it says goodbye,

Then disappears once more; a storm arrives.

 

 

 

Ghosts

 

Circling each other, the lives of one another, we go round in circles
On the outskirts
A delicate veil; distorted by desire, who has the will to lift such a thing
In between us
It is too much to let our love through, so this is what we are
We are ghosts
So plainly seen, so strongly felt, still we are only ghosts to each other.

 

 

 

 

 

Secret Language

 

On tämä mahtava, kielenä kattava

Osaajia ei montaakaan maailmassa

Sanamäärä valtava, ja boonuksena,

Saan mä kiroilla omassa rauhassa

 

Suomi paras salakielenä, saatana.

 

 

 

 

 

Unnamed 01

 

Photograph a starving nation,

A good cause,

For an art installation

Abject suffering and misery

One Pulitzer prize,

For photography

Empty heads and absent eyes:

“Is this art?”

Reality in a good disguise

Is this what art is supposed to be:

War, death, and poverty?

Through the pictures, plain to see:

Art is our reality.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pieter_Bruegel_the_Elder_-_Massacre_of_the_Innocents_-_Google_Art_Project
Massacre of the Innocents by Pieter Bruegel the Elder, 1565-1567

 

 

 

 

 

 

True Colours 

 

My mind is empty, like a fresh canvas, waiting for inspiration. What does the palette hold today? The colours are dark and pallid, black and gray.

Nevertheless, a twirl of the brush, and the canvas takes life. A few strokes of genius – don’t make me laugh. The paintings are finished – never – like my thoughts. The colours chosen, are not mine to choose. I paint with whatever life gives me.

On other days, the colours are vivid, like a blossoming garden. Those paintings are love, they are life, nature and animals. On those days, the paintings are full of smiles and hope. Those days are few between others.

Sometimes, it is better to burn the painting, than feel the sting of truth in the words that were written.

 

 

 

 

Thank you so so so much for making it this far! I hope you enjoyed at least one of my ten poems. Please consider following my blog, and please leave a comment about something! More stuff coming along soon enough ♥

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