Kolm Luuletust. Three poems. Inglise Keeles. In English.

Today I drew a pattern
of old lady´s daffodils
and skirts and honeybuckets
and hungry winterchills.
and broken watemills
on playful sandbox hills.
in fact, I drew them all
on all the unpaid bills.

Today I wrote a song
of velvet circus rats
and granny´s lost pajamas
with bald egyptian cats.
and atticks full of bats
with cheerful birthday hats.
in fact, I wrote them all
on the un -dusted mats.

Today I had an itch
and yesterday i´d scratch
but it´ll not be till tomorrow
all good ideas hatch.
like when I hoped to match
the train I could not catch
in fact, my life is missing
a whole darn hollow patch.

Tonight I´ll dream a dream
of all that is undone
the calender behind my chest
and nowhere left to run
from must -do´s ugly gun.
I´ll imagine that it´s fun.
In fact I´ll dream them all to life
by time of morning sun.


TO TIM BURTON.

holding paper like a feather
break it up and put together
images are shy to rise
underneath your streamline eyes.

keep the pen behind you ear
whispering the joy and fear
carving faces in your brain
growing on you like a stain.

hide a figure in your heart
soul is not a body part
it´s a ghoul that carries gold
takes you with him when you´re old.

takes you to the land you drew
feels as if you almost knew
that your look is paper -thin
different world is deep within.
You are Tim.


went back home to find myself
and realised I´m not up to date
I left my thoughts there on the shelf
among the ones I used to hate.
I searched all corners of my mind
and deep beneath my earthly skin
the message I´m supposed to find
is " Get out of here! You don´t fit in !"
I´m questioned by the common logic
I´ve held debates with sense and reason,
and all I get is - being me
is not so IN this endless season.