Monthly Archives: September 2013

Starting in Finnish

It all starts at the finish of everything

life, death, burnt out dictionaries, languages long forgot

tongues lost in the night

French kissing mimes and shadows with their eyes closed

never getting their names right

waking to an empty bed with wet sheets

then nine months sooner or nine years later

playing hide and seek with time

giving light to ideas long thought lost

ideas lived in Finnish

come out as English

to the teenager who moved from Helsinki to Florida when she was four

and by the time she’s forty

her Finnish finished

knowing no more than hello and good bye

limiting every relationship

to beginnings and endings

till later moving back to Finlandia

loving in Hämeenlinna to a man who speaks no English

she learns to express poetry in kisses

sonnets in a caress

still, even in the still of the fight there is so much she needs to say

so, she takes up Finnish and finds her first four years

were not so transoceanic

and she starts Finnish again

and learns “I love you”

feels far less foreign

as

Minä rakastan sinua.

Carving Stone in to Time

There’s no where to properly bury a murdered memory

its not like hiding a body in this planet Earth

from the crust to the core there’s a definite distance

yet our minds are set to the skies

the mind’s eye sees infinite sunsets

off every sunrise

this prism of time

fractured in to pieces smaller than minutes sharper than seconds

carving our days in to dusks

till it dawns on us to cut the world in to 24 time zones

and start hour one in a town in Eastern England

and start counting up from there till we’ve circled the earth

and it’s always five o’clock somewhere

so let’s lift a glass to Fleming’s invention

where would we be without the creation of time?

and when would we be?

Deep inside our heads

where time is an abstract painting

designed by Jackson Pollack

interpreted by you

it’s always you o’clock

always

and what you wanted to bury

so deep within yourself

is more a part of you than your left hand

which you can cut off if it betrays you

while this memory lies like a dormant volcano

don’t look now

but I smell smoke.