Poetry



shed
by Pinja Irri
(Note: This poem is written without the use of any punctuation for reasons of expression.)

when did the trees begin to be that leaky
drops not chilling but biting and salty
the path so curious
now being there just to wrench your ankle
a birch
bent against wet heavy snow
once almost frank
until the next rain
and it learned to stay like that 
and when the light passes
you go with it 
and start your duties
because whats the point to stare
at that old truck wheel swing
fun to play with
when its all changed to a rocky one
not answering to your thirst
and the rough rope allowing the fun then
the bent to the verge
well
you know



Home
by Emma Luoma

It’s so silent
I might disappear
loose track of time and follow
how the wind moves between the trees
how it cuddles the earth

It’s so similar
as it was back then
the routes of the roads are where
the clouds have seen them before
thousands of times

Here I could vanish
live and secretly love
grow my roots deep and
leave my shadow 




Silence
by Leena Nykänen

Like a morning mist
it floats in air.
We are wavering shapes,
unidentified figures
to each other.

Don't see.
Don't hear.
Don't understand.

As two north magnets
we move around.
Avoiding, or flinching
when approaching
one another.

Don't touch.
Don't feel.
Don't get close.

Let's keep the distance
and make our own spaces.
Feed the misunderstanding
and bitterness
against another.

Don't speak.
Don't tell.

Don't break the silence.




You are.
by Paula Nykänen


Lust.
Making this world go round.
Round, round and round.
Lust!
You must!
Take off your pretty little panty-Ho´s
Show me a bit of that skin of yours.
Nothing there to see,
No place for you to flee.
Still the eyes thirst some more,
Penetrating stare with glee,
Piercing through your void.
You think this act is vile,
Yet it’s the only thing real and alive.

You are The One,
Anyone,
No one.

Words,
Already thrown in the air.
Spent and used.
Still the mouths pound the words
Spitting them out like revelation.
Grinding, mashing, gnawing.
The mill is everlasting.
Only dust through the air.

Your words are everything,
Anything,
Nothing.

Recycled dreams of beatitude
In the sustained order of pandemonium.
You think you never die,
All you dread is the grave.
Escape, try, hide.
Soon you cannot deny.
The only place for the soul to rest
Lies beneath your feet.

You are The One,
Anyone,
No one.





objective
by Susanna Sihvonen

though I value
abstract concepts

there's an allure
to some aspects
of you

that few
respect
or pursue

I may hold you
in my hand
and perhaps mold you
like wet sand

and behold you
until I’m told
to do
something bold

and something
new
before growing
old

and I rise
I am swayed
by the advice

to have laid
eyes on you
for such a long while

I see
that there must be
a better use
of my time

which I will
find

and still
I choose
to muse
your lack of a mind

you're forever
free
of a bind
so vile

and never
confused


An Autumn Dusk in Mountain 

by Wang Wei (699- 759) translated from the Chinese by Yiwen Li

After the fresh rain
    in the secluded mountain,
Messages of cold arrive
     in the dusk of autumn.  

Through swaying pines
      the bright moon shines ,
On crystal rocks,
      the clear spring flows.

 Bamboos whisper---
      the washing girls go home,
Lotus stirs,
      the fishing boat wakes.

The splendor of spring may fade away,
       still an appealing mountain
            for you to stay. 



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