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Jóhannes Kjarval said:

It´s such a difficulty to be a human being

It has always been a struggle for me.


We have many things to look out for, nature plays with

human nature and if we aren´t aware of natures

play there will be no art left.


And we should mind the stones. We

shouldn´t always let them lie in 

our shadows, sometimes we should

pet them and listen to them and hear what

they think




The woman with the grey cap


A young woman

sits at the back

of the bus

I think

she is talking to herself

and she smiles


I want to sit next to her

and smile with her


While the bus

travels through





The old house


Once I gave

an art exhibition 

called the surrounding trees


Then I lived in an old

timber house

on the top floor

the house is built in many parts

at various times


As I went to sleep

I could feel it


How the trees around the house

wrapped themselves around it

in a warm embrace



Young woman


I sit in a blue seat

in a yellow bus

A man in a hoodie

sits next to me.

The blond woman

in mint-green coat

A young woman


Just now I was reading

a text I wrote

late last year


Over you glided soft and warm

warm nature



The lake


I am bursting.

The search for rest.


On the other side of the lake





The lady with the bag


The lady walks with a bag signed 38steps.

A dog follows.


With coins in the pocket.






Popped out of a house.

To look at the birds.


While the flies were sleeping.






I walked slowly

up Bankastræti street.

On the way

I met a young man.

He jumps or

glides across the street

He has glasses

he is thin

not so tall


I want to hug him

And tell him.

That everything will be fine.






The old, big lion.

Screamed in my heart

and leaped


Ran across


with tears in my eyes.


Upon the hill

it calmed down.

And walked slowly




Feel like it


I don´t feel like going on a diet

I´d rather lay down

with the cat.

And occasionally

grab the knitting needles 

if I feel like it





My life


I want to write a poem about my life

I passed the road

and saw two ships on land.


Before I left

and the bird

appeared by the road

I lay down

and looked at him

you smell like a lily

he says

so it resonates in distance

over mountains and through tunnels

with few houses

and few human beings looking at each other.






I am happy

like a little bird

which eats the breadcrumb

and sings

jumps on one foot

and flaps the wings.

Small and fragile.


Before you leave.

You touch me.






I sit and knit

the sweater

for the smiling woman

who talks to cats.

The moon

pulls the yarn

with the sound of falling rain





I walk into the garden.

Alongside the wall

fully grown trees

sway their branches

in the garden.

I walk further into the garden.

Into the flower beds and onto a little path.

In the flower bed lie a few

sculptures I left

broken and dirty.

I don´t dare to touch them,

I just glance at them.

I will pick them up this summer


And I will set them up

in a beautiful space

in brightness.





Another thing on my mind


At midnight I thought

someone was breaking in

to my house.

I call out.

Look out the window

open the front door.

Big black furry cat

jumped out walked over the porch.

I call out to him in my mind

have you seen

Svarti Pétur



Good morning


I bite

a juicy and sweet yellow apple

The half-blind man

a good friend of mine.

We talk about beautiful colours

in life


He asks,

Have you yet painted

the blue painting!


My paintings are just in

all colors

The colors came to me

I say.


Dreams about colours.


We walk together hand in hand


through the corridors of the building

the elevator creaks

as we travel between floors


A light smile

comes over me

as the half-blind man

pushes the button of the elevator


And the elevator shakes.


The windows of the building are covered.

Possible to walk outside

to a small yard


Over there brightness crawls over the fence.


And the birds pay a visit.


The leftovers from the yellow apple on the table

My journey


the pale-blue world

of my daughter.




Holy robot


I cut down

four onions

for the soup

with tomatoes

it is just around three



The brain jumps up


Where is Birna


Can she sense the smell

of the soup


After a difficult journey


Few paintings lay

on the coffee table

Brushes and colours laying

I wonder if there is room

for Birna


Always enough

space in the small house






Here is a banana

about a banana

from a banana

to a banana


Ate three bananas

still having a panic attack


Better listen to some music

and then attend a group meeting




The loner


The loner walks


head down

occasionally straightens

his back.

Looks over the town


Tourists flowing

up and down the street


The eyes glide over

Christmas lights

song resounds in the distance

from old buildings


The loner droops his head

thinks about the present

the silence

to his mind comes

a story about a woman in a book

by Isabelle Allende

The woman in the book

is a loner

The tables move

the energy

moves through the room


Fear and innocence

describes the person

the smell is plain


The loner

lives in the silence

and the heartbeat


The city sings




Happy New Year


The birds sing

for us

in the new year


Newly awakened

beautiful children

are playing


The journey


on the untraveled road


The children

walk along

a house and a path


Joy remains

over home

valleys and gardens




Special this life

so beautiful



things go through the mind

Little children

being born each day

days pass

grow and thrive.

The rhythm of the heart differs

and gets slower as the days pass by.

Song resounds



many things pass

through the mind

the heart beats in the same rhythm


The ocean breathes



I say in my heart.

The island shines blueness

in the distance






I walked east

walked straight to the east.

Ended by a bench

three role models sat there

Virgin Mary, Maria Magdalena and

Martha Maria.

I looked aside

looked over the cliff

the ocean and the tree


I found

a hole in the house

a little hole with

a red and blue veil



Morning journey


I cycled down


and down Bankastræti.

I could feel the saddle

aimed with me


Could feel how the darkness


and the sweet rain


stroke my cheek.


I was relieved

I was wearing

a black coat.

Covering my head and shoulders.






Then we went,

then we went over the heath,

then we went over to Spain.


So said the man.

Where will we go next

maybe across the street

where the kitty creeps along


One of the houses by the street

is read.

The kitty visits houses

wild around the houses of the town.

The boat sails

on the rivers

between countries.


The journey had a red color

sometimes blue or yellow.

Come to me when the flowers bloom

said the lady with the veil,

the one sometimes meet.




The woman in the cellar


The woman broke out of the cellar.

A house on the corner where icicles freeze in the wintertime

Before breaking out she threw things out on the pavement.

Some paper

and cat stuff.


The next day I saw her sitting alone in a small car

she had filled the car with things. 


I was glad to see the woman broke free.


I wanted to celebrate with her

but I am shy

But gave her beautiful thoughts

Sometimes heroes are born from

from cellars.






The door

the door


Don´t know how

but it closes.

It can be heard in the wind

and I can feel the ocean

feel it

the ocean

down there.


The cliff rises


The door closes slowly

I can feel it.



The kitty cabin


The heat in the heart

and butterflies in the stomach

glide over.

Walk between rooms

I hide under the duvet.

A prophecy

about bright forecast

glides over the lakes.

But I am stuck in a few steps

in the living room and in little


And in a garden hut

which I call kitty cabin.



Bedtime story


Good evening. Last night I dreamt that goodness overcame evil, it was a black huge cloud which grew bigger and bigger until goodness swam in the river with the children. And got away from the evil spirits and made its way under the clouds so the sun could shine. And evil turned into a little black drop. But evil didn´t vanish altogether but disappeared into the blue. And nobody knew where evil stayed. Except for goodness which glittered in ocean and heaven. I wanted to tell this story

before I went to sleep and when another story

goodness came with the children and they managed to send evil away. They had to go a long way through a big building

And pass by various things through tunnels and down by the river through the dark.






Sometimes I want to tell the truth

sometimes the truth is hard to hear

I am not sure whether it is right.

But they say everybody terrorizes

in one way or the other.

I often find silence

oppressive and so difficult

that I want to scream

but silence rules.

In the meanwhile, the chair moves in the kitchen

moves and the refrigerator door

opens occasionally

and the fridge sighs. 

In the meanwhile, the girl lies down

and stares into the darkness

and dreams about a beautiful woman

who live on the other side of the valley.

The girl falls asleep

in the pink room in her small bed

and hopes to feel the song

over the valley.




The children


I don´t dare to say.

But I suspect

great craftiness

for certain human beings

in the society.


But it is best to think

about something good.

Where the innocent child

cries out

give love



The blue haired girl


I had a dream. That a dear friend of mine

had colored her hair blue.

I stroke her hair gently.

And told her she was beautiful.

This was a warm and beautiful moment.




Few poems


Children play

flowers wait


The cat cuddles in my lap



Beautiful when

trees are in hibernation


black in the white lava field



We walked together

over the bridge


Yellow withered grass covers the valley



I cover myself with a blanket

it is flowered


I can feel the soft softness



Ocean ocean there power lies

seaweed grows there red and green


a pearl is growing inside of me



The ice cube

stores the moist

the flowers sleep


The blueness of



shines over ocean and sky.



The distance between you and me

is a yellow, yellow withered grass 


which covers the valley



The woman

is like a pink-red seaweed


sweet and soft



Will I come to a conclusion

if I breathe white bubbles over the ocean


into the small house by the fjord.



The softness under the blanket

where the cat lies down


it is very good



I wasn´t thinking about seaweed

I was thinking about softness


the movement with the flowers.

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