Cradled arms of my solitude
where heartfelt dreams cease to exist,
and the shadows run away from their own selves;

the brass ring becomes elusive
I can't even make a fist!
Plus, I worry just how deep a longing delves.

Pay no attention to my tears of late
let my sorrows wash away,
every trace of sadness staining my own cheeks;

I'd prefer not bring you sorrow
even for one single day
let alone how you'd feel after several weeks.

Night out nightmare

Dance with me you trollop
I paid for this great night out.
Don’t you know I’ll have my fun
you silly giggly Trout.

Unhand! me dear don’t you dare,
after all, I am the bloody man.
And if I’m acting annoyed or fearful,
It’s just, my night hasn’t gone to plan.

Simply, I thought we’d have dinner,
a bit of a dance and then, some sex.
It’s just my luck that I picked you,
and the muscles you’re preparing to flex.

DRAGON RIVER (in the little gorge (juvet) that goes through Flatdal)
11th June 2011. Margaret Ann Waddicor.

I can see this as the Dragon of the river charging down, 
shaking all its water off as it goes, and bellowing, 
snorting waterfalls at each descent, flowers 
growing in the rocks on the side, a kind of saxifrage-family flower, 
vibrating with excitement, they are something like virgins 
or wedding veils in name in Norwegian. 

subways screaming in
the bitter light
like a party lamp
overturned

my retina burn
and this hot rush of wind
stinking of city
and office bodies
the restless and
the chosen
wandering in their week
old skins

the walls lucid crawl
in a flash of stainless
wet like a putrid worm