Gamer Haikus

I found some old haikus of mine lying around in my digital drawer. Can you guess what games they are inspired by?


I
If you eat mushrooms

you will grow and gain powers

Little plumber guy

II
Stop hitting chickens

It will only piss them off;

they have many friends

III
I wonder who is

always putting new rupees

under broken jars

IV
Here’s the infection

Cure it by throwing matching

pills into this jar

V
The worst way to die

is waiting and praying for

a single line piece

VI

Don’t use it too much;

you will shake and break and die,

Mr. FBI

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May it Be

May the brightest star that is
shine to light your way
So you can find a safe path through your life
every night and day

That guardian light I send to you
is bound to never fade
‘Cause like the moon with its silver light
of eternity it’s made

May a gentle wind carry you
on your journey, so let it be
May your steps be light, and so your heart
May your road be the one of destiny

And if darkness comes between us
and the end draws near it seems
May we meet again someday, somehow
in a world beyond the dreams.


I vividly remember writing this one. I was sitting at my old desk – I had had it since childhood – at my parents’ house one dark night back in December 2002. I was fifteen years old, my cousin had just died in a snowmobile accident and I felt guilty for still wanting to dedicate this poem to my then-boyfriend. Some memories just stick, don’t they?

Anyway, this poem has switched meanings for me several times over the years – but I think now it has finally found its way home.

Her Golden Gaze

He stood at the brink
No cloud in the sky
Awatching the field of play
As shadows did rise
From actors unknown
His worries drifted away
A mist in his mind
Was lifted, removed
When beauty rose into place
A precious short time
‘Fore he was forced down
He could see the gold of her face
She lowered her gaze
To meet his eye
But smiled as he fell off the ledge
His dying tribute
He sang with the stars
Then he sank and she climbed to the edge
She looked at the world
And started to throw
A red light over it all
For well she perceived
How short was the time
‘Til also she must give in and fall
And the Moon in his grave
Not dead but asleep
Did not mourn over days of yore
For he knew in his dreams
That the hour drew near
When he would glimpse his beloved Sun once more.


This is an older piece that I wrote back in January 2007. By that time I had just become unemployed for the first time in my life and would soon (though I didn’t know it at the time) begin working as a freelance music journalist. That step has lead me to where I am today. Life’s certainly full of surprises.

River Ghost: A Poem

Gazing into the astrology
Wishing for what there could never be
“All of the stars I dedicate to thee,
the spirits of the forest and the songs of the sea”
She, the River Ghost of his long lost dreams,
singing mournful songs among the silent streams
Pale, dark eyes uplit by white moonlight beams
Beware, the fate of her is not what is seems
Frozen flowers, sunset eves
Deathcold breeze in the icy leaves
Autumn goddess surrenders and then she leaves
for Lady Frost to conquer a world that grieves
Her the River gave in to and turned to ice
Restless fay gave up a scream towards the pale blue skies
Fooled by a vision of Winter in disguise,
she lies down to final sleep in the white of her despise
He, the sun, weeps silently at her lonely grave
The lost dreams did not die with the River wave
Missing, longing for the water’s song, the happiness it gave
The sun mourned the frozen River, that its warm light could not save


This is a poem I wrote back in 2004 while I was still in senior high. However, I still like it very much and I hope that you do as well. 🙂

The Shadowsmith

I read about the artists
who sold their souls for skill
in trade with darker forces
that always have their will

I read the works of masters
now long lost, gone and dead
and relish in their worlds that now
reside inside my head

I too have struck a bargain
not once but now and then
where souls have been involved to
make sharp enough my pen

But I don’t need dark forces to
inspire me to write
I smith my words in shadows
so what I need is light

I meet them at the crossroads
and listen to their plea
I grant them inspiration
and they inspire me

And as they build their artworks
I work on my own draft
inspired by their fervor
in practicing their craft

When thus wrought masterpieces
have reached their final line
the authors of those stories
become characters in mine

For nothing is as perfect
to make my stories whole
as to lock in them a mortal
who has volunteered their soul

And thus my inspiration and
the sharpness of my pen
depends on souls of artists and
the vanity of men

So meet me at the crossroads
and sell your soul tonight
I smith my words in shadows and
for that I need your light

Oh, I just had to…

Did I mention I am working on a novel in Swedish? Well, anyways, I am.

And while writing some today, I decided to start the process of a chapter with a sketch (if you can call it that). I simply wanted to line up what was going to happen in the chapter before I got started writing it. The sketch, however, ended up looking almost like poetry. And while the project is in Swedish, I still felt I had to share this accidental poem in some way. So I translated it. Without context it makes little sense – but then again, must it really?

Here goes:

#13.53

Abstract illustrations of bliss.

More concrete plans for the night?

The present: a visit from A, starting to suspect something is wrong.

The truth hatches, a moment of realization and rational thought.

Then the world falls. Abstract again, emotions, metaphors.

Out. Some kind of poetic darkness to build atmosphere.

In the middle of this a phone call from the private place that is dark now.

The close is a promise and a gunshot. Decides, this must end.

On the floor in the room with all the pictures. Affected by memories, emotions and substances.

Disconnected thoughts between substantial dialogues where the answers don’t make any sense.

A dead bird outside the window. They take the bottles and the pills. Rage.

Wants out, but they calm him with sleep. Darkness.