Prose

Under the storm-fearing clouds boiling in gray scale mocking the Baltic Sea who’s rushing waves burst over sandy beaches and the North Sea’s angry bubbles south of the water’s café nestled in the double shoreline Skagen is where a men wearing mossy beards with life styles of their own staring at an oil painting with a blood red bonfire caressing the wooden frame and painters brush long gone pinned to yellow pastel brick walls under the grassy roof along with the ever lingering smell of fresh fish killed less then an hour ago in the white tiled kitchen under the snowy moon of the Northern Country.

In response to hate

Snowcapped peaks eclipse
the butterscotch moon
showing me only the crescent's lip
under the celestial loom
the pale yellow light
struggles to reach me
sympathizing with my endless plight.
The moon sets me free.
Scoundrels slandering my words
Exist no longer, in my mind
Nothing in me is left unheard
trails of lines for them to find.
Because under the moon
My poems are a holy tune

Untitled

Coal spiders

cut across

my skin

Breaking the pale facade

I am

Violet blood

drips from my veins

Smashing over

the white bathroom tile

Breaking the silence

encapsulating

My pondered thoughts

 of what it means

To have a precious life

And Why I don’t

have one

Too close to Sucide

 Furiously scribbled secrets

Hold tales of Demons

In a terrible sequence

Leaving the dumbsaint speechless

Never getting drunk enough

To miss the hellish images so rough

that poems so easily discuss.

Making everyone so corrupt

But there is the moon

Stopping the bleak inhuman

From becoming my life’s tune

And filling the words with ruin

For Luna had my thoughts realigned

Breaking me from what was Intact in mind

Shattering my lifeless plea in perfect time

Saving me from an unforgivable crime

~Jonas

Haiku

As the moon shines down
I can't help but think of you
under the bright stars

Anchor

As I stare into the sky

And ponder the holes

in the inky black space

filled with stars

winking at me,

And the moon staring at me

I realize the moon is a mouth

gaping at me.

Trying to swallow me whole

But I won’t let it.

Because I have an anchor

To hold me on this terrestrial realm

Away from the moons

 powerful gaze.

Even when the moon is gone

And the sun is ablaze

I have an anchor

To keep me alive

What fun is death,

If I leave you behind?

Snow

We sat on the mountain edge

As the moon broke and fell

In blizzard pieces

on the knife back ridge

Sitting in white banks

On the baroque peak

Filling our cistern

With shards of hope 

But the next day

The Sun showed

Its scorching face

Melting the moon

And burning the mountain

Pandora’s box ruptured

Hope fluttered meekly

Away, with the ruined moon

I sit on the mountain edge

Staring at the black spot

The moon used to fill

Praying for Pure light

Once again

                                   

Lost Love

I built a cistern

Out on the secluded hills

Over looking the glistening city

Away from unnatural light

And unwanted attention.

Slowly I watched

As my pool started to fill

With Moonlight.

Nightly, the pool dabbled

Playfully in the moon’s pale radiance.

And we were drowning

In unmasked bliss

But the next day was dry

The sun beat down

Depriving the pond

Of its celestial light

Until it

Cracked.

Slowly the moonlight

Drained from

Luna’s Reservoir.

With glycerin speed,

The moonlight dried up

And so did my laughter

But I smiled anyway

Through clenched teeth

Hoping for the moon

to come home.