Month: October 2014 (Page 1 of 3)

I’m the cursor blinking at the end of a half sen

tence, waiting on the writer to finish

So I can begin on a new page

I’m captured

Between two bricks

I can’t move, will someone find me and set me free?

Two walls clash

Creating a sharp corner

Which sucks me in

I can’t breathe

A wind touches my neck,

Whispering

I try to listen

To the silence, which speaks a language, I can’t understand

I turn around

The TV is running

The children play catch

The silence stands beside me

Observing with me

A mute voice tells me to

Wait

Live

I sit down at the dinner table

My children come now

Let me explain why poetry has become a part of my blogging journey.  Before you throw down your head on your pillow, I invite you to travel with me to the year

1999

High school was not what I expected. Quickly, I realized I was different from everyone else. There was no room for me. I was alone, and there was no place where I could be myself, no seat for Mariane.
One day when I wrote notes in a notebook, my eyes stumbled across a peculiar instrument lying in the corner. It was a small brown harp, which was called a lyre. I picked up the lyre, and when it touched my paper, a new language was born – lyric poetry. Inside the words of this language, I found a room for my feelings and thoughts, I found a room for me. The notebook and lyre always had time for me, they listened to me, comforted me, and allowed me to be myself.

When I graduated from high school, it was time for grown-up decisions. Where should I live, what should become of me? My things were put in boxes, along with the notebook and lyre that went into oblivion. I tried to find a place where I could be myself. I lived in Norway, Copenhagen and other towns in Denmark. I had different jobs and I tried to find my calling. Something was missing.

After years of unemployment, I began writing again. I bought new notebooks, but I had no lyre.

Thousands of job applications later, my Unemployment Fund told me I did not do enough. I was not good enough. After I received this message, I could not find a room for me. I was getting lost in my own home! I couldn’t find myself, but my bed was still there. I threw myself on my bed and pounded my fist in a pillow until I sensed something hard. I had beat my pillow so hard that it had got a hole. I was about to drop the pillow when I discovered an instrument inside the pillow, it was my old friend, the lyre.

Thus, this blog will consist of blog posts and Pillow Poetry.