Hey I know I haven’t written in ages, but I have just started a long poem.

Here are the first two parts, hope you enjoy, I’m a little rusty. Thanks to all of you who have followed me so far!


There is no ribbon of thought
That I can follow to the end
That I can seek to understand
What is the moon that pulls
The tide inside of me.

Like a stormy sea I rage
And the waves pull me under
Just like that — from misty silver mirror
In a split second — disarray

The salt stings my eyes
The water engulfs my being
I fight I lose; I breathe out life
to keep out death;

The pressure is increasing
The tentacles wrap around me
My limbs are rendered useless
I want to give up — not my instinct
I give up — survival kicks in
I give up — willpower screaming
I give up…
I give




I believe that I am dead.
That I’m gone that I’m crushed
and the pain is unbearable;
make it stop, please — but
the last sliver of my being
has already left
gone with my last breath.

I sink in the stillness
The currents subdue
I float and then slowly
I’m once more aware.

The pain in my chest
is present yet dull
My eyes, now open, are able to see;
The sting has given new meaning to sight.
My nose and throat burn but I cannot complain;
I am here;
I’ll get used to the pain.




The end

When you make the end yourself
Out of thoughts and out of feelings
You have no one else to blame
For the decay of what once was

When you peel the world apart
with your very own egocentric emotions
In the end you hurt no one
but yourself and anyone
within a 50-meter radius
of the epicentre of your words.

It takes nothing but 3 words
to screw up a whole foundation
to bring down a ship afloat
To destroy an exchange between two people

And there’s only anger left.

And there’s only anger left.

And I look for anything
that might wipe away anger and regret
but there is no such thing left
in the burning aftermath.


Florence, 10/07/15


Blip blop pencil top
drums against the notebook

Tick tock clicking clock
never takes or gives a break

Pit pat raindrops splat
trickling down the window pane

Scritch scratch pencils flash
Scribbling down the page.

Silence comes silence goes
In truth silence no one knows

Human clock ticks nonstop
Marking time with sounds
Marking time with sighs
Marking time with moves
Every movement makes a sound

Time is everlasting everpresent eversounding
everknowing evergoing evergrowing never undergoing

Ever where we are
ever who we’ll be
ever what will ever live on
beyond you and me.

Florence, 28/01/2015

The Word is the Word

So, I have written about not writing! It’s probably not one of my best creations, but that is also part of the challenge of publishing my writing here…. Enjoy!

I have not written a thing in a month
The words are stuck in my jet-black ink pot
If I open the lid, they will surely run off
But I can’t find a way to loosen the top.

I have not set pen to paper in a month
I left all the grammar locked behind a door
When I, open it, I will be able too rite
But I accidentaly spelled all the grammer on the floor.

I have thought about writing, really a lot
But thoughts are not actions are not words they are — not
Anything at all but the world in your head
As far as you know, my thoughts could well be dead.

I have not created a world in a week!
Surely you see: my Puns are mocking me.
My Words have not left; my Verses do not take flight
My Metaphors ignore them, not hearing their plight.

My Words have not come to me in all of a day
I hate them; despise them! Just send them away.
I hate trying to rhyme, hate losing my time
But my efforts have sadly all run astray;
It seems they’ll just keep sending ideas my way.


Florence, 17/09/14

Dear readers…

My dear lovely readers and followers…

Once again, I thank you for your support. I have sadly not written much the past couple of months; I have been quite busy, and unfortunately, I think I might be having a bit of a writer’s block. (If i can call myself a writer, that is). I hope to work on something soon. I have started writing a fantasy novel based on a crazy and very detailed dream I had earlier this year, but never moved on from chapter two, so if I do not get some poetry out anytime soon, I might publish half a chapter here and see if people are interested, to help me figure out whether I will continue working on it or not. I do not think it would be for all audiences though.
I thank you once again, and hope all of you are doing wonderfully!


Glass Walls




The way
Far far far

Why does nothing
feel so hard
As it’s meant to be?
Why are all things
Not quite here
As my eyes can see?

All things going down.
Away away away
Far into the dawn.

Invisible walls
Glass-thick air
Touches barely
Skim the surface
Of what lies deep down

Let the ground
The throes of night
pull you in
pull you down
to the place where
barriers will fall

Where the glass is just a lie
High upon the clouds
Of mist inside your mind.

It’s only but a lie.


Florence, 03/05/14

New-generation Hippie

I usually don’t write any social criticism, but the attitude of many of this generation’s youth has annoyed me and inspired me to write this…. Enjoy!

Share the love
Nature rocks
The new-generation hippie talks.

Money’s nothing
Life’s got no aim
It’s the new-generation hippie claim.

Of these the hippie nothing knows.

Build with grass
Recycle wood
Hippie does as hippie should.

Yet when it comes
To daily life
And not just abstract ideas and thoughts
Show, not talk:
The new-generation hippie balks:

Lights turned on under the sun
Energy flowing whole day long
Organic; free range; the price is high
This Trivial Money cannot buy
Food flows down the rubbish chute
But that doesn’t matter if you look good:
Right clothes, right smiles, right façade
It’s the modern-day hippie passing by.

Spread the love
A smile a day
I only do anything
My way
Nature’s great
On a walk
The new-generation hippie mocks.


Florence, 12/05-14