A Poem A Day

Three years ago I started a little project named a Poem a Day and wrote diligently for… oh a while. Reading back, I realized I do love the thought of this and I liked some of what I conjured up so hereby the poem a day is back on track!

As for comments, critiques, anything you feel like sharing: have at it! I love feedback and I love knowing you were here, so if it’s only a greeting, do comment. It makes my week, I’m tellin’ you!

Now, this post wouldn’t be much of an announcement without a little something something to go with it, so here’s the first 2013 Poem a Day.




With every breath

and every drawn line,

I frame our world with

rushed mornings and

quiet evenings.



She expected the world to turn upside down, at least tilt. She expected flowers to wilt and trees to shed their leaves. She expected time to halt, air to freeze, people to notice. She expected impact. Change.

Day 1.

She waited for the tears, the agony. She waited for the heartbreaking memories and the deep sense of emptiness. She waited for life to crash down on her.

Day 100.

And so,
under this curtain of
unbroken white and filtered blue,
I find, in
the corner of my eye,
an image or a shadow.
And I feel both relief
and another wash of sorrow.
We need to part ways
yet again.

Day 1000.

And so,
the curtain of white is
finally letting some light through, and
thinking of you doesn’t hurt
(as bad).
Your smile lingers
and reminds me of
how beautiful you were.
We don’t part ways anymore.

Wish I Could Get Lost

Dawn breaks,
white mist hides the
familiar shapes of houses, trees, mountains.

Kid awakes,
the air is damp and
chilly as I drop’em off to daycare for a while.

I crawl back into bed and
convince myself I have nothing better to do
but be comfortably hidden under sheets and covers.

For a couple of hours I’ll not be here, I’ll have no voice, no presence.

I’ll greet the day at noon.

My phone rings and I
can’t sleep with it screaming for me
like a desperate reminder of my whole life of responsibilities.

I guess I’ll be here after all.


Here´s a little story for a contest over at Writer´s Round-About. Hey, If you don´t try you never succeed, and the prizes are yummy :)


The door was open. Light streamed into the room like a waterfall, or so it looked from the sideways-on-bed, head-hanging-off-edge position I woke up in. I pulled myself up, cringed as my neck protested loudly with a crack and pain, and sighed heavily. There was noise in the kitchen. There were people in my house. There were kids in my house. The tiny kind, with diapers and sticky little hands and headache-building whining. Why were my sisters here, and why… Crap.

Suddenly the door wasn´t as much open as filled with faces. Horribly, uncomfortably happy and excited faces.

Happy birthday Lily! They announced like it was the best thing ever. Crap.

Crap crap crap. (How old am I again?)

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(a Poem a Day) -góðan dag-

í þvottavél á bak við hurð
nógu nálægt til að
radda niðinn í hnakkanum á mér.
Herðar stífar,
hugurinn ekki kominn á fætur þótt
fæturnir séu það.
Danskt barnaefni.
Mjólkurblautar litlar hendur og
glaðvakandi ungi.
Mjólkurpollar á borðinu.
Góðan dag.