Long Norwegian Poems
Long Norwegian Poems. Below are the most popular long Norwegian by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Norwegian poems by poem length and keyword.
A folktale
There is a small country sharing part of its border
to a giant country, both have been friends for
over 300 years during world war two they came
helped the small country to get rid of the enemy.
Then propaganda articles appeared in many papers
how bad the government in the big country was,
(Let us make it easy the small country we can call
Norway and big the country Russia) the Norwegian
took no notice, they visited Russia often to buy
vodka, cigarettes and other items that are expensive
in their little country; and some travelled to Moskva
which has a rich cultural heritage.
Then the Americans/NATO held a proxy war and
the American soldiers and tanks got in the way
of tour buses, needless to say, the soldiers were
confused that the people from the tiny country
we’re not afraid of the big bear this because of the
US combatants were victims of lying propaganda.
Well, the military nonsense ended their proxy war
the Norwegian continued to travel to Russia to do
their shopping and as always they were welcomed
and no one mentioned the silly manoeuvres by
the misguided military personnel were playing in the snow.
We had just got married - was the month of June
This is the saga of our disastrous honeymoon
We started off in a hotel in Norwich
The bedding was itchy just like doing ‘porridge’
Back home to Birmingham to get ready for our cruise
To the Norwegian Fjords - stunning scenery to peruse
I had already started to get a horrid cold
My sneezing was totally uncontrolled
We arrived in Norway and I was feeling ill
The fjords were smooth no need for sea sickness pill
I started to brighten as we began the cruise
Hubby and me together we had nothing to loose
Enjoying the scenery and the fresh cold air
Watching the waterfalls oh how we did stare
We arrived at the first hotel and got ready for the night
We were on honeymoon and wanted everything right
Climbing the stairs to our hotel room
Separate beds – you could sense the doom
Well we got over that hurdle… details I won’t discus!
But when we saw the tour guide oh how we did cuss
Next day we got onto our honeymoon boat
Enjoying the experience whilst we were afloat
On to another hotel as part of the tour
Separate beds yet again – oh what a bore!
Every hotel we stayed at we had separate beds
Hardly ideal scenario for a pair of newly weds!
Finally it was time for us to go our journey back home
One more meal at the hotel – oh how time had flown
Disaster struck – it could only happen to me
I got food poisoning I was as sick as a flea
Firing from both ends it was absolute hell
My honeymoon disaster – oh I remember it well!
A pretty accurate description of our honeymoon in June 1991…
but despite everything that went wrong we are still together!
04~24~15
Contest: Memorable Vacation – Shadow Hamilton
~awarded 2nd place~
less than half a dozen hours
remain here in Lake Woebegone,
an idyllic enclave, where legal tender,
liquid assets, minted monies
by the metric ton
loot, et cetera replaced
with sharing home good humor spun
prevarication, or a pun
where this Norwegian bachelor farmer,
now sets timer counting down to the one
hundred and fifth International Women's Day,
hence dada's taxi service necessitated
(asper my own volition) none
forsaking a substantial block of time
to ferry (via 2009 Hyundai Sonata)
thine eldest (of deux
darling damsels doggedly, diligently,
and definitively) whose maternal hue
ma in instincts (staking out
vocational, interpersonal, Jew
dish hiss lee courting biological objectives
Since matriculating
At University Of Pennsylvania
she seriously eyed
the engineering curriculum,
and as an inherent
high achieving civilian, this rugged
cerebral terra firmae terrain
emitting a signal calling she knew
tubby meant foe her, thus this proud papa his new
wish availing self less father summoned,
pressed, and mustered joyriding
glommed within mental motor queue
thus despite experiencing a minor panic attack
(with nausea more pronounced than usual), aye
did not want Eden (her first name)
to feel disgruntled toward pop (hood rather die)
as opposed to slacking off where fatherhood
concerned strove to be a beneficial guy
especially before the stroke of midnight
will usher well nigh
till next year long overdue attention,
now bequeathed during these twenty four hours
when non gun shy
textile women (shunted subaltern
second class workers)
in New York (circa 1907),
but said event opened to dispute,
but less in doubt
historical records indicate
1914 International Women's Day held on March 8
since then continued along
a linkedin chain in case you wondered why.
If I could be a raft
I would gladly rescue you
If I could be a branch
I would float as close to you as I could
so that you could grab a hold of my buoyancy
If I were a rainbow I would shine
just so you
would feel hope
If I were a sparrow
I would lite upon the branch near
your window
If I were a Sunbeam
how I would shine down on you
If I were steel
I would be the girder of your house
to make it strong
I would be the walkway that never bends
and shows you exactly the way to go
and what to do
But if I ever was a pathway
I would always bend
If I could speak in a thousand tongues
I would speak to you in Latin
and French
and German
and Norwegian
speaking love in a thousand voices
And I would write
and sing songs
that no one has ever heard before
just to thrill you
If I could do anything
I would be something strange
but I guess I am
I would move waters to always be kind
and remind rivers to stay within their banks
and winds to always blow gently
I would kiss all of the toddlers
and rescue all of the children who are so hurt
I would reach my hand out to hold the hand
of everyone who's lonely
If only I could do anything I wanted to...
I would kiss you
but I can't
So I will dance in the rain that falls gently on my hill and be grateful
I cannot move mountains and I cannot quiet seas
But I can be grateful ...for all the beauty I see
I'm looking into a mirror at the age in my eyes
And the lines on a battle scarred face
Wondering where it all went
Children have grown and time has taken its toll
But the dreams never die and I feel a joy in knowing
That while death is a worthy adversary and will win in the end
Some have never lived
It doesn't seem so distant that a cowboy walked down the street
Plastic handles on the pistols
A back in the saddle again mindset
And dreams of heroic maiden saving feats
Dominated the thoughts of a little boy
While the ocean called his name and new passions arose
Oh the maidens! A pirate at times
But laughter and good times were ongoing
Never really facing the inevitable fate of one's own mortality
And life was to be led for the moment
A walk down the streets of Cobh
A smile from a young woman in Stavanger
Bracing for cold in the air in Vaernes
But sweltering in the warmth of the Norwegian people
GOD Would I do it again
From Christmas in Barcelona to a late spring adventure
In the back room of a bar on the French Riviera
You can take all that I acquired but leave my memories
Of that Sunday in Edinburgh and the castle in Patras
The arms of a dark haired beauty in Athens
And the grace of her charms in Genoa
In review I felt the joys and sorrows
Triumphs and defeats
Happiness and anguish but without regret
Should we choose anew I would return
Until the time approached again
For review.
Wordsmith
When writing, shall we dare call it poetry
I, because of my lack of academic learning
cannot seek inspiration in the classics,
except for the god Sisyphus, who
I find it funny, realising I am laughing at myself.
The lacuna between me and poetry, I have
tried to fill with words, one day I can build
a park for lovers,
At my relatively old age, which is no more
Then, a blinking star, I have read hundreds
of books that have been stuck in my mind.
A few writers' names are remembered,
most of the American writers, sprinkled
by Norwegian and Russian authors.
When writing, I draw from this well
What I need to cobble together the wisdom
which is everlasting, because I'm bringing
forward what has been said before me.
Cuz while ya steel got
moxie, don't nix chance if only a dot
before death finds
flesh rotting alot.
A self-actualized fringe benefit
as I racked up
orbitz round sun -
with increased measured,
(albeit neglected) ragged, and
shot thru tattered (turn shroud) -
regarding chronological yardage
brought to my dimming wattage -
sputtering third eye blind, sans
hindsight surveying extensive
emotionally frenzied groveling with
a lifetime penitential wreckage,
whence urgent critical (update)
foisted upon formerly entrenched
hermetically sealed voyage -
sequestered self wrought fallout,
viz long stretches of
time irretrievably gone with the wind
found me averse toward
commingling with village -
peopled within sin king
precincts of Lake Woebegone
joyus kneaded livingsocial
natives, now visa
vis (nee this past
and present atheist)
discovered the healing power
of powder milk biscuits,
when accommodated within Norwegian
bachelor farmer vicarage),
qua pained obligation now
imposed kickstarted mandate
to pay dying wage
clearly written along,
the sub weighted psyche walls
(over time) easily read
across my wrinkled visage,
where former cumulative
years of existence
pitched yours truly
figuratively teetering upon
precipice of abyss gave vantage
written in telltale creases
countenance spelling umbrage,
against me - asper tonnage
schlepping psychological Matthew
Scott Harris "baggage,"
wrought from decades
worth of uncultivated tillage
cuz n'er did I gather rosebuds...
during prime mortal teenage
stretch, thus present
day agonizing suffrage
yawning chasm miserably houses
bleak (Dickensian) testimony,
sans recovered anorexic
(NO...NOT... NEVER
bulimic), but feebly
endured desultory stage
punctuated quasi (moat)
towed riddled rattle trap ship
of state into deadly scrimmage
defies propped up
moxie succombing unrelenting
weathering, unforgiving savage
nasty, brutal and short sabotage,
wherein futile - short
changed growh opportunities
forfeited developmental stage
opportunities introverted
vehemence doth rage.
Spawning
The children, in the street near the factories, looked unfriendly
avoid them, and my brother said their mothers where whores
spawning Nazis during the war.
Their mothers had haircuts at the police station, bald as eggs
serves them right they and their children should be
sent back to Germany.
The street, also ours, was typically working-class no gardens
no colour anywhere like living in a maze of greyness and damp.
My brother had his knowledge from listening to the adults,
men who had done nothing under the Nazi occupation except
trading with the enemy for cigarettes and booze and using
their wives as bait.
Now they were heroes pulling the headdress of the unlucky
calling them whores, but like so many things that too ended.
Hair grows back beautiful women in the street, and the Norwegian
are blessed with short memories.
In Paramaribo
I met a girl, half Indian and beautiful
there was a big church and a castle
to defend Dutch interest
A hot and swampy place, which I liked
coming from Norway, a cold country
with a poor working- class who sent
their sons to join the merchant marine
The housing estate in Paramaribo
consisted, mostly of shacks, among
romantic palms
Had I married the girl and settled
I would have been a beneficiary of
the promised oil wealth
As it is, as a Norwegian, I get a pension
so mean, I have to live in Portugal
because the rulers put the wealth in
sovereign fund for a future that
appears to be at the threshold of a war
New year's day 2021
Disinclination regarding tradition
to make resolutions stance
adopted courtesy yours truly.
Though such proclamation
may smack of high treason
no matter convenience to season
and ideal time to leaven existence,
I discern no rhyme nor reason
to make a promise unable to keep
whereby only disappointment I reap
inducing tears whether awake or asleep,
thus Matthew Scott Harris utters nary a peep.
as he doth vigilantly creep
along the information superhighway
hooping to sow (sew) what he didst reap
re:pair so I can strut (wool ewe bull eve)
like a Mummer wannabe counting sheep
while he does sleep.
E'er since Pope Gregory XIII effectively
(furnished, generated, and
instituted his holy mojo)
introducing Gregorian calendar
approximately four hundred
thirty nine years ago
chroniclers of time - mostly
religious Norwegian farming bachelors
casually referred to brethren as bro
ejaculated (sometimes premature) invocations,
which echoed across
Lake Wobegon, said incantations
devout followers among populace
did likewise parrot and crow
generation after generation
whereupon enigmatic, dogmatic, charismatic
monk native to Burma
stoked one after another ego
artificial construct did ebb and flow
amazingly enough maintaining accuracy
with marginal probability of error
precision parsing seconds, minutes, hours...
would only tolerate absolute zero
variation regarding prediction
of weeks, months, years...
as sophistication of civilization did grow
allowing, enabling, and providing
jolly fellow bellowing ho... ho... ho
could make his round the world wide web
timely trek linkedin with timepiece
assembled with B Corporation approval.
certification of "social and
environmental performance"
a private certification of for-profit companies,
distinct from legal designation
as Benefit corporation.
The above plug an unsolicited commentary
regarding San Francisco, California
based eco friendly and socially conscious company
and recent employer of eldest daughter,
an engineering University of Pennsylvania alumna.