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Mik Fjeld Poem
Child, child
Listen to me
Where the wolves were about
Near the screeching a wild hog’s snout
Never enter the arch where the vultures scout
For the darkest of tales come true in the woods
Of a devil; a demon drinking unicorn blood
Child, child
Listen to me
Where the flowers do not sprout
And voices scream and shout
Never enter the arch where the rats go about
For the darkest of tales come true in the woods
Of a trader; a killer drawing first drops of blood
Child, child
Listen to me
Where the dead trees leer
And the people disappear
Never enter the arch where the gargoyles cheer
For the darkest of tales come true in the woods
Of a body; a corpse rotting for good
Child, child
This is a message from me
Here where the wolves were about
Near the screeching a wild hog’s snout
Where the flowers do not sprout
And voices scream and shout
Where the dead trees leer
And the people disappear
A devil; a demon
A trader; a killer
A body; a corpse
For the darkest of tales come true, yes, lots
Never enter the arch where my dead body rots
Copyright © Mik Fjeld | Year Posted 2016
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Mik Fjeld Poem
The leaves flutter down
Down to the fall floral ground
Winter Wind is here
Small little pirates
Stealing acorns for themselves
Scarce Food knocks loudly
Better bundle up
But come Spring soon, yes, she will
And flower again
Copyright © Mik Fjeld | Year Posted 2015
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Mik Fjeld Poem
A short, old women entered
my shop and asked for indigo
candles. I did have indigo
candles, but there had only been
three left, and I had reserved
them for my wife’s birthday.
The woman said, “I understand
what you mean, and I hope you
live a long, happy marriage; I will
take four bishop candles instead
for your sake. I’m sure indigo is
her favourite.” I smiled at her,
exchanged her money for the
bishop candles, and she was
on her way. Then, I wondered if my
wife actually fancied indigo candles.
Copyright © Mik Fjeld | Year Posted 2016
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Mik Fjeld Poem
Sticks
Twigs
Breaking
In the wind
Leaves
Rustle
Blow
Without showing
Passing
Away
Recurring
No one
Ever
Knowing
Copyright © Mik Fjeld | Year Posted 2015
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Mik Fjeld Poem
Red dwelling, blue exhaust
White fire of conscience
Patriotic departure
In a home of isolation
See the banner
And know we live
The only mass of allegiance
The ones who take free
The only affirmers
Of the American way
All else does not take
After the wants of the founders
Beautiful country
To wretched cover
What’s the citizen
Done to this land?
The dear departed
Has left breath decisively
Now no one will love
In the American pride path
We must bring back the patriotism
Because all here has gone
The American way cannot perish
Under the rubble of execrable
America is broken
And needs a fixing
By the hands of
All of the devotees
Stand for the way of good
And the path of leeway
The home of rein,
And the home of the brave
Copyright © Mik Fjeld | Year Posted 2016
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Mik Fjeld Poem
The boy said he had
come for some sausage
for his mother’s stew.
What fine sausage for
simply a stew that could
be hunted rabbit meat!
“How old are you, young man?
Do you not have any parents
to guide you? Are your brothers
and sisters alone, as well?
You do not have any peoples
among you. How come you
are so alone? Do you know what
you are doing out here?
May I help you home?”
But the little boy said that he
grew tired of my questions, so
he left me alone, and I had
started to wonder who the
questions were really for.
Copyright © Mik Fjeld | Year Posted 2015
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Mik Fjeld Poem
A young girl had stopped
in my shop earlier, asking for
some bread pudding and cakes.
I told her that I did not have cakes,
and she simply refused to talk to me.
I offered her rice swells for half price
instead, but she threw a fit and walked
out the door, threatening to break my
windows, and I cursed at her.
She hissed back through the glass
windows and pounded one with her fist,
but not enough to break it, still assuring
me that she would, one day, break my
windows, by the braided ribbon in her hair.
Copyright © Mik Fjeld | Year Posted 2016
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Mik Fjeld Poem
The sun brushes my face
And cleanses it of all unrighteous shadows
The sin of all that darkened my past
Shall not touch another soul again
As long as they believe
That only He cleanses sin
Copyright © Mik Fjeld | Year Posted 2016
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