Aftnen er stille, 
timerne trille
lydløse ned i det evige væld.
Kun mine tanker
lyttende vanker...
vil hun ej komme i kvæll?

Vinteren drømmer, 
stjærnene svømmer
gjænnom dens florlette syner og ler, 
nævnende sommer, 
ælskov og blommer...
tør hun ej møte mig mer?

Havet med pannen
islagt mot stranden
sukker i længsel reise-syk ro. 
Skibe for anker,
Sejl-fyllte tanker...
å, vi må finnes, vi to. 

Sneen har dalet, 
tumlet og malet
eventyr-let i den skogdunkle hej;
dyrene lister, 
slagskygger frister...
var det dit fottrin? - o, nej!

Motet du savner
rimfrosten favner 
længselens grene, fortryllet du står. 
Men jeg tør sprænge
dækket og trænge
in hvor i drømme du går.

Tatt fra Bjørnson, Bjørnstjerne, 'Digte og Sange: Et utvalg', Oslo, Gyldendalske Bokhandel, 1925

Stævnemøtet - Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson.WAV

Where does one begin?
With a feeling or a thought?
With the last fact that slipped the mind
or the first image that still lingers?
With oneself or the chair or the floor or the street or the door you first opened?
With the song, with the talk, with the cry, with the scream, with the laughter in between?
With the stares, with the glares, with the daring, with the swearing, with the lies?
With the truth best concealed,
with the deceit of the weak, 
with the desire of this week’s
first morning?

Who is this one?
That day in 1992, perhaps.
With scrubs
surrounding cubs
screaming air
fresh and fair.
Or maybe the skin cells
that dwell
in the dust of the room
where lost prospects gloom
when illusions stripped
and realities flipped
and led a coup
of the state
of the mind

Biography - Anna Rømcke Høiseth

This is a poem inspired by Damien Rice's song 'Coconut Skins': https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vKld_QNKH_U
I just thought the line "Time is contagious" was so rich that it deserved a poem of its own. 

Time is contagious
it seeps, it weeps, it streaks
well on the ages
to come for some
it numbs
It infects all there is
all breath
all cough 
all scoff
the gifts of time

Time Is Contagious - Anna Rømcke Høiseth

I feel like

Rainfall in Buritaca, a Colombian village on the Caribbean coast.

Rainfall, Colombia

Waves Crashing, Colombia

The track is really only 15 seconds or so, but I've repeated it a few times so there's more time to listen to this abundance of sounds.

Night, Colombia

Poetry aloud. My own and others'. In English and Norwegian. 
Also recordings of nature and people. The poetry of the world.

(w)ord(s)