Cat Poetry: A Kitten Sonnet

The little kitten pokes the mitten with its paw,

the threads in the wool reminds kitty of `nother toy;

a ball of yarn, which also easily hooks the claw,

and awakens within kitty: instinct and joy.

In a moment of sharp-edged innocent desire;

a thread of wool in the claws of a little kitten.

A serious play, this is. For the mitten, `tis fire,

it is like kitty is of a higher power smitten.

The power of mother Nature

teaches kitty the laws of the cat.

Every mitten comes from an act of filature,

every kitten is a lion, and that is the end of that.

So when your kitten chases mitten on the floor,

enjoy the sight of nature`s why and wherefore.


Garden of Trauma/Traumehagen


I know all the plants

living and growing

in my Garden of Trauma.

Flowers beautiful,

thorns sharp,

and I can handle the sight of blood.

Wandering in the Garden of Trauma,

I collect knowledge about the plants that grow here.

Their poison, their medicine.

Like sharp-tailed scorpions

they poke holes

in any new or old boil.

The rotting and the sprouting.

Tombstones covered in moss

and framed by wild bushes.

It sleeps and grows in restless symbiosis.



Jeg kjenner til alle de vekster

som bor og gror

i mn Traumehage.

Blomster vakre,

torner skarpe,

og jeg tåler å se blod.

Vandrende i Traumehagen,

samler jeg kunnskap om vekstene som gror her.

Deres gifter, deres medisin.

Som skorpioner med skarpe haler

stikker de hull

på enhver ny eller gammel byll.

Det råtne og det spirende.

Mosegrodde gravstener

omgitt av ville buskas.

Det sover og gror i en hvileløs symbiose.