BOXES
I like boxes, you can put
whatever you
like into them.
Your passport or grains of sand.
Jewelry or the ashes
of someone you love.
I know of a few things that are
too big to fit
into a box.
A mountain, a whale. A country,
a ship. A nuclear
bomb. Nerve gas.
Nerve gas isn’t that big, not really,
but it feels that
big. Bigger, even.
If I were a country, I’d hope that
someone built me
a box that was
big enough to hide me, and buried
so deep that I could
survive a nuclear war.
If I were a whale, I’d probably not
want to survive
a nuclear war.
If I were grains of sand, I’d lie down
by the sea and
sleep through it all.
whatever you
like into them.
Your passport or grains of sand.
Jewelry or the ashes
of someone you love.
I know of a few things that are
too big to fit
into a box.
A mountain, a whale. A country,
a ship. A nuclear
bomb. Nerve gas.
Nerve gas isn’t that big, not really,
but it feels that
big. Bigger, even.
If I were a country, I’d hope that
someone built me
a box that was
big enough to hide me, and buried
so deep that I could
survive a nuclear war.
If I were a whale, I’d probably not
want to survive
a nuclear war.
If I were grains of sand, I’d lie down
by the sea and
sleep through it all.
COMMUNICATIONS
Today I walked past the Mountain of
Lost Phone Calls on my way home.
Ringtones begged me to kill them,
I played deaf and acted like nothing.
My grandfather’s brother was not afraid
when he saw dead people in the streets.
Electro-magnetic imprints of the dead,
he, the telegraphist, explained to us.
Her phone was put under surveillance,
the policeman said at the press conference.
But they were unable to pinpoint her
exact location in time for the solar eclipse.
I throw a smartphone at the TV screen.
It’s accidental, but it doesn’t feel that way.
The singing comet crosses a danger zone
and collides into an unregistered planet.
Lost Phone Calls on my way home.
Ringtones begged me to kill them,
I played deaf and acted like nothing.
My grandfather’s brother was not afraid
when he saw dead people in the streets.
Electro-magnetic imprints of the dead,
he, the telegraphist, explained to us.
Her phone was put under surveillance,
the policeman said at the press conference.
But they were unable to pinpoint her
exact location in time for the solar eclipse.
I throw a smartphone at the TV screen.
It’s accidental, but it doesn’t feel that way.
The singing comet crosses a danger zone
and collides into an unregistered planet.
SHELF
She would rather have picked her memories
from the top shelf, but
the top shelf is missing.
She searches the flat, she roots around
in the basement, but
the shelf is not found.
I will build a new top shelf, she thinks
to herself, but she
does not build one.
She would rather be the snow than
the glacier.
from the top shelf, but
the top shelf is missing.
She searches the flat, she roots around
in the basement, but
the shelf is not found.
I will build a new top shelf, she thinks
to herself, but she
does not build one.
She would rather be the snow than
the glacier.
Gisle Skeie lives in Oslo, Norway. He is working in a church-initiated NGO concerned with international Human Rights issues and is editor of the magazine. His poems have been published in Norwegian magazines and his song lyrics (both English and Norwegian) for different artists have been recorded/published as well as broadcasted (in Norway).
