I have written a little small tiny poems.
Instructions : Make yourself some tea,
have some chocolate biscuits and sits down on your cosy couch,
turn the lights of and start reading…
A bench by a tree,
Like the front row of a concert.
The concerto begins.
Light winds set the beat,
Leaves swinging from side to side.
Then the old tree trunk begins to crack,
Chanting birds bring in
The sweet offbeat melody,
Like strident strings softly untuned.
The birds fly away
And your standing ovation
Sounds like the crowd applauding
As the gravel rubs under your feet.

The Seven Ages of Man from Løuise Dautheribes McKerl on Vimeo.

Teardrops filled with memories from Løuise Dautheribes McKerl on Vimeo.


She taps her head for inspiration
But the words refuse to show
Absent of all definition
They are like a wind with no blow

I dreamed the sky was orange,
Its bright light blinded our eyes.
I wake up to a white sky,
Like clean paper above my head.
I look up to see my reflection,
Look down to see my shadow
– staring up at me.
It doesn’t smile nor wink.
No expression whatsoever .
My feet start to sink,
My shadow is eating me alive
In the darkness I go
Hoping for a window.


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