Sheer Egoism at Ramasola Who else would not love his own image? Even the crude Narcissius loved himself in a pool of water. We feed and worship our image from the crude shadows in the still waters to the bright reflections of the silver mirrors and to the wise manipulations over the lenses of the camera men and women. We pose and change suits giggle at the transfer of life into the shiny papers and borrowed colours tailor our dead sizes, enlarge these still pictures in frames and hang them on walls. We pay the high cost of joy of our tailored image stamped on papers and tucked on wood kissed by glasses and adhesives. And never will the price alter the rising and ebbing tide of the ego`s worship to our own human form. (taken from my first book of poems, " A Pulse for my Country People", p. 51)

Let Us Build Bridges Let us build bridges           the bridge of tolerance               the bridge of acceptance                  the bridge of understanding                        the bridge of hope                             the bridge of love. Let us walk on these bridges    knowing the pain and  toil               in conceiving  them       remembering the endless hours                 and years in hammering them       guarding  the threats posed                    for their own destruction.                 Let us walk on these bridges         convinced that on these bridges we          lay down our weapons for  peace.

A Whisper To Despair Don`t stifle your creativity by anyone`s indifference and coldness Let nothing extinquish your spirit that which values you as a person which surrounds you with love- that which comes from God. Channel your creative energy into something productive. You are not called to die but called to live- to affirm and uphold life Be strong in the Lord. Elizabeth P. Olesen (1987)

The Unloved Poems? Songs? All are locked up inside. Words? Melodies? They can`t be read. They can`t be heard. Empty! Silent! Hammered by a steel iron!

Attempt at writing Haiku poems 
   Elizabeth Padillo Olesen

                 1

Golden leaves at fall
kiss the ground
to celebrate the joy
in union with mankind.

                       2

Bamboos at night swing
with the winds as if a mother
is there putting her beloved
to sleep by a sweet lullaby.

                       3

The waves of the sea
splash to the shore
the message is reached
the seas and shores are one.

                      4

Have you seen this tulip flower
bursting from the ground?
Why is there life when given
the chance to blossom? 

                       4

Snow covers the ground
They cover the grasses
they are white and they melt
when the sun shines.

                          5

Red rose, red rose
I see your smiles in your red petals
I see you have robust heart
seen through  your thorns.

                          6

I feed the ducks today
in the lake in a park
I do it so often and I am glad
to see the ducks coming up to me.
         7

A droplet of rain
kisses my skin
A droplet of rain
wakes up my senses
I am not alone
under the blanket of heaven. (24)

    8

Cotton candy clouds
paint the sky
They look down and smile
at the barren heart of mine. (17)

    9
Here comes autumn
making the leaves
golden in colour.
Autumn comes
Autumn goes
Our life is leaves in autumn. (19)


   10

Is there beauty in tornado
that swirls and swirls around
finding its victims
to scream in fright?  (17)

  11

Tell me about the volcano
Why its heart is filled with flame and fire?
Why saliva from its mouth
spreads chaos and fear all around?  (25)

 12

My cat seeks friendship in my touch
She says "meow"
and licks her body,
a godly gesture of hospitality.    (18 words)

(7-12, written September 22, 2008)

I see him often along the street
of Kolding Station
A black man with his curly hair
that seems not to have been  washed in years
A man with no smile on his face
A man with a bottle of beer
on his lips
and a lighted cigarett between
his finger tips.

What is he doing
along the open road
while others are hurrying
to their place of work?
Why is he having much time to spare
while others claim they
don`t have time and full of stress?

What is he doing along the open road
while others would rather hide
in the comforts of their gold?

What is this lost man doing in an open road,
when he stands without a name,
a story to tell, honour and shame?  

(still to be worked on. written on the bus, seeing the same man on the street of Kolding,  October 1, 2008)

The Homeless Woman in Kolding  

She is there everyday
a woman in her fifties
a woman on tattered pants
and thin blouse
a woman I have feared
if ever she can survive
the  cold winter.  

Here is this woman
at the Kolding Station
at a station, that is  reaping its importance
by tourist buses that come by-
a station showing its elegance
by the creation of the modern library in town,
a  town, meeting the challenges in our time. 

Here is this woman
at the Kolding Station 
carrying her plastic bags-
the only treasure she has-
plastic bags she carries along
as she moves
from one corner  to  the other,
from one bench to the other
as she seeks to find a place
to sleep in a sitting position.  
 

Here is this woman at the Kolding Station
where people come and go
where human voices and echoes  of machines
mingle in the ears of passengers.
where time is both long and short
for those who wait and those who leave.

And in the midst of these
here is this homeless woman
with her plastic bags
and only herself she can talk with.  

EP, October 2, 2008 

To be further revised.

Earthquake in Central Italy

(L`Aquila, April 6, 2009)

 

The earth- crust collides

The ground shakes

And those who sleep

awake with fright.

 

The earth opens her mouth

The buildings collapse

And those who are not

lucky enough are swallowed,

hidden and  buried alive.

 

Who can predict nature

when it unleashes its

fury over humanity?

 

Fragile men and women are we

in absolute dependence

on God’s mercy!

 

Elizabeth Padillo Olesen

April 2009

The Cold Hands of Loneliness

 

Asking but without being heard

Asking but without being answered

Asking but without being looked at in the eyes.

 

Silence and food is not shared on the same table

Silence and the sounds are the loud tunes in TV programs.

Silence and the door is slammed without saying goodbye

 

Gasping and the daily chores roll on

Gasping and the days repeat in great monotone

Gasping, feeling left all alone in the cold corner in town.

 

November 24, 2009