FLOODS IN MY EYES

Glacier collapse
at the top of the world
in heavenly hights

Floods below

Floods
(words can not tell)

Floods in our iphones
Splashing into our faces
Floods in my eyes

************

Some intellectual ones said
that Irak-war did not happen

I think this provocation referred to us,
western people

In our livingroom on telly
war was experienced as action movie
        for us it never was disturbing and
        hurting reality, but merely... ...

Now this random rawmaterial on floods
it is shocking to wach
its easier to whipe the finger

But these floods must hit our face
        In best case our bodies can feel some
        symphatetic ghostshivers as we see
        individuals runing for their lives and
        been washed away ...and the heart breaking

        saving eforts... ...

We are connected
the distance gives us a chance to think,
obligates us to see the bigger picture, 

analyze causalities,
and act

I cherish an utopia
beyond nations, nationalities, national states 

we should recognice our selves as
one humankind living
one home planet...

This kind of consiousness could arise at the times of internet

...finding pleasure and inspiration from acts of planets sustainability

Pax Romana
a very inspirational stage of history - it really did happen - two hunred years without war - and the world flourished

Pax Mundus 2050 -
medalis virtus:

pro patria
pro futurum globus terrae
pro omnia humanitas

in memoriam Nepali 

        I'll live to see that

BUTTERFLY EFFECT 

Remember snowflake?

        on the sleeve of your coat

        on the back of your hand
wind blew it away, it melted down

...a moment, a fact, time, recollection, oblivion...

a research experience, ethnographic poetry
        poems memory
        echo of the poem
ethnological butterfly wingstroke

-------------
Ethnographic poetry is part of movement that struggles to find alternative ways of communicating ethnological knowledge. I suggest that a poem is worth trying to get some kind of a viral touche's - a hit of a verbal blade or a sword of words - in now-a-days media surroundings. This poem was first published at this blog in finnish 2017.

OUTDATED GARDENERS BOOK

Snowdrops have flowered
now allready a while

as March in Finland
was warmest ever measured

Snowdrops blossom

      earlier
      and earlier

            even through the snow

Lumikello, we call them here 
...a Snowbell

April half a way

bloomings ringing around us
as mild wind goes

bell of the times
toll, toll, toll

A short new handnote
in an outdated gardeners book

------------------

We still have night frosts but it has been snowless since the end of february. 

DISTANCES

rollin slowly on fresh fallen snow,
tyres moun out loud

          journey's on (-23°C)

Landscape breathless and still
reminder of eternity - evighet 

tiny water bird dips
at Ferry dock open

          ...to the other side, we glide

          Isle beyond medieval Borgå, Pellinge 
          Avalon, the Island of Apples

Funeral

breth's steam
snow cries
birches shine

graves
...parents
... ...brothers
a new commer joins the crowd

children
cousins
elderly

brought together,
by death of a one

          skydd i hembygdsgård: 

               vem kan ro utan åror, 

               vem kan segla för utan wind 

                         ...fri anda på sjös kan

                                 segelkälke på öppet is där ute

floating conversaly...
unity reborn
          in hearts
...so narrow a sound

moon on snow covered fields
the gloaming glows
          ...there's no day or night

---------------------

Distances vary between dimensions - dimensions can melt together. While open water isles are achievable by boat. As solid ice comes isles and mainland grow together and isles are achievable by foot or ferry chanel through ice. In between it is trickier. Distances slide also between spiritual and physical, they even appear side by side. The length of day and night decrease and decline: moon and sun can bee seen the same time. In Finland swedish is spoken in archipelago and coast regions. Swedish speaking minority is medieval origin as is Borgå town (Porvoo in finnish). I have a swedish family name - Nyman - my fathers father was a swedish speaker. 

VILUKISSA

Meille tuli kotiin kissa
se pehmentää
        se herkistää

ka tänne meille Hämeeseenpä se kissa 
        jo tuhannen vuotta sitten,
        uuninpankolle asetti itten

söi hiiret
siloiselta käteen tuntui
kiilui silmät, kynnet raapui

mut metsämaan talvi kova,
hanki syvä
        eihän taivasal' pärjänt hän
vaan seuraks
        inehmoisen onneks
                jäihän
        rukki kehrää ja kissa

Ja vielä tänänkin
        vilukissa
on meinaava kylmän arkaa
        ihmisissä

syksyssä harmuassa synkenevässä
        täs ja siel tulevassa
kannattelevi meitä kissa,
       

        oloissa noloissa
ihmistä pientä poloista

FIGURE IT OUT

Man is a prisoner of Gravity 

Man is a prisoner of Ego

          How could we get Free

Burdened by History 
Faraway in Escapism 

     ...

          

          Get back to this World 

          Pull me back to this World 
                           to this very moment 

          See us here 

          THE NAKED TRUTH

There is no intelligence elsewhere 
There is no life elsewhere 

this life on 

          planet earth 

                   is a miracle 

We are alone 

in universe

         the only conciousness is ours

at this lonely planet 

          we are the only concious being 

There never was or will be another chance

          There never was 

                        or will be 

                              another 

                                chance 

-------------------------------

Tourism poster from 1950's. Designed by Osmo K. Oksanen. Adverstaising winter and winter exotic.

HOOKED

Slow saturday morning ...I'm lying
under blanket with coffee au lait

Looking out of my window ...snow crystals 

floating down across silvery branches

Sunlight ignites the highest pine tops ...I see

neighbourgs cat tiptoeing on its round

Wintry stillife on slowmotion

And why do I pick up my phone

Shocking news ...politicians explaining,

singing one another in melt swamphole

Hot gossips - click headlines ...celebrities n'

fotographers spinning in vicious circles

I put my phone away onbedsidetablebutpickitupagaininaminuteor

eveninseconds

I could have a slow meditative morning and 

a piece of mind

butIendupinmiserableliminalstatelimbofrustu

ratingmindfragmentationangrytomyself

I shut down my phone

And I tell you: I remember a moment maby 25

years a go in a forrest cottage

I drowned my Nokia-Phone in a bucket full of

icecold water and burned the simcard in a hot

sauna stove

And it was SO liberating



I wish I could learn
...to regulate better 
howandwhenandwhatdoIfillmyheadwith

...and to realy apreciate
my unique moment in our one-of-a-kind planet earth

--------------------------------

Today starts a winter holiday week in Finland. Earlier it was called a ski'ing holiday. I gathered my skies and ski poles and and went ski'ing a roud the swamp and over the hills. Two and half hours. It emptied my head better than anything. A compatitive singing - kind of wisdoms competition - between wise individuals is a wellknown theme in finnish folklore. Old and wise Väinämöinen sings youg and foolish Joukahainen to a swamphole.