It’s looking a lot like Christmas time…

My poetry collection, Beautiful & battered, breaking through the chains

Poem;

The day is short and the night is long in this

country in the north with its snow-capped

mountains and fjords with white veil that lie

still in this dark time, the river flows with its

ice crystals dancing in the waterfall that

hovers with the north wind beyond the dusk

and she lights a candle.

The Northern Lights dances in joy where the

polar bears eyes glimmering infront of the

Christmas star that blinks in this

frozen winter night where the last ray of the

moon’s mystery slowly fades away until

she lights a candle.

A child’s face resting against the window pane

in the hope…..

underneath the Christmas tree

lies everything she wish for, but it is too good to

be true.

Snow crystals fall outside are unique, beautiful

and shines evocative in the cold night.

She light a candle where she dreams an Arctic

dream about the miracle of the infant faith.

The white dove flies silently through the chains

that lift the adventure of hope behind

the jewel of the dark night.

Somewhere with the frost on her cheeks,

a little girl lights a candle for all the stories that

are expressed without words, that are burned

into the scars of the human hearts.

-Orkidedatter-

My book; Beautiful and battered, breaking through the chains

My first poetry collection in English language is

released on 12.1.2020. (Amazon.com)

Available in my linktree:

My linktree: Orkidedatter

Poem:

From the north a butterfly in

winter land under the

Polar star in the elongated small country

-Norway-

If you listen carefully you can hear

her wing stroke rises from a descending black

star from a nightmare visions

flash down below the abyss…

breaks through the chains from a cage of

another day healing subconsciously

a picture of pain.

Bleeding memories and a battered

country girl,

but beautiful as the midnight sun…

strong as the Northern Lights dances on the

black canvas of the sky, she colors her soul’s

landscape of a ruin to an

architectural masterpiece.

-Orkidedatter-

Lips

Writer, creative, sensual, artist, life, lios, kiss, feelings, poet, poetry, 6 word story,

Photo: credit to the right owner

Words: @orkidedatter

@orkidedatter_artist

Facebook: orkidedatter author

The last arrow…

Orkidedatter, poetry, poems, Norway, kunstner, artist, authorArt my own @orkidedatter @orkidedatter_artist

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In a big, dark and cold temple she is

hunting for a secret King.

A hypnotic kind of magic in his atmosphere

and his eyes met hers.

She owned him and the air around

them stood still.

A hidden clandestine love of her life.

In love with his metaphorical history

and a desire to solve his intelligence.

Entwined by a spitting cobra she blinded him

with her beauty.

He was tempted and swollowed her soul.

He printed fragmented words into her heart.

She spoke into the flames of the King in a

delightful language.

She is descended from a decoded puzzle.

Petals broken as dust from a shadow lost in a

thought.

A perception uncovered his being unleashed

her heart and soul.

Forest of her mind temptations.

A key to interpret the depth within her sorrow

beneath her alluring silhouette.

A tragic reincarnated broken temptress,

and her tears blew with the silent wind and

scratched into stone…

-Orkidedatter-

Tears from a Black rose

OrkidedatterArt and picture my own

Like a mountain in a lotus land known

by witches and trolls she is a language of

nature.

Wild enough, but invisible like a ghost town

hidden by a veil of clouds.

A nightshade of her mind,

have passing the glorious sun.

A lonely soul that wander to the depth

of the lake and the Evil embraced her spirit.

She gave life to a butterfly in the cage of hell

her frozen black rose from an archangel

cracked inside her crystal shadow.

So much bloodshed.

So many deaths.

Been never a magical love story,

no happy ending, no magic spells or

hidden dragons…

She is just a craft on crumpled manuscript

thrown away by the Dead Prince of

madness…

You never could handle the Black pearl from

the village…

When my petals cry, they hit like bullets.