It’s looking a lot like Christmas time…

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


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.


My book; Beautiful and battered, breaking through the chains

My first poetry collection in English language is

released on 12.1.2020. (

Available in my linktree:

My linktree: Orkidedatter


From the north a butterfly in

winter land under the

Polar star in the elongated small country


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.


The last arrow…

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


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


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…


Black pastel love

Poetry, poem, darksoul, love, aquarius, writingprompts, life, love, Norway, Norwegian artist, artist, author, artistic poet, creativeArt, my own @orkidedatter

I have a trumpet in my black pastel heart

a symphony in my chest

a melody of the colors of the rainbow flows

in my veins as creates a bridge to his soul

I fell in love with an aquarius under the

midnight sun

upon the mountain high

you gave me a summer kiss

your shimmering verses from your trembled

lips in the line with the shades of color of

heaven as an amethyst makes

waves of euphoria flowing over all

the pores of my body.

Your eyes danced solasta bright when

I took my feathers out from my long hair

to play it on your skin.

Your laughter tickled my heart strings and

you whispered to my Angels wings

«we are condemned to act in portrays of the

crystalline from ours cards of future»

My destiny from Cupid`s arrow is

written into my history of black pastel love.


It’s time to sparkle…

Poem poetry dikt artist Norwegian artist dark soul Christmas darksoul poetry feelings mylife childhood memories Art: my own @orkidedatter

It’s time to sparkle….

She felt the Christmas spirit was buried deep

within her flesh and bones

a moment before dark a blacbird whistling

from the navy blue sky in the snowfall

across the moonstream and shade to shade

she walk like a princes of sorrow in these cold


her love is an icy touch on your ruin of a

silhouette shadow

death roams all around her black Christmas

fire deep inside her darkness

a silent night before Christmas

no one can hear her screams in jarring tones

behold a glimmer in the black dreams of

crushed Christmas holiday

ghosts of Christmas past throw back

memories from when she covered her eyes and


she has always scent the smell of hell

she have no heart for joy

a dark girl never smile

no luck are written in the stars of destiny

when the frozen moonbeams chases her

missing pieces through the dark

too often she was afraid of what lurks behind

the wall pretending to be light

a sound of tears a moment after the fear of

the sound of crushed glass behind the shadow

of her soul

watching the night upon the forest

the dead souls taking flight from

a cementery grave when she close her eyes

frozen tears falling down her cheeks

her kiss is like the wind so cold on your lips

she can feel herself falling

now she is crawling by the snowflakes that

glittering like emeralds around her

cadence of her last breath

a silent night before christmas

while the night still hides her withered heart….


Christmas’s dark wish…

Orkidedatter darksoulpoet poet poems romance love writer author forfatter Norway Norge norsk forfatter artist kunstner skribent dikter poetry life Christmas jul Art: always my own @orkidedatter

Your body is like winter wonderland

unique as a snow crystal.

I have a desire to lick all your drops

of candy.

Swallow your nectar to taste you within.

You are my Mr. Christmas,

I’m your grief,

going togheter like fire and ice.

A want to exhale Christmas spirit, but all my

heartstrings plays is a melody of sadness,

I curl up and hide.

Outside the snow silently settled.

You understand the world inside me.

You told me sacred secrets to close a chapter in

my soul.

My noisy mind began to smile.

All the little things created to shapes in colours

lit a fire deep down.

You touched me like Angels wings,

faded away all my fear.

You grab my hair.

Your sensual hands holding my hips,

you pushed me up against the wall.

A Christmas hot mystery of explosive fireworks

that’s wandered right into between my legs.

You are my savior soul I longing for.

I tease your luscious lips

and seduce those to mine,

take you with my tounge

to a distance that make you forget to breath.

We are dancing in the flames.

I’m breathing harder and faster.

We loose controll.

We thouch the sky.

Shooting stars falling behind my rolling eyes.

You inhale that alluring cent of my lotus,

you bring all my petals out.

Sweatbathed skin skim across of lust and every

forward thrust straddling the fine line between

pain and passion.

The moment our heart’s pulses

and two souls screams in mercy…

You are hard as ice.

As a waterfall I flow down your magic part

of lovemaking.

You are slaying my wrong side of my

heart and completes us on a seldom level.

I collapse when you squeeze my mountains

and you make me some milk

sweet and thick…

I moan for both of us when

each little dark wish of mine

comes true the night before Christmas…


A tree

(English text after the Norwegian).

A tree poem prosaist Norwegian blogger livet tanker Norwegian thoughts Norwegian poem a tree Orkidedatter art Norwegian blogger Norway

Jeg ser ut av mitt vindu og det skjærer meg i hjertet når jeg observerer en gravemaskin og mann med motorsag. Jeg skjønner med ett hva som er i ferd med å skje.

Det store og det vakreste treet jeg vet om som står i skogkanten ved mitt hjem er i ferd med å dø. Det er i ferd med å ta sine siste åndedrag her på denne jord.

Jeg hører den brutale lyden fra motorsagen, og jeg ser gravemaskinen løfter opp sin lange hals og setter sin graveskuffe med tenner mot treet.

Først veldig skånsomt og så begynner hele treet og bevege på seg. Det danser frem og tilbake som en langstrakt skjønnhet med ny krone på hode og som er vakker omsvøpt i sin barkekjole som stråler stolthet.

Jeg kan se treet vinke farvel til livet, kanskje det vet at jeg står her? Det faller så hardt mot bakken og jeg føler tårene presse seg frem. Min sjel gråter. Jeg kan se en tåre faller ut av mitt øye i mitt skyggebilde fra vinduet.

Ide treet faller i bakken høres en lyd jeg aldri vil glemme og jeg ser det prøver hjelpeløst og komme seg opp igjen. Få festet sin lange vakre stamme ned i sine røtter igjen og prøve å stå så majestetisk i jorden som det har gjort i mange år.

Det går ikke.

Treet blir liggende og vaie mot jorden et par ganger og så er det helt stille. Rolig og ingen bevegelser.

Jeg føler hjertet mitt brister, et av naturens vakre skapninger har måttet gi tapt for menneskets harde redskap.

Et naturens hjerte som har slått under all slags vær, sommer som vinter.

Et tre som alltid har vist sine skjønne farger når høsten er på vei.

Alltid har de fargerike bladene har skint som briljerende diamanter i høstduggens morgentimer.

Alltid har greinene strekt seg mot vårsolens varme stråler.

Alltid har treet vaiet så vakkert i vinden og raslet den vakreste musikk.

Bare et tre?

Nei, ikke for Orkidèdatter.

Dette treet har vær en av Orkidèdatters mange «venner» i barndommen. Jeg snakket med det. Jeg lekte under det, og treet var alltid det beste publikum der jeg satt under det, og sang for meg selv.

Jeg følte meg alltid trygg under dette treet. Det hadde sin egen evne til å beskytte meg. Jeg følte at treet på en eller annen måte la sine greiner rundt meg og holdt meg forsiktig fast. Forsiktig som i en trøstende klem, og for å vise omsorg.

Forsiktig som i en drøm- når jeg ikke orket mer av livet, men det kloke treet viste meg råd.

For meg var dette treet magisk, og kunne ta meg med inn i sin verden, der alt var vakkert, ikke dømmende og alt var snilt.

Jeg kan føle magien strømme ned til jordens indre her jeg står, og der skal den lagre seg, og kanskje en dag vil treet oppstå et eller annet sted.

Jeg ser ut av vinduet mitt. Jeg ser et tomrom der treet har stått. Jeg kan føle det i mitt hjerte at naturens eget hjerte har sluttet å slå.

Ingen dansende rytmer fra treets egne greiner mer, og ingen vakre farger som skal vaie i vinden og lage vakker musikk for Orkidèdatter.

-I kjærlighet-



A tree.

I look out of my window and it cuts my heart when I observe an excavator and a man with a chainsaw. I understand at once what’s happening.

The big and the most beautiful tree I know of standing at the edge of the forest at my home is about to die. It is about to take it`s last breath here on this earth.

I hear the brutal sound of the chainsaw, and I see the excavator lifting up it`s long neck and putting it`s shovel with teeth against the tree.

First very gentle, and then the whole tree begins to move. It dances back and forth like an elongated beauty with a new crown on it`s head and beautifully wrapped in it`s barking gown that radiates pride.

 I can see the tree wave goodbye to life, maybe it knows I’m standing here?

It falls so hard to the ground and I feel the tears pushing forward. My soul is crying. I can see a tear falling out of my eye in my shadow image from the window.

When the tree falls into the ground, itis a sound I will never forget, and I see it trying helplessly getting up again.

Get your long beautiful tribe attached to it`s roots again and try to stand as majestic in the earth as it has been for many years.

It doesn’t.

The tree stays and waves against the earth a couple of times and then it is completely silent. Calm and no movements.

I feel my heart is hurting, one of nature’s beautiful creatures had to lose to man’s hard tool.

A nature’s heart that has beaten during all kinds of weather, summer and winter.

A tree that has always shown it`s beautiful colors when autumn is on it`s way.

Always have the colorful leaves have shine like brilliant diamonds in the morning scarf.

The branches have always stretched towards to suns of the spring.

The tree has always been so beautiful in the wind and rustled the most lovely music.

Just a tree?

No, not for Orkidèdatter.

This tree has been one of Orkidèdatters many «friends» in childhood. I talked to it. I played under it, and the tree was always the best audience when I sat under it, and sang to myself.

I always felt safe under this tree. It had it`s own ability to protect me. I felt that the tree somehow laid it`s branches around me and held me gently.

Careful as in a comforting hug and care.

Careful as in a dream, when I couldn’t bear my life, but the wise tree showed me advice.

For me, this tree was magical and could take me into it`s world, where everything was beautiful, not judgmental, and everything was kind.

I can feel the magic flowing down to the interior of the earth here I stand, and there it must store, and maybe one day the tree will again occur somewhere in the nature.

I look out of my window.

I see an empty space where the tree has stood. I can feel in my heart that nature’s own heart has stopped beating.

No dancing rhythms from the tree’s own branches anymore, and no beautiful colors to wrap in the wind and make lovely music for Orkidèdatter.

-with Love-













Trapped in the past…

(English text after Norwegian text)

Jeg lukker øynene og lar tonene fra musikken fylle tankene mine. Jeg blir henne lille jenta igjen. Jeg er en lettrørt person og tårene som triller nedover mine kinn har mye historie i seg.

Fanget i fortiden trapped in the past coping with life mental health Norway Norwegian blogger livsmestring

Jeg er så utrolig sliten. Jeg er så sliten av å ha en kropp som har stengt alt av følelser inni seg. I over mange mange år har jeg kjempet for å ikke falle fra hverandre, men endelig orket jeg ikke mer.

Jeg går en runde i huset mitt. Jeg hutrer av å se ut av vinduet. Der ute, der er det mange vonde minner. De kommer kasta på meg som steinras. Det er vondt.

Jeg kjenner hele kroppen gjør seg klar til kamp. Jeg kjenner hjerte mitt «fryser» og følelsene prøver å ikke «kjenne» på hvordan det var. Hjernen min søker etter positive minner for å kjempe tilbake. Kjempe tilbake det vonde og såre med kjærlighet og positive minner.

Jeg snur meg og ser innover i mitt eget hus. Det er fylt med gode minner, kjærlighet, latter, mye kos og hygge, omsorg og så mye lys og varme. Jeg vet ikke hva jeg skulle ha gjort uten min mann.

Jeg prøver å riste av meg gufsene fra fortiden. Jeg vil ikke kjenne på det lenger. Jeg vet jeg må for å få det enda bedre med meg selv. Å gå videre med livet, ikke bare for meg, men min familie også.

Jeg går med raske skritt over gulvet, bestemt. Tar med meg hundene og går ut. Ut på tunet der fortidens nifse «spøkelser» er. Det er ikke mange forandringene hjemme hos meg i mitt barndomshjem. Et nytt hus er bygd, men ellers alt som før.

Hjernen min skanner hver en krok og hvert et sted. Hvorhen jeg ser og snur meg, har jeg minner. Mange vonde minner…Jeg pusser støvet av noen, gjør de klarere for meg. Jeg står i «stormen» som raser inni meg. Går igjennom tanker og følelser som jeg kjenner så alt for godt igjen. Lille jenta som satt med bena oppunder seg, gråt og hikstet og til slutt ville ende sitt liv.

Selv om det er vinter og kjølig, orker ikke kroppen å holde meg oppe. Jeg faller sakte ned på bakken og gråter. Jeg gråter som jeg husker meg selv som lita jente. Jeg kan føle smerten. Jeg får de samme fysiske smertene og reaksjonene.

Jeg tar vekk håret fra ansikter mitt som er fult av tårer. Øynene er såre og jeg føler meg dårlig. Jeg kikker bort på skogen, et fluktsted som jeg var så glad i som lita jente.

Jeg er kald og jeg er våt. Sleper meg opp og inn. Kler av meg og fyrer opp i peisen. Jeg elsker å sitte foran peisen og se på flammene som sluker seg rundt veden i ulike farger.

Rød, gul, oransj, lilla, blå og hvit farge som varmer en utmattet og kald kropp. Jeg henter dyna og legger den godt inntil kroppen min. Det beste av alt, varmer mitt hjerte og sinn.

Snart ikke lenger «fanget i fortiden», men tilbake til her og nå, mitt liv, jeg skal lære meg å leve med arrene🦋



Trapped in the past..

I close my eyes and let the tones from the music fill my mind. I’ll be her little girl again. I am a light-hearted person and the tears rolling down my cheeks have a lot of history in them.

I’m so incredibly tired. I am so tired of having a body that has closed all of the feelings inside it. For over many many years I have struggled not to fall apart, but at last I couldn’t do it anymore.

I go for a round in my house. I shudder to look out the window. Out there, there are many bad memories. They will throw at me like rocks. It hurts. I know the whole body is getting ready for battle.

I know my heart «freezes» and the feelings try not to «know» how it was. My brain is searching for positive memories to fight back. Fight back the evil and hurt with love and positive memories.

I turn around and look into my own house. It is filled with good memories, love, laughter, lots of fun and coziness, care and so much light and warmth. I don’t know what to do without my husband.

I try to shake off the vapors of the past. I don’t want to know it anymore. I know I have to get even better with myself. Going on with life, not just for me, but my family too. I walk with quick steps across the floor, determined. Take my dogs and go out.

Out in the yard where the old «ghosts» of the past are. There are not many changes at my home in my childhood home. A new house is built, but otherwise everything as before. My brain scans each hook and every place. Wherever I look and turn, I have memories. Many bad memories …

I brush some of the dust, make them clearer to me. I stand in the «storm» that rages inside me. Going through thoughts and feelings I know all too well again. Little girl who sat with her legs up and down, crying and hesitating and eventually ending her life.

Although it is winter and cool, the body cannot keep up. I slowly fall to the ground and cry. I cry as I remember myself as a little girl. I can feel the pain. I get the same physical pain and reactions.

I remove the hair from my faces full of tears. The eyes are sore and I feel bad. I look away at the forest, an escape place that I was so fond of as a little girl. I’m cold and I’m wet. Drag me up and in.

Smells of me and fires up in the fireplace. I love to sit in front of the fireplace and watch the flames swallowing around the wood in different colors.

Red, yellow, orange, purple, blue and white color that warms an exhausted and cold body. I get the pad and put it well to my body. Best of all, warm my heart and mind.

Soon no longer «trapped in the past» but back to here and now, my life, I’ll teach myself to live with the scars.