Forever never more, not last long for me when about you






“Forever never more, not last long for me when about you.”

I wrote that to him and I stand for it! He wrote back to me
“I’m sorry I don’t understand what you write now.” Ouch!

All the blind alleys you’ve to lose yourself in before you’re
able to face you have been fooled again and that you were
probably never loved. “Forever never more” sums him up!

And Linda on tour sings once more “When Will I Be Loved”.




För alltid aldrig mer varar inte länge för mig när det gäller dig

”För alltid aldrig mer varar inte länge för mig när det gäller dig.”

Jag skrev det till honom. Och det står jag för! Han skrev tillbaka
till mig “I’m sorry I don’t understand what you write now.” Oj!

the internet meetingsAlla dessa återvändsgränder man förirrar sig in i innan man kan
möta att man har blivit blåst igen och troligen aldrig var älskad!
För alltid aldrig mer = summan av kardemumman efter honom.

(Och Linda på turné sjunger återigen “When Will I Be Loved”)

rose, whiterose, white




Posted in cheaters, dreaming, fragile, heartbreaker, hjärtekrossare, life and love, longing, loss, love story, missing, online friends, online romance, poem in Swedish and English, poem in Swedish translated to English, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, reality, sadness, secret love, sentimentality | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

No smile from me!

Today Wednesday, the Minister of Finance presented the government budget for 2020. The rich will be richer and pensioners will have a crumb slight increase in income. But since the pensions have remained steady for a while but living expenses have risen, it is not basically an improved financial standard for us retired but a restorative equalization. As long as the ministers in my country, whatever political color or orientation they would have in any government, have more in income per month than I have in retirement pension per year, their pretensions to represent my interests are not justified. I reject them. The poorest of us which also have the biggest problems with our dental health will still be unable to afford dental care. We can’t even afford to go to a dentist to pull out a loose and non-repairable tooth. You must either sacrifice your food money to the dentist costs, or keep the money to buy food but have then problems to chew with your sore teeth. The poorest of us have to make choices which are impossible and never can give any satisfactory outcome, while the rich looking down at us as an inferior kind of human kind. It’s not as bad as for 100 years ago, true. But now and for the last decades our famous welfare is in decline. The generation of my working class grandparents’ had no dental care at all but was dependent on the local blacksmith’s pliers or a homemade brew to blast away aching teeth. That’s one reason people on those old photos from the late 1800s and early 1900s avoid to smile. I don’t smile either.



Posted in create life, obstacles, old age, poems by vonnely, politics, reality, welfare | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

100 years after him

100 years after him I will be no longer!
Nor the memory of what never became.
100 years and he will not be either. His
dreams for sale; my words remains like
lost birds, scattered in the sky. It’s over.
Longing and belonging: public domain.
Nearer, simple daily routines one foot in
front of the other while I breathe calmly.

Posted in courage, create life, heartache, leaving, life and love, loss, lost, love story, memories, morality, past, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, surviving, walk of life, words, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The weed in my garden of love (thistle love)

I met a guy and I loved him but he never knew my love because he only knew the love he claimed he had for me. It was all about his feelings and never about mine. He never knew how to please my heart and how to treat me right because he was hiding behind romantic curtains covering his bars, singing “me” “me” “me” and “I need you!” and “I die if you leave me”. And the only “you” he knew was in his constant accusations “you think badly about me”. This, because I opposed to his egocentrism. It hurt his feelings and proofed I was thinking “bad” about him, he told me. And he always said “I feel lonely”.

But I truly loved him for no reason at all and in spite he wasn’t worth my love – which everyone easily could tell me. But people are not liked and loved because they are “worth it”, it’s never like that and people around should just keep that in mind before they judge the bewitched. Emotions are not governed by reason and common sense and certainly not of what is seen as appropriate for the people around you.

Those who are like him runs over their loved ones like a bulldozer. We try to understand them and to believe in their declarations of love, because we so dearly want it to be true. Does this man you are romantically involved with really loves you as he declares – or is he just callous player, hurting you over and again? This you can ask yourself thousand and one time but you’ll never get to know the answer. But when enough smashed, you’ll decide to leave the scene for the crime. To survive!

Being emotionally deaf to others and over-focusing on oneself is a more widespread disability than we even think. And they look quite normal these limited persons, even charming and caught you’ll not understand your mistake before it’s too late and you’re already emotionally involved and tied to the other one. But when enough is enough, you’ll fight your way out of the rose hedge, kneeling, crawling, bleeding, crying and humiliated but alive. And then you’ll mourn for a while.

He is not worth my mourning either, I know that! I’m just saying “me” now to be in support for myself. Because I’m entitled to have all my feelings and I’ll stand for them, even those misapplied. I fell in love and I failed in love – true – but everyone does it sometimes. So widen your empathy for the fool in love and don’t play wiseguy with me. I didn’t accept it from him, nor do I approve it from anyone else.

I met a guy and I loved him but he never knew my love because he only knew the love he claimed he had for me. He became so utterly impressed over his strong feelings, he fired the cannon for this his amazing love and in the smoke and dust of the firepower I was made invisible. He never understood my complaints over this, he loved me to death he told and what more could I ask for? And my love turned to bitterness and hate, watered with my tears of disappointment. And this is now the weed in my garden of love. And I am the gardener.

rose, whiterose, white


Posted in armed loneliness, courage, create life, desirers, dreamers, fragile, hate, heartache, heartbreaker, hjärtekrossare, leaving, life and love, loneliness, loss, lost, lost trust, love story, morality, poems by vonnely, prose poem, relationships, romance, sadness, Short prose, surviving, vulnerability | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Looking “good” or “ugly” at age 65 plus?

Bolsonaro 64 yo

Paulo Guedes 70 y

These two public men have badly insulted public women – for their looks! About in the same age as themselves! Apart from the vulgarity and the improper in their behavior, tell me which two looks best “for their age”? And which two are the “ugly” ones? If we at all can comment on the looks  of others in public?! No, we cannot!

Brigitte Macron 66 yo

Michelle Bachelet 67 yo

Brigitte Macron said in an interview 2 years ago in the magazine Elle: “There are times in your life where you need to make vital choices,” Brigitte, 64, tells Elle France’s September issue of her relationship with her husband, whom she first met about 20 years ago and married in 2007. “And for me, that was it. So, what has been said over the 20 years, it’s insignificant.”

She adds, “Of course, we have breakfast together, me and my wrinkles, him with his youth, but it’s like that. If I did not make that choice, I would have missed out on my life. I had a lot of happiness with my children and, at the same time, felt I had to live ‘this love’ as Prevert used to say, to by fully happy.”

(quoted in

As Brigitte Macron seems to like Jacques Prévert:


Je suis allé au marché aux oiseaux
Et j’ai acheté des oiseaux
Pour toi mon amour
Je suis allé au marché aux fleurs
Et j’ai acheté des fleurs
Pour toi mon amour
Je suis allé au marché à la ferraille
Et j’ai acheté des chaînes
De lourdes chaînes
Pour toi mon amour
Et je suis allé au marché aux esclaves
Et je t’ai cherchée
Mais je ne t’ai pas trouvée
Mon amour

Jacques Prévert, Paroles, Le Point du Jour, 1946

I went to the bird market
And I bought birds
For you my love
I went to the flower market
And I bought flowers
For you my love
I went to the scrap market
And I bought some chains
Heavy chains
For you my love
And I went to the slave market
And I looked for you
But I did not find you
My love

Posted in love story, poems by vonnely, politics, relationships, repression and borders, words | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Done with men (färdig med karlar)

I’m going to read 100 novels and then die!
But if when 100 done, I still have time left,
I will read 100 more novels and list the first
hundred and the other 100 and meanwhile
my double bed will go to junk and I will buy
myself a single bed with good backrest for
reading nights and I will live long and I will
die in peace. As long time done with men!
rose, whiterose, white

Posted in aging, dead romance, loners, old age, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, reading, single-handed voyage, walk of life, Winter heart | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Försvinnande kvinna / Vanishing woman


Vanishing woman

Part 1
That late night was now approaching, then when
I intended to vanish from you without a trace and
wipe you out of my life forever. But late came late
all my feet colder. The next morning continued our
foolish and misplaced relationship to nag the same.

Part 2
I tried to talk to you all the short time we got, but your
understanding is either limited or you are simply callous
and arrogant. Whatever, I’m done with you.

Part 3
In silent morning light, fairies still dances with fading veils
of a vanishing love: a dream that never became fulfilled. But
as a dream it is still real. I am outdated, but still not guarded
against love in an obscure future which may be; in my favor.

Part 4
I was the creature you once craved for and
then chased away by your presumptions.
I’m the vanishing woman.





Försvinnande kvinna
Del 1
Nu närmade sig den sena natt, då när
jag ämnade försvinna spårlöst från dig
och utplåna dig för alltid ur mitt liv, men
sent kom sent alla mina fötter kallare och
nästa morgon fortsatte vår dåraktiga och
avsigkomna relation att gnata samma igen.

Del 2
Jag försökte all vår korta tid att tala med dig, men din
insikt är antingen begränsad eller så är du helt enkelt
skamlöst arrogant. Vilket som, jag är färdig med dig.

Del 3
I stilla morgonljus dansar ännu älvor i svinnande slöjor
av en bleknande kärlek: en dröm som aldrig blev sann,
men som dröm ändå är verklig. Jag är till åren kommen,
men jag går inte säker från att förälska mig i den ännu
dunkla framtid som måhända återstår mig, allt tillgodo.

Del 4
Jag var väsendet som du trånade efter, bortjagad
av dina drygheter. Jag är den försvinnande kvinnan.

rose, whiterose, white



Posted in afar, changes, dead romance, dreaming, heartache, leaving, life and love, loss, lost, love poem, obstacles, old age, poem in English and Swedish, poems by vonnely, Poetry, rebellious lovers, short story, talking, with or without you | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The red rose in the rain








Face the red rose in the rain, a love in vain that was
aroused, only to be thrown away! Our longing once,
turns into disgust. To apart as friends was never an
option! Now see the red rose thrown on rainy street,
every single petal testifies about everyone’s reddest
desire: catch an eternal rose that never wilt and die!

rose, whiterose, white

Posted in dreamers, inspiring picture, life and love, longing, loss, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, relationships, romance, sexuality, unhappiness | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The reddest rose to you





I read this Sunday morning a review of a new Swedish “graphic novel” that investigate different theories of the nature of infatuation. This book genre is new to me, I’m so old I had to google “graphic novel” to learn about it – but I still could not grip what that genre (for adults) is about. Nor did it arouse any attraction in me to come closer to this phenomena. Further, the whole article about the book had that kind of high-sounded poetic prose that really annoys me.

It did not get me better in mood to read that the actor DiCaprio is exposed in the reviewed book as an investigated example about whether the modern Western man has difficulties to become infatuated – “and what it depends on.” (What!)

This representation is based on this actor’s habit to date about 20 year’s younger photo models. Thus, a romantic relationships with a big age gap tells us the older party is unable to fall in love? It is an assumption that smells of superstition and prejudice. But such prejudice is there in the collective mind and I wish I could tell that to someone once close to me, who told me such a conception only existed as an image in my mind, seeing obstacles there was not! Obvious, people point their fingers to this – and thanks  given that validation! In a book.  (But it seems to only be in heterosexual relationships there are such conventions about age gaps and so little tolerance about it from the environment.)

Anyway, the title “Den rödaste rosen slår ut” (The reddest rose unfolds) refer to a poem by  Hilda Doolittle with the same title. Quote from the review: “comes from a poem she wrote to her new love at a sanatorium at age 74…” I assume this information is correct.

I assume also that is  fascinating to that young dominating generation in their 30s or young 40s, both try to grasp the nature of infatuation with the intellect and tell that age (“74!!!!”) of a woman fallen in love. This younger generation of (Swedish) women love to call us all not-bleeding women “aunties”, totally desexualizing us to never experience having any attractiveness in us anymore in the eye of the other.

Probably a rough way to get rid of competitors on the sexual market place. While younger seems to suffer vaginismus and PMS and live tensed and frustrated in labor and delivery and afterwards it all, but before last chapter of that book of life, women of a certain age may hate to expose their saggy boobs and thighs but the sexual happiness compensates 100 % the age and the bodily decline.

Not for DiCaprio maybe, but I have a good eye for DiCaprio as not only a good looking (younger) dude, but also a good actor to watch. I got this summer such a passion for the film and the novel Revolutionary Road. I have read the book 2 times and watch the movie 3 times and have had for a while the urge to write something about my fascination for this story from the middle of the 50s. Maybe I will write something about it, as I’m very much into movies and novels right now. But prose is hard for me to write.

Anyway I didn’t know about Hilda Doolittle before. And I find it always so amazing to broaden my knowledge and at the same degrading to be shown how little I know about what is well-known to those who are knowledgeable and skilled in this world. Especially in the cultural sector, reserved for the pretentious middle class, we others to settle with television entertainment like “Biggest loser”.

Sorry, it’s just my ostomy bag that’s leaking today. Anyway, I googled this poet and the poem “The Reddest Rose”. I felt like this poem is very relevant to me, 70 this year. But more, I like the poem! So here it is:


(1886 – 1961)

The reddest rose unfolds (1960)


Aubrey Beardsley, Isolde

Why did you come
to trouble my decline
I am old (I was old till you came);

The reddest rose unfolds
(which is ridiculous
in this time, this place,

unseemly, impossible
even slightly scandalous)
the reddest rose unfolds;

(Nobody can stop that
no immanent threat from the air
not even the weather,

blighting our summer fruit),
the reddest rose unfolds
(they’ve got to take that in account)


Posted in copied lyrics, love poem, poems by vonnely, writing | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

I was never tougher than the rest


Well, it’s Saturday noon and you’re gone into the blue.
I kept an eye on you a while, maybe you did on me too.
It’s true I ran off first, because you caused us such a mess.
Once you wanted love, but last night you changed your address.
Yet there’s no healing knowing you’ve also bruises in your chest.
Well, I now face my pale truth, I was never tougher than the rest.


rose, whiterose, white





Posted in borders, fears, loss, lost, love poem, missing, obstacles, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

August rains but doesn’t cry any tears


August is supposed to be a summer month, at least here there I live. But this year autumn seems to come early. And since it’s raining day after day, the sky is so much darken blue and cloudy that it also darkens early evening. So gloomy and boring! Well, there are few glimpses of the sun during a day at times, but not enough to cheer one up. About every morning I meet the same sight outside my window panes, rain pouring or rain drizzling. Then a few minutes break giving me a hope to get my balcony flowers back on the balustrade without being drowning in their boxes of the pouring rain. And I hardly get more than that intention for my plants but then hastily it began to rain again – and I make a turnaround and off and on the floor against the wall, this is there the flower boxes go back to.

I can’t stand this weather! But there is no choice around. I’m here and here I am. Looking at the laptop screen. No one to talk to and nothing to do, just listen to music, meanwhile this “nothing” proceed. Let the time flow, thinking of you, wherever you are…

“You don’t love me this I know
Don’t need a bible to tell me so…”

It got me to listening to romantic songs on YouTube those idle lonely hours, about rain and sad hearts, first easy choice was Ann Peebles “I can’t stand the rain” and then I got stuck by that old song: “The rhythm of the heart”.

The original of this particular song was produced by The Cascades in 1962 and since then countless covers have been made for countless years.

During the evening I must had listened to at least hundred versions of that old hit. (That’s what I often do when I get stuck with a music video on YouTube, it’s a kind of a hobby I have). And time flowed away and late in night almost morning it sudden hit me what’s obvious: rain has no rhythm!

Of course it hasn’t, rain is just a sound with not a rhythm. Rain is just water flowing in a steady stream – in varying intensity and length in time, but not in a rhythmic way. Still this sentimental love songs claims rain has a rhythm! And we, the audiences, have “bought it”, this false expression for sad romantic feelings of lost love.

And is there really any logical connection between an individual’s emotions and pouring rain? None! It’s just stiffen cemented conventions and parables in the writing of lyrics. Or as I read at an online site about this song:

“A symbol of sadness and release which has become a cornerstone in popular music, it’s a cathartic theme that helps songwriters craft excellent melodies and evoke the power of nature in their songs.”

Such a bullshit, written. What it is, it’s a cultural phenomenon that shows the western world face of power over the world, that what reigns over our thinking how to portray human emotions. But if you live in Africa, with a heat of 30 – 40 degrees C in the shadow, the rain coming may release your mind and body and water your soul and maybe you just want to walk in the rain for hours to soothe your overheated dried body, feeling strong and hopeful and positive again. Happy!

Well, rain can become sadness and tears – i. e. if you’re on your own and stay home waiting for “better” weather to come, because you become restless not to have someone close to talk to. Then the blues comes walking in through your back door and soon enough you will recall some wounds from past shortcomings or losses to start cry over. Oh, yes!

But mourn a lost love in a fantastic sunny weather is worse, in my experience. You don’t want to hide indoors and feel lousy but go out and enjoy the nice day, but you can’t enforce you into a better mood and doing.

But “you and me and rain on the roof”, that’s happiness. No doubt!

Culture tied images are tools to use to create identification in the collective mind of listener or reader. If you want to create something new and genuine and not culture tied you have to find other phenomena to picturize your feelings and avoid archaic images who have lost their credit rating. But for the popular culture production such as the music industry, focused on winning fame and money, stiffened but easily recognizable images are of course to prefer.

But again, what is a rhythm? There I got some hours more pastime while it kept on raining outdoors. (Feeling a bit guilty as if I waste my life on silly things in late nights, do I?)

But it was interesting searches, though I after a while began to feel childishly ignorant. It’s my embarrassment this: I have never been able to learn music notes or keep a rhythm neither distinguish between false and pure tone. Because of my imagined experienced shortcomings in this area I have come to make the conclusion that I am un-musical. This, even as music is important to me.

(But it’s the lyrics that’s my primary interest, because words I am good at. Though I don’t get how to write song lyrics either. And as reading lyrics it’s hard to understand the sense in some lines. Sometimes it seems to be too much and too complicated text to remember to sing, it’s more poetry than song texts. Sometimes the lines are short and as been read, just silly. Though those lyrics works well performed in song and with music. It’s a mystery it all to me.)

In a video on YouTube “What is Rhythm”, a woman say she has google the word “rhythm” and got the definition “a strong, regular repeated pattern of movement or sound”. And “What!” she say surprised – and then she declares “Rhytm is sounds and silences”.

Then a thunder may be a rhythm? Or a dog barking? No.

But the beat of a heart is a rhythm, no doubt… lub-dub lub-dub lub-dub…..

Actually the woman in this YouTube clip illustrate “rhythm” with clapping her hands with a variation strength in the sounds, repeatedly. So she say one thing and illustrate her statement with another doing. But she adds “rhythm is also a “pattern”.

Thus, repeated sounds and silences in a pattern.

So what do encyclopedias say? (a Swedish encyclopedia used in schools)
”regelbunden växling mellan starkare och svagare moment i återkommande förlopp av olika slag; i synnerhet upplevelsen av denna växling.”
(“regular alternation between stronger and weaker moments in recurrent course of various kinds; in particular the experience of this shift”.)
“Rhythm, in music, the placement of sounds in time. In its most general sense, rhythm (Greek rhythmos, derived from rhein, “to flow”) is an ordered alternation of contrasting elements. The notion of rhythm also occurs in other arts (e.g., poetry, painting, sculpture, and architecture) as well as in nature (e.g., biological rhythms).”

And “By definition, the rhythm is the pattern of regular or irregular pulses caused in music by the presence of strong and weak melodic and harmonic beats.” That last is a definition from a British Song Academy site which recommended a YouTube video for better understanding. But I was only able to listen to it for 45 seconds and then I was completely bored to death.

My conclusion (before I lose my sense in abstractions over the most elemental and simple in human life: sounds): Rhythm is repetitive sounds of different volumes in a recognizable pattern.

And without (creating) recognizable pattern, a human can’t grasp her environment and the world in which she lives.

Rain is ongoing sound, it can vary in intensity but not in a recognizable pattern. Thus, the sound of the rain has no rhythm and no pattern. It’s boring, it’s depressing. Or relaxing.

The sound of rain is not a mood either. The weather outdoors has actually nothing to do with your moods in you.

But what about using the more correct phrase “The sound of the rain”? It has no rhythm! But the phrase “The rhythm of the rain” has a good sounding rhythm for the voice. Further for the joy of the eye it has also both consonant rhyme and vowels rhyme (alliteration and assonance).

We live in rhythms, from our fetal time until our deathbed, it is the own heartbeat and the heartbeat of a loved one, the mother, the child or the lover…

Now with rain and water, we all know what it is but we can’t fully know what it is until we get our bodies wet.

In the residence there I lived in before (until about a year ago) there were several planted rowan trees at the yard outside my bedroom window. Here now, I have to take a walk to see any rowan trees. And one day I discovered all those berries on the rowans glowed redder than ever. Not light orange red as I’ve seen earlier years, but a deep crimson red color.

Even if the rowan berries tells the summer is soon over, I love them for their intense colorful gaiety.

I don’t know what I would do without colors and music. I don’t know now what to do without you either, but I feel strongly what “to do without you” is: it is a piercing pain to suffer.

Every late night, I take a short walk around the block, an unknown woman in a dark night, yet guided safe by the street lighting. Mostly the rain gods take a paus during my short walk and pour on again from the clouds when I put the key in the front door to my home.

There is an end to everything. And good news, the weather reporters tells the summer and heat will return for a short time during this coming weekend and will stay a few days more. Short or not, it will cheer me up and I need it.

Whatever rain or sun, some you meet you never forget, they stay close under your skin and in the rhythm of you heart.


rose, whiterose, white





Posted in autumn, grief, heartache, inspiring music, inspiring songs, loss, mental images, poems by vonnely, symbols, unhappiness, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Once we were all young


Once we were all young
once we had hope and faith
about what we could become
once we were like an open book
and we read this world is possible
Today the book is closed and it will be
buried with honors given, surrounded by
guests hidden under large black umbrellas
It is us and all others who never came into being …

rose, white




En gång var vi alla unga
en gång levde vi på hopp
och tro om allt vi kunde bli
en gång var vi en öppen bok
och vi läste att världen är möjlig
Idag stängs den boken och begravs
med hedersbetygelser, omringade av
gäster dolda under stora svarta paraplyer
Det är vi och alla de andra som aldrig blev till…

But we cannot live like that, without faith and hope

But we cannot live like that, having no faith and hope





rose, white

Posted in aging, blinded, courage, create life, culture values, faith, hope, living in the world, loss, morality, poem in Swedish and English, poem in Swedish translated to English, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Djupfryst torsk och levande gäddor

Thorilds aforism över porten till Uppsala Universitets stora aula


“Hanif Bali är en av få levande och tänkande människor i den samtida politiken”

“Fler borde vara som Hanif Bali” skriver Victor Malm i Expressen 22 juli -19 “Hanif Bali är en av få levande och tänkande människor i den samtida politiken”. Jag håller med. Carl Bildt (i media och som offentlig person) är som att bli bjuden att sätta tänderna ett fyrkantigt paket djupfryst och otinad torsk. Bali däremot är en jävlig gädda som hugger dig rumpan om du inte aktar dig. M a o, han är en av de få levande i det här landet. Numera är det med de få levande människorna i vårt land som med våra kräftor, de mest bästa är importerade. Hanif Bali skriver inga lustigheter så som jag upplever att nutida svenska humorister gör. Han har humor. Exempel:

Hanif Bali‏ på twitter Jul 5 19
Hejdå Visby. Kompenserar min flygning med tio Ave Greta, åtta Fridolin Vår och tre Ära vare Romson. Amen.

Det tycker jag är roligt! 🙂

Men man kan förstå Balis upprördhet mot Bildt och den iranska utrikesministerns Sverigebesök i  hans bakgrund. Men politik är inte känslopjunk. För en gångs skull tycker jag att Wallström gör helt rätt som mötte och som främjar Iran i dess strävanden att överkomma Trumps tramp i klaveret i Hormuzsundet. Det är en extrem farlig situation som har uppstått och som kan gå rakt åt helvete. Nu som en följd av dessa diplomatiska kontakter kommer det svenskägda oljefartyget Stena Impero snart att släppas fritt med sin besättning. Det är en god början. Den för spioneri dödsdömda svensk/iranske läkaren har utlovats få straffet uppskjutet “av humanitära skäl” och man kan ju hoppas att dödsdomen inom en snar framtid omvandlas till fängelsestraff  – att avtjänas i Sverige. Det är sammantaget försvarbara prioriteringar av Wallström. Men inte ett gullande med det iranska styret.

Carl Bildt deltog med Sveriges utrikesminister Margot Wallström i dessa samtal. Detta är ett tecken i tiden att observera! Jag upplever att Bildt på sistone har varit ovanligt aktiv i media – som med att kraftfullt försvara Sverige mot Trumps vulgariteter. I sin upprördhet missade Bali helt dessa signaler: att Bildt förbereds på och jobbar för att återvända till politiken. Och det får nu svida i skinnet på Bali.

Förmodligen ser Carl Bildt sig som Sveriges nästa utrikesminister eller statsminister efter nästa riksdagsval och efterkommande nya regering. Frugan hans får svälja sina känslosvall från att tidigare ha känt sig ratad, och inse sina begränsningar och tillgångar.

(tillägg 24 aug. Kanske bäst att tillägga för att undvika missförstånd att jag inte delar Balis åsikter. Bali beskriver sig “moderat men inte måttlig”. Jag skulle kunna beskriva mig som “vänster men inte vriden”. Ifall jag ännu iddes.)

Posted in borders, courage, culture values, door openers, poems by vonnely, politics, roots, Sweden view, Swedish "culture" | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

August rain and the rowans blushes

vonnely photo, view from my bedroom window, Sep 11, 2015

vonnely photo Sept 11, 2015, view from my bedroom window

That man who caught my heart, he was nothing but
a two-legged beast of prey, so I’m told. He made his
five prayers every day and he told me he was a good
guy and I was bad if I thought anything else as all he
wanted to do, and this he preached to me constantly
was to make me happy. Yet the opposite became his
true deed and here I am now when spring is far gone
and the summer is dying, free but unhappy as before
have no one close to talk to and the endless rain out,
it seeps into my chest crying out, the rowans blushes.


rose, whiterose, white

Posted in Autumn poem, heartache, heartbreaker, hjärtekrossare, life and love, loneliness, love story, memories, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, reality, relationships, repression and borders, surviving, unhappiness | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

I never knew him


I never knew him in the flesh
I withdrew for safety reasons
He expected too much of me
He made me his guiding light
Now he rests behind my eyes
I have to live with this a while
Shame for a time, then he will
fades to a dreamer’s fairytale


rose, whiterose, white

Posted in armed loneliness, Attraction, authenticity, backtrack, borders, changes, courage, create life, dreamers, grief, leaving, mental images, morality, obstacles, online friends, online romance, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, surviving | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Weak sleep and bladder and dreams





I barely slept last night
One hour at a time and
I had to pee more than
once, and when dozing
I got the dream that all
my hair had changed to
white, but when I woke
my hair was still brown
greyish dull and just like
always you on my mind
Then I comforted myself
thinking that everything
fades with time, my hair
and the memory of you
Weak sleep and bladder
will remains and dreams


rose, whiterose, white

Posted in aging, become old, changes, dreaming, loneliness, missing, obstacles, old age, poems, poems by vonnely, reality, secret love, sentimentality | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Break up break down told you so


I told him so many times what made me unhappy and he
heard me but he never listened, only told me I was wrong.
I could have said when I left him “I told you so” but I didn’t!

He talked about love assuming it was mutual and the same,
but it seemed that love for him was what he would gain and
for me to give and give in. I still can’t grasp what’s in a man
to deceive a vulnerable woman, I am aware that I am. But in
the end, my body burst into pains and it saved me from him.

And people could have said “we told you so”, but they didn’t.

He scared me a lot but he never realized my fears. I assume
for a careless man it would not had matter if he had known.

Yet I’ve learned to dump someone can become as hard as to
be dumped. Sure, you’re not suddenly knocked out, in shock.
No, the heartache comes slow but strong and you fear it will
stay long. The first day after I woke freed, but now I wake up
forever alone with him in my head. And my heart is grieving.

He could have told me “I told you so” and he did all the time.

There are moments in my silent rooms when I get mixed up
and at the same fear my feelings, that veiled wish he would
call me and beg me to let him come back. But he never does
and maybe he has moved on and forgotten me and now is
blinding other lonely and wistful women. I’m the lucky one.

(People would say “we told you so” if I told them. So I don’t.)

Posted in armed loneliness, create life, grief, heartache, life and love, loneliness, loss, lost trust, love poem, love story, morality, poems, Poetry, relationships, romance, sadness, secret love, sexuality, unhappiness | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Enslaved horse – unheard truth






This taste of steel on my tongue, snaffle rings
pressing in my mouth corners, the reins resting
along my neck sides. There is a man on my back
and he urge me to run where I don’t want to run.
Then he softly caresses my throat with his ruling
hand, covered in a leather glove and he whispers
tenderly that he loves me and he believes himself.
On his walls hangs artworks where beings like me
runs wild and free from ties, forged symbols in his
mind of animal power and free souls. He can’t see
the reality where he is my oppressor and I am his
slave, not free. He doesn’t love me. Neither do you.

rose, white




NATIONAL POST 11 September 2014

Posted in blinded, culture values, enslaved animals, images, nature, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, reality, symbols | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

There is someone for everyone except for me


There is someone for everyone
except for me of course, Cupid
simply sneaked past my house
one dark night when I was hard
sleeping, caught by nightmares.

At a ”certain age” you try to fit in
to your new corral in life holding
legitimized signs “grandchildren”
and “garden” plus a few friends
as your delight and life meaning.

On the third verse comes your old
man who unfortunately is not well
but ok. You’re the lucky one, some
of us have none, no grandchildren,
no garden, no friends, nor a hubby.

There is someone and something
for everyone, except for unlovable
people like me. I talk to the lonely
woman in my mirror, trying to live
with the limits that became my life.

But life is a challenge for everyone,
it’t very true! The key is to take care
of it and yourself and you’ll be fine.
If you’ve been there in harmful love
you know now you’re happier alone.

rose, whiterose, white

Posted in aging, armed loneliness, Attraction, dreaming, left aside, life and love, loneliness, loners, longing, loss, lost, lost trust, maturity, morality, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, reading life, sadness, surviving, unhappiness | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Even if you silently weep


Even if you silently weep, don’t worry,
no one sees your tears. Yet everybody
knows that all hearts have their secret
tales. I still think of you, from my early
morning to the silent nights. I wonder
what was true with you. I’ll never know.


rose, whiterose, white

Posted in dreamers, life and love, memories, missing, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, reality, romance, secret love, with or without you | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

“I was born to be with you”




I listen to music on You Tube every day. But I’m not that overwhelmed of the playlists YouTube try to tempt me with. But now and then I get lucky, like when I got the suggestion of this guy who sings in Afrikaans. I didn’t know about him before or knew the language he sings in either. But as my habit, I googled the text. And I became thrilled because I immediately recognized the voice of a man I  knew – or in a way still know.  Anyway, I have now made a translation of the lyrics.

Juan Boucher – Gebore Om By Jou Te Wees 

I was born to be with you


Show me how I can love you,
Tell me how I can say it to you
Because there’s really no one else
there’s really no one like how you are,
like how you are. Do you still get that feeling?
If you know what I mean? How can
you be sure, you and I will stay like this
as we are, as we are?

I just want to be with you every hour,
feel you, touch you, be alone with you
Because I dream about it every day, I want it
That my heart will be right there with you
And you know I’m there if you’re looking for me
to change your cry into a smile
In my arms you will be safe
I was born to be with you

You speak softly, but I can hear it. You’ve bewitched my head
There’s far where you are not there and my body is not with yours
Will my heart be able to rest? I was born to be with you!

I just want to be with you every hour,
Feel you, touch you, be alone with you
Because I dream about it every day, I want it
That my heart will be right there with you
And you know I’m there if you’re looking for me
To change your cry into a smile
In my arms you will be safe
I was born to be with you

I was born to be with you, because I’ve dream every day I want it
I was born to be with you and you know I’m there if you’re looking for me
I was born to be with you, in my arms you will be safe
I was born to be with you

I just want to be with you every hour,
Feel you, touch you, be alone with you
Because I dream about it every day, I want it
That my heart will be right there with you
And you know I’m there if you’re looking for me
to change your cry into a smile
In my arms you will be safe

I was born to be with you
Every hour I just want to be with you
Feel you, touch you, be alone with you
Because I dream about every day, I want it
That my heart will be right there with you
And you know I’m there if you’re looking for me
To change your cry into a smile

rose, whiterose, white




Wys my hoe om jou lief te he,
Vertel my hoe om dit terug te se
Want daar is regtig niemand anders,
Regtig niemand anders soos wie jy is nie
Soos wie jy is nie, Kry jy ook nog daai gevoel
As jy verstaan wat ek bedoel,
Hoe kan jy dan seker wees, dat ek en jy net so sal bly
Soos wat ons is, Soos wat ons is

Elke uur wil ek net by jou wees
Aan jou voel, aan jou vat, alleen wees
Want ek droom elke dag ek wil dit he
Dat my hart net daar by jou sal le
En jy weet ek is daar as jy my soek
Om jou huil te verruil vir n glimlag
In my arms sal jy veilig wees
Ek’s gebore om by jou te wees

Jy praat sag maar ek kan dit hoor, Jy weet jy het met my kop getoor
Daar is n verte waar jy nie is nie, En my lyf nie by joune is nie
Sal my hart kan rus, Ek’s gebore om by jou te wees

Elke uur wil ek net by jou wees
Aan jou voel, aan jou vat, alleen wees
Want ek droom elke dag ek wil dit he
Dat my hart net daar by jou sal le
En jy weet ek is daar as jy my soek
Om jou huil te verruil vir n glimlag
In my arms sal jy veilig wees
Ek’s gebore om by jou te wees

Ek’s gebore om by jou te wees, Want ek droom elke dag ek wil dit he
Ek’s gebore om by jou te wees, En jy weet ek is daar as jy my soek
Ek’s gebore om by jou te wees, In my arms sal jy veilig wees
Ek’s gebore om by jou te wees

Elke uur wil ek net by jou wees
Aan jou voel, aan jou vat, alleen wees
Want ek droom elke dag ek wil dit he
Dat my hart net daar by jou sal le
En jy weet ek is daar as jy my soek
Om jou huil te verruil vir n glimlag
In my arms sal jy veilig wees

Ek’s gebore om by jou te wees
Elke uur wil ek net by jou wees
Aan jou voel, aan jou vat, alleen wees
Want ek droom elke dag ek wil dit he
Dat my hart net daar by jou sal le
En jy weet ek is daar as jy my soek
Om jou huil te verruil vir n glimlag
In my arms sal jy veilig wees
Ek’s gebore om by jou te wees
In my arms sal jy veilig wees, Ek’s gebore om by jou te wees

Posted in Africa, Attraction, inspiring music, inspiring songs, love poem, music video with lyrics, poems by vonnely, Poetry, romance, translations by vonnely | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

I was easy forgotten

I was easy forgotten
just piece of a game
the One knew words
not ever compassion
heart split and alone
moving on shattered
tears hidden in heart
smiles cover up pains

Posted in become old, cheaters, falsehood, heartbreaker, loneliness, loners, loss, love story, old age, past, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, sadness, unhappiness, words | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

It’s the third of August







It’s the third of August, the second day of the beginning of the second week without you. When I woke up this morning I remembered the line I had written before “But my silly old heart is sad and it still misses you.” And it still does this morning. I dreamed last night how hundreds of Elephants trampled down that little lost refugee teen – but incredible, he survived. No matter he had brought it all on himself as a revenge for life’s brutality. But in real world and last seen, he was questioned in court by sneery defense lawyers. In my dream he survived, but in waken naked reality – who will care for him? About me this morning, I sat long at the bedside and I felt like we had lost that mental connection we once had, you and I. And then I was thinking about my dream again, probably inspired by the last week’s scandal news and I thought I would never stand up to be a plaintiff in a Swedish trial and be humiliated by such stiff actors in a rigid inhumane costume drama, Kafka like! Never! But what a weird dream, why? And again it came back to me, that impression we now had lost the soul connection I believed we had before. So I just sat there, hopeless and numb, time ticking away, looking down at my bare knees and felt lonely and abandoned, wondering what next would come in life, nothing? Although I knew well it was I who left you. Yet, what to do? I had to get up from my bed and start the day, coffee and toast firstly as usual. And outside but yet far from my current windows, cluster of rowan berries will blushes again for another year.

rose, whiterose, white



Posted in dreaming, loss, lost, love story, missing, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, reality, sadness, Short prose | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

James (came and left)

Engraving of Kilroy on the WWII Memorial in Washington DC

James (the bonded guy) came to town in the week, “us” to be shaken, but not stirred and it all just for “Sweden” to know about being stared at. And soon enough when a certain trial is over and been brought to the past, we’ll read in the papers that James (kill Roy) is gone – to put his big nose somewhere else. But why was he not sent to do what he’s talented and trained for? Such for example, to free the crew at Stena Impero? And blessed to help Sweden to save the Swedish-Syrian scientist Ahmadreza Djalalis from imminent execution in Iran. But now steered from the dog house, talented people are used as messenger boys far below their capacity, it’s a shame really! ”

“The racist card” is surely not well used here in Sweden for American music artists (we all love them, don’t we?) but it would be right to use it for the treatment of the dark-looking homeless and motherless boys from Morocco and Afghanistan and for the gypsies from Romania begging at our streets – second class citizens free to spit on no charge. The poor beggars must now in some districts charge for a permission to beg and how will they get the money for that, say?

They in Stockholm seated news media, they are still like last years, if reporting about a rapper on trial or not – a disorder and a clique of a cultural elite and gossip writers, Strindberg theme, viewing everybody outside Stockholm City area as uncultured village fools. (To keep my head up, I have nowadays a subscription on a newspaper located far from our capital city .)

As talking about what we get to read, I wish people and newspapers was not that quick to call everything negatively written on social media and web papers for “net hate”. The thing is there are deeply conservative people in this world that wants to stay in the 50s idyllic and hypocritical paintings of life and becomes utterly enraged when others paint other pictures of the reality. They prefer to let Earth be poisoned to death and we at the same, rather than changing their worldview. But I would not be so quick to call rage for hatred. We must live with extremes in opinions in a democratic world. People think and live differently than you. They are entitled to it.

That does not mean I defend mocking individuals going public with their opinions. As what to say when 59 years old man attacks a 16 years old girl as a person for her public mission?

“I have never seen a girl so young and with so many mental disorders treated by so many adults as a guru.” Andrew Bolt, Herald Sun August 1, 2019

Greta Thunberg replied on Twitter: “I am indeed ”deeply disturbed” about the fact that these hate and conspiracy campaigns are allowed to go on and on and on just because we children communicate and act on the science. Where are the adults?”

Greta is a “messenger” no doubt. And “don’t shoot the messenger” remember!

He’s right though she’s made to a guru and an icon by media and by people around and their admiration for her as a person will certainly not save our planet. Those in power can: the political parties, the manufacturing industries and we as consumers. Greta doesn’t want to be an idol, she want to make a change. And she want people to join her to put a pressure on the ruler of society.

But her and her group “Fridays for the Future” calling on all adults and the unions to go on strike on Friday September 27, that I’m just saying a simple “no” to, it’s not my thing. And the appeal to the unions is a child’s naive calling.

After WWF reported that cattle in Cyprus are given almost 40% more antibiotic than animals at Swedish farms I have stopped buy and eat halloumi. Not only because of this report, even if it told me that the care of cattle care must be bad as for this enormous need of preventive medication. No, it was the extremely arrogant response from Cyprus:

“I am 100 percent sure that this is a trade war against our products because we exported 21 tonnes of halloumi to Sweden in 2010 and 1,000 tonnes in 2019,” Deputy State Veterinarian Christodoulos Pipis said.

With his arrogant response, he can be 100 percent sure that I will never eat his halloumi again! And whatever I think of modern milk production and about Arla, Swedish dairies have quickly produced similar products that don’t violate Cyprus trademark rights, but serve as compensation for us who don’t eat meat and don’t tolerate soya products.

Just an example of consumer power and production changes.

I just can’t stand white male middle class arrogance. But I believe even well-off middle-aged white men with a conservative worldview actually could be able debate feminism, human rights, animal rights, environmental issues and other people’s skin colors and make an effort and stick to the subject and not to the person. Not mocking. It’s just intellectual laziness, lethargy and cowardice to not confront arguments you dislikes with fact-oriented counter-arguments.

Some cannot, as they simply are inhumane and evil people, sociopaths in a closet who are careful to keep themselves in the box for what is called normality. Of course, they are not normal. They are just the daily life’s terrorists, the pain in your ass.

You’ll find the same ignorance and even criminal acts among activists at the far Left. Don’t fool yourself it’s only the right wing people doing bad.

If you are constantly mocking and bullying people instead of using factual arguments, you can expect nothing less but to be criticized as a person. You should be!

I met those kind of people more – I mean the right faithful individuals – when I was a child in the 50s and 60s and in my youth in the 70s and as a single mother in the 80s and 90s. I don’t see much of such people nowadays, as I not participate in the life-battle anymore.  Nowadays I collect my pension every month and I only see people in the grocery store and if the staff turns to not be nice and service-minded, I choose another shop.

With the exception I nowadays have to battle the fault-finding Swedish diabetes nurses. It’s not they who hates me, it’s I who hate them. They have their faith in what The National Board of Health and Welfare calls science and when the authority changes their approach, healthcare professionals have to do so too and with their functional selective memory, they don’t remember what they yesterday told the patients.

Yet, interpersonal relationships have actually become better and codes of conduct have been established. It was not there when I was a kid and young, only the wounds are left.

But the world of thought is today a jungle of shrub thicket, people becomes confused and losing themselves in superficial selfies. The problem is we are not given a worldview by authorities and schools anymore, how to see what is true life and not as we got in the 50s. Today each one choose what is the “truth”. But what to choose if you are lost and haven’t got any frames for thinking?

Well, you are free to choose whatever you want to be the truth, as for example “The world is flat!” and a whole bunch of morons follows you. So nice for you to find like-minded then! But when people like Bolt claims that the global warming is “a faith”, he pass the line for what’s both common sense and quite obvious.

The individualism nowadays has pushed us into a corner of existential loneliness and we cannot live with it because we as species are collective beings and without the others we are simply lost and cannot survive. Just alike the unaccompanied refugee children who come from communities where the collective takes precedence over the individual – where the “individual” as an idea that has not even been invented yet. (I would say that individualism is more a social invention than something that is psychologically necessary for the species.)

As people could say in my 30s days with a peculiar face “I want to find myself” and I’d to pinch me in my arm to stop me not to say “but you are with no doubt here!”

Yes, we are here, no doubt! And we have to live with that.

(Oh, but I heard on the news this night that “Elvis has left the building”. And Robert O’Brien just smiles his diplomatic smile.)

He’s so cute that silver haired fox, isn’t he!

Later added at noon today:

” A diplomatic letter warning of “negative consequences” in US-Swedish relations, if the American rapper’s hearing on assault charges was not resolved quickly.”

Shame on you “silver fox”!

Mg of antibiotic per animal unit








Posted in alienation, authenticity, changes, culture values, human rights, immigrants, living in the world, loneliness, lost, morality, past, poems by vonnely, politics, reading life, reading newspapers, reality, relationships, repression and borders, right wing, satire, Sweden view, Swedish "culture", Swedish conditions | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The pains where my soul is seated





If my soul has a place in my mortal body,
then it hides behind the lower tip of the right
shoulder blade. You were always on my back
and pushed me with your intensity and tough
demands, until my already before weak back
tensed up in such pains, it even got me once
to an emergency room. “I can’t see anything”,
said the doctor. (He was a crap of course.) As
I knew it was you and even hard, I cut you off.
Now you’re gone and the pains fold back and
I breathe and think freely and I’m happy again.
But my silly old heart is sad and it misses you.

rose, whiterose, white

Posted in back pains, body image, fatigue, life and love, love story, missing, old age, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, relationships, soul seated | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Some reflections on “obstruction of justice” and about contemporary politics


We have nowadays not only serious realities as ever before to deal with in our world, but there’s a ruthless rhetoric in the public room today that makes us confused about what’s real and true and makes us incapable to handle real life, as we don’t understand it anymore. We don’t see “reality”, we choose an image of it as it is offered to us and pleases us…

Looking for facts is essential!

The World Justice Project (WJP) annually publishes its Rule of Law Index. The index measures legal certainty in various countries around the world. At the top are the four Scandinavian countries in following order: Denmark, Norway, Finland and Sweden.

US comes at 20th place – pretty good but not on top.

Yet, on top of everyone else we have the whole world’s Big Dick Donald Duck, he the one who grab our suffering mother Earth to stifle her to death, it all to make America great again, as he argues – and if so necessary with pleasure he creates a classroom uprising: the bully at the commander’s desk. Oh yes, that’s great! No one has seen any similar since Caligula days… 😦

And now he has attacking Sweden (again) – to get the focus away from the result of his last failures, beginning with abandoning the international nuclear deal with Iran and now getting us into an escalating crisis in the Strait of Hormuz.

In Donald’s world everyone can be used for his purposes, even a black artist he has probably never heard about before – that’s what it’s all about: to get voters for the next presidential election! And I fear he’s going to win next time too – because the Democrats seems split to have no power against him.

Then when some (= a few, but still) representatives for the black community and the Democrats, led by the politician’s Adriano Espaillat  – a group of 4 or more congress men, try to interfere the Swedish justice!

Yet, this opens my eyes for the Democratic Party’s problematic situation to unite themselves in front of the coming election – and I realize that the ignorance is wide-spread in every corner and person of our societies: there exists really no counter-force to the madness in the White House. Sadly!

We have all become trumpified!

Quote from  Time:

“The one thing Democrats agree on is that Trump needs to go, but even on the question of how to oust him, they are split.”

“The Democrats’ crossroads is also America’s. As Trump leans into themes of division, with racist appeals, detention camps for migrants and an exclusionary vision of national identity, the 2020 election is shaping up as a referendum on what the country’s citizens want it to become. This is not who we are as a nation, Trump’s opponents are fond of saying. But if not, what should we be instead?”

Quote from:

Thus I fear that Trump will win the next presidential election. Certainly gratifying for his “friends”, the dictators in the world, but a disaster for the democratic countries and common people in the rest of the world. Mother Earth to cry and die!

This Adriano Espaillat and his buddies and not to talk about over half million artists and fans to those three arrested men, have no doubts with trying to obstruct the justice system in Sweden. There seems to be no interest to get information about our system and of facts in the actual case before going public, all shouting in choir that “the Swedish government” to “free” one artist and two other men charged for street violence.

A government in a democratic society cannot interfere in the justice system.

We are not Turkey, you know!

But then, why this absurd sympathy appeal? Because Mr. Espaillat say he “feels in his soul” this artist is innocent. Mr. Espaillat is 63 years old and has a long experience of political work and he has no excuse for being such an ignorant fool. It’s just a grandstanding, play-the-racist-card. Not much “soul” in that!

If you want to plead from the bottom of your soul, plead for Hong Kong!

Well, but what do you know…? I hadn’t hardly more than leave the internet to get some rest, until this Duck Dick attacks again, now the whole Baltimore to be a rat city where no one wants to live.

All respect for the Democrat Elijah Cummings, who fights for the real victims in our world today!

But back to home, the Swedish arena: in a Swedish tabloid paper has an old retired criminologist get himself involved in this drama. He’s well-known and popular among common people in Sweden from TV shows and from his crime novels (lousy written but sellers that made this former working-class boy to a multi-millionaire). He may think that his popularity gives him the right to do this and get applause for it?

First he criticizes the prosecutor for arresting three people involved in the street fight and then he question the prosecutor’s motives (he probably want to be famous) and criticize his dress and earrings… Latest he has written a chronicle with the headline “Let me describe A… R…’s victim”. He shouldn’t have! And the tabloid should not have let him do it and published it!

This old Swedish criminologist tells that this youngster “the victim”, came to Sweden from Afghanistan as an “unaccompanied refugee child” at age 14. And that he since then has been a troublemaker. He is now 19 years old. Not landed on his feet yet – but who had at age 19?!

About the head phones that figures in the story as being crashed in the struggles, this crime expert tells us the boy probably had not paid for them (he’s a troublemaker, remember!)… But this is simply improper slander of a plaintiff in a legal cases – published in one of Sweden’s biggest tabloid paper! This is the nasty level in Swedish journalism and media morals since burst after the me-too movement. No values, no integrity, no morals, no ideals, just focusing on increase the profits for the owners.

Whether this young man had paid for his headphones broken during the quarrel or not, no one knows – and it is very much irrelevant for the case in court. This, the former crime expert knows – and he should accept it now as retired and private man that everyone even a tiny and lost 19 years old and troubled Asian guy is equal before the law. In Sweden i.e.

Why would these three beefy Black American men in their 30s have the right to “beat the shit” of this small and tiny Asian teenager?

So obviously, you can get a boy out of Harlem, but not Harlem out of the man.

Simply this: if you get into conflict at a street at night, people bothering you and don’t stop when you ask them to, don’t start a video camera to document your following brutal violence responses to these two annoying little mosquitoes. No, use your cellphone to call the police!

And in the first place, Mr. Famous Rapper should had hired trained and professional body guards, not his buddies to protect him. Then anything of this never would had happened.

Lastly, I really don’t know what Trump mean when he say “after all we done for Sweden”. Done what, if I may ask? US is Sweden’s biggest trade market, that is true. It makes us undoubtedly servile smiling with stiff jaws in the hurricane wind from Trump’s verbal outbursts.

True is also that Sweden  since 1995 has represented US and is “protecting power” for American citizens in North Korea and that Swedish diplomacy has helped some American citizen home to US from that devil’s kitchen. So…! The Duck should keep his beak shut.

So… why did I write this when I don’t give a fuck about that duck? To change my direction and view and subject, let me tell you about FAKA. Since Friday we have the Pride festival in Stockholm until August 3rd. The first of August the South African duo FAKA perform live on Tradgarden. For us who can’t be there, we have them YouTube, enjoy 🙂 🙂


Posted in cultures, living with chronic diseases, lost, morality, poems by vonnely, politics, reading newspapers, Swedish conditions, web papers | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

A poet from my time of youth has died

Claes Andersson, foto Tomo Kontio (cropped)

Reading in the paper that the Finnish poet Claes Andersson died on Wednesday this week. Thinking instantly (as always now in my old age), “next it can be me”: as he was only 12 years older than me…! 😦

rose, white




There is a strange crack in our thinking about “death”, the own
and others. In mind, we accept the idea that “everyone dies” but
we can’t really imagine that this applies to us personally as well.

I read in the paper that the poet
Claes Andersson died at the age
of 82, one of my youth poets, well…

…we will all die (sooner or later).
(Think: better later than sooner!)
Sooner or later it will be our turn
to get our obituary, to be read in
a daily paper by those of us who’ll
live a little longer. Yet, the reader
(me) is one day and a step closer to
my non-being in flesh and in time.
Thinking quietly: rather then later!

rose, white




Det finns en märklig spricka i vårt tänkande om “döden”, den egna
och andras. Vi accepterar i tanken idén att “alla dör”, men ändå kan
vi inte riktigt föreställa oss att det gäller också för oss personligen.

Jag läser i tidningen att poeten
Claes Andersson dött vid 82 år,
en av min ungdoms poeter, tja…

… : vi dör alla (förr eller senare).
(Tänker: hellre senare än förr!)
Förr eller senare blir det vår tur
att få vår runa läst i tidningen av
de som lever litet längre. Likväl
är jag, nu den som läser, en dag
och ett steg närmare mitt eget
icke-varande, i köttet och tiden.
Tänker så tyst: hellre då senare!



Claes Andersson was a Finnish poet, psychiatrist, politician and jazz pianist. I have one of his early of poetry collections in my bookshelf at home “Genom sprickorna i vårt ansikte” (Through the cracks in our face) published in 1977. I haven’t read much of him during the later decades, just browsed a little in some poetry book now and then at the local library. (He belonged to the Nordic 70’s Left that I just had grown from.) His last poetry collection was published in 2015 entitled “En morgon vid havet – inandning, utandning” (A Morning at the Sea – Inhalation, Exhalation). I haven’t read the collection, but a review of it.  (By Eva Ström, it is written in Swedish (

rose, white




This poem by Claes Andersson is from his poetry collection 1977, page 31 in the book published 1977

Hennes skönhet liknande körsbärsblommans
Men hon saknade blick
Då förstod jag att blicken hon berövats
var en återspegling av all den omsorg
som aldrig kommit henne till del
Hon var den som inte setts
och som därför aldrig kunde få se

(in my translation, here to read on my blog only)

Her beauty looked like the cherry blossom
But she did not have a gaze
Then I realized that the gaze she was deprived
was a reflection of all the care
that was never given to her
She was the one, never being seen
and who therefore never was able to see

rose, whiterose, white


Posted in aging, become old, books, copied lyrics, door openers, memories, old age, Poem in Swedish, poem in Swedish and English, poem in Swedish translated to English, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, politics, writing | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Wisdom Wells








(translated from Swedish)

When summer so sleeps its last rest, the fall
flames as fire yet chilly. Then the young hero
comes to the Nordic regions to find his Crone,
she the wise woman! All to cool his hot blood.
May he then not be lost when he finds her and
quenches his thirst in her deep wells! And she
in turn, not be enchanted by young manliness!

Yet, summer still prevails. Still lures glittering
lakes in sunny days to laughs and joy. Still elves
dances in mystical and mythical light in Nordic
summer nights. Lonely sleeping safely behind…

windows opened to the night. And a wind whispers
in blowing lace curtains, tells everything is possible.
Still scholars preaches Future as an ended project,
travels there and all dreams are canceled. Reversed
Lake Lethe gives us the water to live here and now.

“What am I for you,” he asked and she thought, ”Not
more than a fly in the summer night when you try to
sleep in peace! ” The old is not as needy as he thinks!






När sommar’n så somnar in och hösten
flammar upp i eld fastän kylig, kommer
den unge hjälten till nordliga trakter att
finna sin kärling: hon den visa kvinnan!
Allt för att svalka sitt heta blod! Må han
ej gå förlorad när han henne finner och
stillar sin törst i hennes djupa brunnar!
Och hon igen, ej dåras av ung mandom!

Men ännu råder sommartid, ännu lockar
glittrande sjöar i sol till skratt och glädje.
Ännu dansar älvor i mytiska och mystiska
ljusa nordiska nätter. Ensam sover trygg –

bakom fönster öppnade mot natten, där
vinden viskande i fladdrande tyllgardiner
förtäljer att allt är möjligt, fastän de lärde
predikar Framtiden som avslutat projekt:
resor dit och drömmar inställda. Konträr
Lake Lethe ger vattnet att leva här och nu!

”Vad är jag för dig” frågade han och hon
tänkte ”Inget mer än en irriterande fluga
i sommarnatten när man vill sova ifred!”
Den gamla är inte så ömklig som han tror!          🙂


rose, whiterose, white





Posted in aging, alienation, armed loneliness, Attraction, authenticity, create life, desirers, dreaming, loneliness, longing, maturity, morality, poem in English and Swedish, poem in Swedish translated to English, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, reality, rebellious lovers, relationships, repression and borders, seasons, secret love, sexuality, summertime | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Marmalade love


I was as made to be the marmalade on his daily
bread, now he seems to has lost his sweet tooth
and I’m not yet ready to be left, a single sweetie

Then he told: I can feel you are not feeling well
and I know why and lemon like I said: So if you
know, why don’t you then do what you must do
to be the sweet marmalade on my daily bread?

rose, white

Posted in create life, food, happiness, life and love, love story, poems, poems by vonnely, words | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

“We have to love more and hate less”

“… This is my charge to everyone! We have to be better. We have to love more and hate less. We have to listen more and talk less. We gotta know this is everybody’s responsibility, every single person here. Every person that’s not here, every person that doesn’t want to be here. Every person that agree and don’t agree: it’s our responsibilty to make this world a better place. …”

” We have to love more, hate less” Meghan Rapinoe’s full World Cup parade speech on:

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“Drink Tap Water in Sweden! Just Like All Swedes Do!”

“Drink Tap Water in Sweden! Just Like All Swedes Do!” But don’t beat up people brutally on the street because they annoys you – and think you will get away with it. I’m not a nationalist and have never been. But I’m born and raised in this country with its democratic values and this people with deep grounded cultural feeling for justice. And there are limits when one person’s self-justification becomes to be slander of my country’s legal system and its hospitality, where even I get upset. These American guys now in Stockholm are even worse than the Chinese tourists last year. I am disgusted. “Famous” on tour is not an excuse for bad manners. Come real!

Drink Tap Water in Sweden! Just Like All Swedes Do



Posted in about writing, culture values, falsity, lies, Sweden view, Swedish "culture", Swedish conditions, Swedish souls, walk of life, web papers | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Laundry day

Had a hard day taking the laundrylaundry basket
An afternoon nap and I slept deep
Woke and my hand searching you
and got the fur of my sleeping cat
Me and Cat in a freshly made bed
My body is a dry desert of despair


Woman with a cat, Pablo Picasso





Posted in afar, desirers, dreaming, loneliness, missing, poems by vonnely, Poetry, reality, romance, sexuality, with or without you | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

A hill of beans in a crazy world


Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman in the movie Casablanca from 1942
Rick Blaine: Ilsa, I’m no good at being noble, but it doesn’t take much to see that the problems of three little people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. Some day you’ll understand that.

He said: Well, if it’s not important
for you to meet me, I won’t come!

I said: It’s not important for me to
see you but I believe it’s important
for you. Yet I would like to see you.

But since then I have thought a lot
of what’s really “important” in life.

View the world today, I’d say to have
a belonging to a place is “important”.

A home and money enough for living,
that’s “important”. Not to be used for
others’ purposes, that’s “important”.

He wants to cut his ties to gets across
continents and borders to see me. But
why? For love? I dare not believe in it!

Love ties over continental borders are
in today’s world, civil disobedience! He
isn’t exactly the rebel type, still he says
he loves me. He claims it’s “important”!

Yet, to travel to meet is not  important.
Too often, he doesn’t understand what
I say. But such is not important to him.

Love! What is love? Linguistic confusion
and romantic delusions: we quarrel over
nothing! But if he want to see me: okay!

With him, something in the world is good.

rose, whiterose, white




Posted in afar, Attraction, changes, create life, desirers, dreamers, happiness, immigrants, life and love, living in the world, lost, love poem, online romance, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, politics, rebellious lovers, romance, secret love, sexuality | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Woman of the year

Megan Rapinoe

Megan Rapinoe

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Three times, three roses





Lars Forssell  (Swedish poet) (1928–2007)

Odysseus på Ithaca
(from the poetry collection Telegram, 1957)

In the Greek tale, the hero is captured on the island Ogygia by the beautiful nymph Calypso who seduces him with her love and songs. But every morning the hero gets depressed and leave the love bed and returns to the beach looking over the sea, longing back to his kingdom and his marriage. But in this poem, the modern poet has turned the perspective: the married man has returned to his home and marriage. But he cannot forget his mistress Calypso and all the nymphs’ tempting pleasures.


Three times three roses
I have thrown in the ocean today when stream
moves away from Ithaca.
Three times three pigeons
has fluttering lift from my hand.
There’s red so mighty, Calypso,
a few ounces of it may color the entire sea blood red.
What helps me then distance
and that I escaped you?
The sirens still lures in my dream.
And the sea cools.
And the dream calls out – storm!
and for you.



The original Swedish poem by Forssell below


Tre gånger tre rosor
har jag kastat i havet idag, när strömmen
för bort från Ithaca.
Tre gånger tre duvor
har, fladdrande, lyft från min hand.
Det finns purpur så mäktigt, Kalypso,
att några uns därav kan färga hela havet blodrött.
Vad hjälper mig då avstånd
och att jag flydde dig?
Sirenerna lockar än i min dröm.
Och havet svalkar.
Och drömmen ropar – storm
och efter dig.

Posted in become old, borders, desirers, dreaming, fictional story, heartache, inspiring literature, life and love, loneliness, love poem, memories, morality, obstacles, past, poem in Swedish and English, poem in Swedish translated to English, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, rebellious lovers, romance, sadness, secret love, sentimentality, sexuality, translations by vonnely | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Greta and the environmental concerns (Greta och miljön)

Greta Thunberg

The Swedish school girl Greta Thunberg outside the Swedish Parliament House, striking every Friday for the Climate

It annoys me this false devoted heightening of this girl in media here in Sweden and abroad. She did not start her school strike for the environment to be praised by media and or by celebrities, minor politicians or a silly old pope. Nor did she do it to receive awards and become a celebrity herself. She did it to draw attention to the immediate necessity to stop the climate degradation in order to save our earth and the future of the children. This to be done now! But the societies in the form of media, politicians and various celebrities chooses to kill her mission by raising her as a person and a role model. Note, she is not important to herself, but the environment is overall important to her! And yet the environment is as bad as before. Despite the media circuses around her.

All while people with the power abuse it to deny reality and enlighten themselves in media shaking hands with dictators and photograph themselves with murderers. Everything for greed.

We live in an age of narcissists, but Greta Thunholm is one of the few exceptions, she is a girl with a vocation beyond her own comfort zone. She want a change. She wants concrete actions, not talks.

Det irriterar mig detta upphaussande av denna flicka som person i media här i Sverige och utomlands. Hon startade inte sin skolstrejk för miljön för att bli hyllad av media och kända personer av olika dignitet, inte heller för att få utmärkelser eller för att själv bli en kändis. Hon gjorde det för att uppmärksamma att vi måste få ett slut på klimatförstörelsen och rädda vår jord och barnens framtid. Och detta här och nu! Men samhället i form av media, politiker och diverse celebriteter väljer att försöka döda hennes mission genom att upphöja henne som individ och som förebild. Och miljön är lika dålig som förut. Trots den mediala cirkusens fokus på henne.

Allt medan människor med makt missbrukar den till att förneka verkligheten och flinar upp sig för medias fotografer, skakande hand med diktatorer och fotograferande sig med mördare. Allt för girigheten.

Vi lever i ett tidevarv av narcissister, men Greta Thunholm är en de fås undantag, hon är en flicka kall bortom den egna bekvämligheten. Hon kräver förändring. Hon kräver konkreta handlingar och slutpratat!

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All the difference


Every evening after dark I take a 12 minutes’ walk
around the block. Nor have I ever said, “I want to
be alone. I only said, I want to be left alone.” It is
the Garbo truth: “There is all the difference.” But
all the pushy people you flee call it “your choice”!


rose, whiterose, white

Posted in alienation, armed loneliness, authenticity, courage, create life, fragile, left aside, loneliness, poems by vonnely, Poetry, reading life, unhappiness, walk of life | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Heart wrapped in barbed wire






I read your letter, roses sweet
with thorns thoroughly hidden
in thin silk paper. I grieve your
heart wrapped in barbed wire!
What you have you don’t want
and what you want is far away.


rose, whiterose, white

Posted in alienation, armed loneliness, create life, desirers, dreamers, friendship, heartache, living in the world, loneliness, loners, longing, love poem, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, reading life, rebellious lovers, repression and borders, unhappiness, vänskap, words, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

And it may be you will love two

And it may be you will love two men
And one you have and the other not
And you swallow the latter his bitter
words, as you not want to see him go
And yet you still drink the sweetness
given by him whose heart you have
And you’ll leave to the future to give
you the answer to what is right to do
And one’s luck is a loss for the other
But your heart still wants them both
and at nights you’ll make love to one
and fantasizes another, comes hard


rose, whiterose, white

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Are you alone today on Midsummer’s Eve (in Sweden!)

Är du ensam idag på Midsommarafton?
Vet då att det är du inte ensam om!

Are you alone today at Midsummer’s Eve?
Know then, you are not alone about that!


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At my age! (2) (prose)

Tom Waits and his spouse Kathleen

“At my age anything unexpected that isn’t medical or mortal should be celebrated.”A quote attributed to Kathleen Brennan.

Sommarcafé Blåbärskullen senior outing








If any say “at my age”, she’s for sure not 6 years old… or 20 or 30 years old either for that matter. She could be in her 40s but then she is not old enough and not entitled to say it. Yet, it is a panic age and foresight women breaks up in divorces, changing life styles.

If any in age 50 use the phrase “in my age”, she’s got a point and at 50 the body obvious is failing with to keep it up with whatever is to keep up. But it’s still silly if she believe in something like that. Because age 50+ today is not (in the West) as aged 50 was only 3 – 4 decades ago. There is still a long time future to expect.

But at 60 it looks like it’s time to gather yourself to face the life fact of mortality – and at 70 you’ve got it right. The time left is short!

I don’t know how it happened – but to my surprise I became 70 this year.  Once becoming 60 was bad enough, but shortly I closed my eyes and imagined that I still didn’t look like my true age. But now a decade later I have to bite the bullet and realize that I am “old” and be what I am. And since my parents died at age 72 and 75, it’s like a hair-raising horror story!

Now this me, newly 70-year-old,  the formula “my age” still feels like a suit not made for me, one size too big and further: badly tailor-made.  But I try to live in my saggy suit – and then I realize to my surprise it seems to be forbidden for you to even mention “aging” and “mortality” for those close around but younger than you. “Now, don’t say things like that, no one know who goes first and when”, they hush you down. True, but still more people dies “at my age” than in those younger-than-you generations! So why not be allowed to speak loudly about what is urgent for you to talk about?

(At the contrary, you are allowed and even expected to have (had) a pension insurance and funeral saving!) (Like in past times having condoms in the wallet, just in case!)

It is not as much that I actually want or need to talk about difficulties in aging and of the coming death, it is that it is uncomfortable for people around you if you do it that arouses my curiosity for the topic. Do we have here an elephant in the room? Is it some kind of taboo around life challenges in higher ages? Don’t mention you haven’t come to terms with your mortality (at your age)? Don’t mention you still are able to fall in love and want to have sex and closeness with someone special (at your age)?

And yet again, people just love to tell to you “age is nothing but a number” if you come to only mention you are not young any more. Well, if age is just a number – please tell it to my hurting hips in my wakeup nights!

I suspect this attempts muzzling old people is for to hold us back in the gate from become unpleasantly serious about life as it raises younger people’s suppressed anxiety about their own existence, can it be?

This platitude is preferably followed by another “life is short, so why be serious about it!” Yes, why indeed?!

Maybe because it is true “you only live once” and you are no doubt mortal – and this is your only chance to be serious about anything in your precious life!

Posted in aging, authenticity, become old, cultures, maturity, poems by vonnely, politics, reading life | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

At my age!

I came old and stood at the edge, mirrored nothingness
fearing but fighting, as faced the end of the mortal “me”
Then I met him, a freedom fighter for his own good only
He caught me and brought me a future, but I didn’t want
that, either. He’s happy he found me but I am depressed,
because I want to bring peace and harmony into my soul,
fed up struggling with younger ages’ desires – those times
passed; and wine to vinegar. But the sweetness of  love is
the same “at my age”: pacifies life’s painful shortcomings

rose, whiterose, white




Translated from English to Swedish

Jag blev gammal och stod vid kanten av intigheten
livrädd men kämpande: som speglad dödliga “mig”
Då mötte jag honom, en frihetskämpe för egen sak
Han fångade mig och han gav mig en framtid. Men
jag ville inte ha det; heller. Han är glad att han fann
mig men jag är deprimerad därför att jag vill bringa
lugn och ro till min själ, utled på unga generationers
krav och begär: allt passerat mig; och vinet till ättika!
Men kärlekens sötma är ju densamma “i min ålder”:
pacificerar livets smärtsamma tillkortakommanden!


rose, white




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Ambiguous love (feeling trapped)

He asked me if I had written something at my
blog that same day and I said no. “No poems?”
he asked and “No!” I said. “Why?”  he queried.
“I have nothing to write about” I said unhappy.
“So what are you doing today?” he tried more.
“Chat with you and listen to music on YouTube”.
I answered. “So nice!” he thought. “Yes!” I said
but “No!” I was thinking. And he asked no more.
He tries even if we strive in different directions!

Once he got me trapped and now I can’t get free
and no doubt we’ve a thing going; a kettle boiling.
Getting close I’m told what I can’t tell, him to lose!
I curse that fate he’s blessing: because he got me.
I see closed doors and borders, all those “no-go”,
but he’s all determined to find his way to my bed
and change his life. But I’m not a key to anything.
Yet he is as trapped as me and none of us are free.


rose, white





Posted in about writing, Attraction, borders, create life, desirers, dreamers, faith, life and love, love story, obstacles, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, romance, walls, with or without you, words, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

I remember you

man on rose bed

I remember you, lovely bearded man, who loved
me more than your life (that’s what you told me).
But then you dumped me like trash, just like that!

It was when you were cornered not to be serious
about us but showed to be alike those hypocrites
you hate that you burst out in anger and told me
not to waste my time more on you. And then you
did what I never thought you would do to me, left
me and the shock made me numb for a long time.

But I believe you really loved me and that you still
miss me. I miss you too, but I never want you back!

rose, whiterose, white

Posted in heartache, life and love, loss, love poem, love story, memories, missing, past, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, romance | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Where the birches rustles their summer song

The woman on this pic is Sara Danius, former member of the Swedish Academy for literature and to left in the pic, the back of the head of her prime antagonist Horace Engdahl, still a member of the Swedish Academy

When one goes, the other is seen left behind:
But the former will be what comes. The other:
the laughing gentleman, now ridiculous naked
butt as the fairy tale emperor: but still haughty
he gabbles his garbage. Far after the abscesses
burst, stenches still stays in the air in Sweden’s
public space: nothing is the same – and yet it is:
as the birches again rustles their summer song!

Den som går och den som är kvar:
den förre är den som kommer och
den andre, löjets sanna gentleman
lämnad förlöjligad därhän så naken
om baken som sagans kejsare men
ändock skrivande skrävlande dynga.
Bölderna sprack: stanken sprider sig
alltfort över Sveriges offentliga rum:
inget är sig likt i liklukten! Likt likväl:
att björkar nu susar sin sommarsång!

Wellknown and popular folk song in Sweden, but in origin from Finland.

John Bauer Prince without Shadow

John Bauer Prince without Shadow

The poem was written in 1915 by Viktor Sund, Finnish-Swedish teacher and librarian. The story tells that the poem was written for his own wedding, but his fiancee died shortly before the wedding and he never married. The  music by Oscar Merikanto, Finnish composer.

Verse three of three:

Where the birches rustles, there among them
we will promise each other fidelity and love
Where we will build the home for our young
happiness and make life lovely for each other


rose, whiterose, white




Hermann Hesse (1877 – 1962)

“So the tree rustles in the evening, when we stand uneasy before our own childish thoughts: Trees have long thoughts, long-breathing and restful, just as they have longer lives than ours. They are wiser than we are, as long as we do not listen to them. But when we have learned how to listen to trees, then the brevity and the quickness and the childlike hastiness of our thoughts achieve an incomparable joy. Whoever has learned how to listen to trees no longer wants to be a tree. He wants to be nothing except what he is. That is home. That is happiness.” Hermann Hesse Bäume. Betrachtungen und Gedichte

Posted in about writing, courage, create life, culture values, dreamers, faith, garbage, life and love, loners, lost trust, love story, morality, nature, past, poems by vonnely, Poetry, politics, reading, reading newspapers, repression and borders, sexuality, summer poem, summertime, surviving, Swedish souls, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Hedgehog men photos WorldWarII





He sent me a photo and he had
a chin like a hedgehog. He said
“You can kiss me as much as you want!”
“Oh thanks,” I said in fear. “Yet I don’t!”


Il basio (The kiss) by Francesco Hayez 1859

Il basio (The kiss) by Francesco Hayez 1859






Han skickade mig ett foto: han hade
en haka som en igelkott. Så han sade
“Du kunde kyssa mig så mycket du ville!”
“Tack,” sa jag, “men hellre en annan kille”.

Bibi Johns, former singer, former pianist Alex Racec, pianist. They met when she was 67 and he 27 and were a couple for 12 years.

rose, white







rose, white





The key to love and affection will never be without attraction. Age differences are not about wrinkles or saggy old bodies contra firm and young bodies. What culturally define an attractive and fashionable man in common eyes differs more over the decades than the fashion and beauty ideals  for women.

An unshaved man’s apperance in a movie during the 40s to the 60s told us without word this was a  slob that lost the grip over his life. The last 20 – 30 years it’s the straight opposite: this image show a man who is successful in his life and with an excess of self-confidence in his bag.


Audrey Hepburn born 1929 and Gregory Peck born 1916 in the movie Roman holiday from 1953

But if you was young or brought up during the 50s you got the old fashion eyes for what attracts you to a man. Bibi Johns on the image above with her younger partner, was born 1929 and I was born 1949. Even with that age difference we are both culture fixed in the same time ideals what a good looking man looks like. I think Bibi Jones was lucky to find her lover in a time just before every young man around 30 has a stubble chin, because when we were young, that look was of an untidy slob. If Alex Racec would have had such a chin, he would never won the lady’s heart, I’m sure. (Bibi Johns represent “the lady style” from the 50s  but I never had that style  as I was young woman in 70s. But still, born in true working class I never fancy or had any sloppy looking boyfriends on a date…)

But now 70 but still twenty years younger than Ms Jones, I’m not that lucky when it comes to romance a younger man. (Yes, that situation has actually occured in my life too!) I know of course what my problem is: beauty is in the viewer’s eye. I try to change and update my views, but I’m just too old to fancy such a chin…

But even if I try to deal with it – what I never can deal with is the effects on a sensitive skin by kissing a hedgehog man.  You may think 3-day stubble look is incredible sexy… But whatever you think of the scrubby look, this outcome on a woman’s face you can see on the pic to the left  is not okay! It’s called beard burn – and it certainly hurts and burns for days. So no, I don’t want such kisses… Do something about it, man! (If you want me!)

I have done some research online and this is apparently the fashion for men today up to a certain age (men over 60 still looks like unshaved slobs with this look)  and not many admit the problem with beard-burn. But I found on and athletic site a guy who actually admit this bad consequense for the female partner and recommended fellow men to try a softening hair conditioner in shower. Maybe it helps, at least couples need to work for a solution. It’s okay to be stylish – and you can do and be whatever you want as long you not harm others…


BODY SHAVING!! What the f**k is that on a grown man: it would be like kissing a smooth baby butt! 😦

What an age-eyed cultural damaged woman like me more have problems with of the nowaday fashion for men is that phenomenon body shaving. Only the thought to have sex with a man smooth as baby’s skin is repelling…! I happens to experience that line of hair from a man’s navel down below the waist of the jeans very sexy. A man’s hairy legs is hot in bed, it turns out so well with the soft skin of my inner thighs… But what about born with a chest with no hair, or with just too much off it? Well, if nature is that unfortunated with a poor guy, I certainly can love him anyway. Love and sex is more than fashion looks…

The problems with a large age difference in a couple relationship are not so much about the differences in the present time, but about values, the fashion ideals and the music taste that you once grown up with. It’s printed in your skin as tattoos.


Gizzelle (I found a love) (Youtube)

By the way, I can’t stand either today’s fashion with tattoos on the both sexes. (In Sweden today it is so common in the younger generations that it is not tattooed is the rare.) No risk for any amorous feelings from me there! But I cannot understand that it is allowed for healthcare professionals to have their bare arms covered with such ugly and tasteless decorations. When any such person will treat me in the near future, I will refuse to allow him / her to do so. Simply!

(But I love the tattooed singer Gizzelle and her version of “I found a love” ) (to be found on Youtube!)


I became 70 years in April this year and it feels as strange as it would be to wake up one morning in the wrong body, like being a woman and discover having a thing “down there”, that should be not on me but on the other one – the one man I dream about to share my bed with.  Aged and/or old fashioned or not: you never get too old for the need of love.

(Yet, now at the end of this post I suddenly realize that with this subject of hedgehog men, I have actuallty written myself into my right age: I am really an old-fashioned aunt, stuck in old ideals from earlier decades! Oh but excuse me, I think I need now a soft soothing kiss…)

movie 50s

Autumn leaves 1956, Joan Crawford and and Cliff Robertson

Posted in about writing, aging, Attraction, authenticity, changes, create life, culture values, inspiring movies, inspiring music, life and love, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, prose poem, reading life, rebellious lovers, relationships, sexuality | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Microscopic notices in Swedish medias “Microscopic remains of Nazi victims buried”

Beerdigung in Berlin von NS-Opfern


VideoSpäte Würdigung für NS-Opfer

“Berlin buries prisoners’ tissue kept by Nazi-era doctor”

This doctor’s name was Hermann Stieve. He was active until his death in 1952 and he was never charged for his dealing with the executed prisoners’ remains.

A quote from the BBC article: “The anatomist’s use of the prisoners’ corpses had been kept almost in plain sight, because he kept meticulous records of his work. He had a particular interest in reproductive anatomy.His work was some of the first research to suggest that stress – in the form of being sentenced to death – could disrupt a woman’s menstrual cycle.”

BBC quote: “He then dissected them for research, before discreetly cremating and interring their bodies anonymously.”




Monday May 13, 2019 the bodies of 300 female resistance fighters got their last respect in an ceremony.

BBC quote again: “In a statement, Dr Karl Max Einhäupl, CEO of the Charité, said the burial was part of an effort by the hospital to confront its – and German medicine’s – difficult relationship with Nazism.”

“By burying the microscopic specimens at the Dorotheenstadt Cemetery, we want to help restore to the victims some of their dignity,” he said.





Microscopic remains of Nazi victims executed and dissected by Hitler's scientists 70 years ago are buried at a Berlin cemetery

Microscopic remains of Nazi victims executed and dissected by Hitler’s scientists 70 years ago are buried at a Berlin cemetery








Hermann Stieve on the photo above was  (according to  Wikipedia) elected in 1940 as a foreign member number 799 of the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences.östa_Häggqvist

(NCBI: The National Center for Biotechnology Information advances science and health by providing access to biomedical and genomic )
“Swedish-German contacts in the field of anatomy 1930-1950: Gösta Häggqvist and Hermann Stieve”.




We have a lot in our Swedish history that is not tasteful but seldom talked about.

It’s surely  a nice feeling-good movement to play the righteous nation in the world, but the historical reality within our borders is more complex than that.

Every Swedish newspaper no matter if small, had a short notice about this burial. But I just think Swedish TV and Radio Sweden too should have paid this cremony some respect by reporting about it. But of course – radio and TV public education is to serve us SOMA spaced drinks, to let us comfortably sink down  in our big deep armchairs in our Brave New World. (?)


I refer in the last sentence to Aldous Huxley’s novel “Brave New World” (1932). “Soma” was the drug served the citizens to keep them in order.

Posted in authenticity, cultures, darkness, garbage, human rights, living in the world, morality, poems by vonnely, politics, reading, reading newspapers, sacred, Swedish "culture", Swedish souls | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

I met him on the internet

the internet meetings





Aubrey Beardsley (1872 –1898) Isolde


I met him on the internet,
and that is something I will always regret.

He had pics of sparkling eyes, a lovely smile.
Charmed, I was thinking I will chat for a while.

But soon he covered my every waking hour
and he took away from me all my power.

Once I was a lonely woman but now I was his queen.
We were both trapped in front of the computer screen.

Two weeks later he wanted to marry me.
But I said, we just have met, wait and see.
He told me then “for me it’s you or no one,
I’m a serious man and I never do any for fun”.

And you will see, come close on the internet
is something you can’t regret and not forget.

But our first call on phone revealed a boy’s voice,
video calls alike as a younger brother’s lack of joys.

Then, two months on the edge with him planning his life
and telling me all about his love and about me as his wife.

But I became depressed of less love, more of verbal abuse.
I broke up and he told it would kill him as he was of no use
without me and if he no longer would have me in his life.

And then he said to me: coming close on the internet
is something you will always regret, you not to forget!

Therefore I want to tell you about become close on the internet:
as it surely can be something you will regret, “you not to forget!”

We say the same thing, but we all say it from different angles
and we don’t mean the same, yet remember none of us are angels.


Posted in create life, life and love, loneliness, loners, love story, morality, online romance, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, romance | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

If I could talk to you


And if I could talk to you, I would tell you
I’m not happy for this either. But you and
I and talking was never good and it always
went from bad to worse. And I had to end
us hurting each other. There was no other
way but to throw you out of my life. Now,
what more to share? Tears of missing and
grief, far from love? But you had no tender
feelings for me, was only interested in your
own feelings! What is left to miss? Feeling
small and sad and unhappy, entangled into
a relationship of mutual verbal abuse? No!






Posted in alienation, armed loneliness, borders, heartache, loners, loss, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, sadness, surviving, talking, unhappiness, with or without you | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

She wants him differently and he wants her as she should be

woman on a motor bike









She’s his first love, he told her.
He is a pain in her ass but she
can’t tell him and thereof she
feels like she’s a burning bush
in a blinded desert. You’re my
woman now, he said, you’d tell
me your intimate dreams. She
said, I am my own and I decide
what I tell or not and to whom.
She wants him differently and
he wants her as she should be.





Posted in create life, life and love, love poem, morality, paradigms, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, rebellious lovers, relationships | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment