It all started the rainy and cold summer of 2012. We were trapped in that gloomy dull summer never forgotten because of those days after days of never ending rain. All plans of trips and picnics became lame to then ran out somewhere outdoors in flooded sewers. The despair was all over us two, my son in the sofa with his laptop and I by my desk with mine. Sudden the son looked up and said ”Why don’t we start a blog?” And that’s how my blogging started. The first blog together with my son didn’t last long. I was not that comfortable writing prose in Swedish and my son, returning to his job dropped off the project because lack of time and other interests.
In the autumn of 2012 I started to write poetry again after decades of silence and writing cramps. And I was able to do that because I avoided my own language for writing in English. And then I started this blog and named it ”Poems by vonnely.” I had finally find a form and a space that suited me and made me bloom.
But that I began writing in English started the summer before. I had in the summer of 2011 joined a pen-pal site and through this I got a lot of training to write in English – to the extend I started to think in English. But Swedish children learn English in school from early age, so it’s not that hard to pic up the English language as an adult and when using it in every day life, sudden even begin to think in English.
On a pen-pal site you surely meet a lot of different kinds of people, some not so nice that for sure. But overall was the force to write in English a good training for me. It became a way for me to start write poetry again, overcoming my shyness and giving me stuff to deal with my experiences of people I met online. By using a language other than my own mother tongue and by using a pseudonym and able to publish myself on a blog all my former writing inhibitions were gone and I had found my way to finally become a writing poet and published, yet anonymous, yet informally.
Now as reading some of my poems on this blog from earlier years, I have decided to republish a few of them here.
”The red rose in the rain” a post from August 27, 2019
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!
Where are you Mr. Goodman?
Publicerat den 1 November, 2012
Where are you, Mr. Goodman? The maple tree
outside my bedroom window has lost all its leaves
and the puddles on the streets freezes to ice,
the cold is creeping into the walls that embraces
the rooms, there I walk around with you on my mind.
Where are you Mr. Goodman? Is the sun shining
at your place? Are you happy or sad? Are you really
suffering from not being with me, as you said?
Or was it only what you thought I wanted to hear?
Are you a phony who makes a laugh out of me?
Where are you Mr. Goodman? Bleak November
is now here. The TV is my company, News and Shows
with chatter and faked laughs in a Brave New World.
Will you ever tell me your real name, Mr. Mystery Man?
Or am I only a distant enticing whisper in your ear?
Where are you, Mr. Goodman? The full moon
at nights illuminates the silver strands in my dark hair.
You said you wanted to put my name on the rainbow for
everybody to see how much you love me. But all I want
is you to be real and coloring my life with your love.
Young longing
Published on October 8, 2018
Jag har en åldrad kvinnas hud
och en krigares ärrade hjärta
men min unga längtan är bara
du; dina händers hängivenhet
I have the skin of an aging woman
and the scarred heart of a warrior
but my young longing is only you;
the devotion in your hands
Event in June
Published on July 1, 2015
He said “Hello how are you,
can I get to know you? I’m
Rachid from Morocco, I work
at Renault Nissan factory and
right doors is my specific job”
and as rapidly as the swallows
fly at a summer sky, he put a
door right to my heart and
became a friend on my
road, beginning…
Han sa ”Hej hur mår du, kan jag
lära känna dig? Jag heter Rachid
och är från Marocko. Jag arbetar
på Renault Nissan fabriken och
högerdörrar är mitt specifika jobb”
och lika snabbt som svalorna flyger
på juni sommarhimmel satte han
en dörr till mitt hjärta och blev
en vän på min väg, som
börjar här…
Joan Jett 2013
Vegan girl in red leather jacket
Publiched on 23 februari, 2014
So tell me you, Joan the rocker,
what should a vegan girl do, when
she meets her rice-and-chicken man?
He says he wants to kiss her, and
squeeze her, and rock her all night
long. So tell me, you Joan, what
should a broccoli girl do when she
meet a rice-and-chicken man rocking
her world. For all what she knows,
chicken is only what he eats,
but chicken – he’s not, and
it really scares her a lot. Oh Joan,
hot red rocker in leather, do you
really think lovers can stay together
in any weather? Oh Joan, Joan Jett,
my faith is weak and my body
is cold and wet. Oh Joan,
you half-hearted vegan girl,
who defies all weather
dressed in red leather,
you’re hot, but I rather not.
But who can defies the beat
from a red hot loving heart,
by telling a man what to eat?
And who would tell a hot chick
what to wear? I wouldn’t.
But I would like to know
how it will go with
my rice-and-chicken man? Will
we rock the world and come through?
Oh Joan, you vegan girl in red leather
who defy all weather,
can we do it?
Oh say…
The white rose
Published on August 28, 2014
What moves me, grows in me –
you touched me with your words,
and I believed you like a young maiden.
Now the memory of you stings me like a thorn.
To miss you has become my daily bread
Published 3 januari, 2018
To miss you has become my daily bread.
My every day thirst is to hear your voice;
to talk to you. I think of you constantly.
You’re a hurricane and the peace in my
soul. One day you will rest in my arms
and we will be together forever, happy
as in a fairy tale. That’s what we always
tell each other to keep hope alive.
Att sakna dig har blivit mitt dagliga bröd.
Jag törstar varje dag efter att få höra din
röst; få tala med dig. Jag tänker ständigt
på dig. Du är orkan och frid i min själ. En
dag ska du vila i min famn och vi ska vara
tillsammans för evigt och lyckliga som i
en saga. Det är vad vi alltid berättar för
varandra för att hålla hoppet levande.
We still know each other
but there are no longer any
stars on the sky between us
and I stare into a darkness.
Are you there? Still? For me?
Vi känner fortfarande varandra
men det finns inte längre några
stjärnor på himlen mellan oss
och jag stirrar in i ett mörker.
Finns du där? Ännu? För mig?
Naughty nipples
Published 24 december, 2016
even if my brain gets occupied
with other matters during the day
my nipples goes on and on and on
chatting and chatting about you
Significance
Published 21 oktober, 2013
Natten är blind och oändlig, ingen markkontakt.
Havet ligger blankt och tiger bittert om sina tårar.
Jag ser ditt ljus på avstånd, som en fyr för ett fartyg
På okända farvatten. Du står stum och jag färdas.
För en kort stund ger vi varandra betydelse.
(translated to English now on July 7, 2021)
The night is blind and endless, no ground contact.
The shiny sea reveals bitterly nothing about its tears.
I see your light in distance, like a lighthouse for a ship
on unknown waters. You stay muted and I’m traveling.
For a brief moment, we give each other significance.
Summer 2012 first day of the Dan Andersson week celebration July 28
poems by vonnely 
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