Jane Røken – Europe!

Europe!

Europe, your golden stars, your sky-space, your heavens, your enveloping sphere –
Europe, your sunny green meadows, your black forests, your black magic, your black soul, your black arts –
Europe, your courageous little maidens, your hopeful young lads –
Europe, your history! your history!

Europe, your highwaymen, your murderers, your perverted scum –
Europe, your long roads, your vistas, your perspectives –
Europe, your dark lodges, your secret societies, your locked doors –
Europe, your rich breasts, your bloodied hands –
Europe, your high mountains, your glittering rivers, your whistling gales –
Europe, your flags, your colours, your crowds of nations –
Europe, Babel! Babel!
Europe, your fairies, your trolls, your goblins, your subterranean species –
Europe, your sacred groves, your shrines of sacrifice, your dancing monoliths –
Europe, your history! your history!

Europe, your hedgerows, your trenches, your fences, your frontiers –
Europe, your wild white clouds, your black uniforms –
Europe, don’t! it hurts! help!
Europe, your victims, your mourners, your poverty-stricken relatives –
Europe, your songs, your harps, your fiddles, your pipes, your horns –
Europe, your screams, your weeping, your laughter –
Europe, your madmen, your grave-robbers, your parasites –
Europe, your stench, your bitter tears, your poison rain –
Europe, your heroes, your traitors, your mercenary pardoners –

Europe, your history! your history! your crusades, your child-slaves, your wretched souls –
your armies, your churches, prayers, curses –
malice, spite, degradation, damnation –
greatness, generosity, tempests, eagles’ flight across the sky –
Europe, your history! your history!

Europe, your moonlit shores, your bold broad smiles –
Europe, your horrors, your dreams, your lowering nights –
Europe, your prophets, your heretics, your lantern-bearers –
your elves, your witches, your innocent children, Europe!
Where are they now? hidden within your warm heart? on your frayed, cold periphery?
In your foggy edgelands, Europe!

Europe, your golden stars, your veil of mist –

Drenched in the fog we are still waiting for you to come to us.
Always among the stars we shall wait.

 
Jane Røken lives in Denmark, on the interface between hedgerows and barley fields. She is fond of old tractors, garden sheds, scarecrows and other stuff that, in the due course of time, will ripen into something else. Her writings have appeared in many very different places, mostly online.

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Jane Røken – Long Epic Peace

Long, Epic Peace
At the back of someone’s garden, under an overturned wheelless barrow, lived a little piece of Peace that dreamt of being long and epic.

Since any piece of Peace is by nature an orphan, and a single child by default, it had no one to ask how its dream could be fulfilled. Even the scummiest outcast has a backing group of sorts; even the scurviest midden-rat has a formidable network, but a piece of Peace is on its own.

So the little piece of Peace decided to bring its quest before the municipal authorities. The stairs were many, long and steep. The counters and desks were high and intimidating.

“Please, I want to be long and epic.”
“Only war has the stamina to be long. Only suffering has the moral right to be epic.”

The little piece of Peace climbed down the stairs and shuffled home to its shelter under the barrow. At night, when all was dark, it went out again, broke into a DIY centre and stole a five-litre bucket of red paint.

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Jane Røken lives in Denmark, on the interface between hedgerows and barley fields. She is fond of old tractors, garden sheds, scarecrows and other stuff that, in the due course of time, will ripen into something else. Her writings have appeared in many very different places, mostly online.