One Hundred Poems, Volume I Read online



  One Hundred Poems

  Volume I

  Tuomas Vainio

  One Hundred Poems, Volume I. Copyright © 2015 Tuomas Vainio.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without a written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Please contact the author at [email protected].

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of

  the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial

  purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own

  copy from their favourite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

  Discover other titles by Tuomas Vainio:

  Heart of Ceres (Science Fiction)

  Table of Contents

  Barrel in bed

  The three-eyed fox (For a Fantasy Novel)

  Frank Underwood

  First snow

  Thanks for science?

  Feelings during a writer's block

  To look into mirror

  A seed to a tree

  Literally

  The Youth of Finn

  Welcome to the world

  Dust

  Crime unforgivable

  Why must I quit the Skype?

  Post Rock Raven

  Some days in a relationship

  Moon

  Too Much Water

  A Man's Poem: Corrected

  Internet arguments

  A posthumous painting

  Why we teach?

  Fishfingers

  Job applications

  Plenty of fish

  Gay marriage =/= sex in public

  Sleep

  Seeds of rebellion

  Video games

  Stream

  Smile

  Intelligence quotient

  How the city came to be ruled by magisters (For a fantasy novel)

  Headache, yet again

  Food

  5 Year Old Jordan

  Ghost

  Bioware

  Rain

  I caught them all

  Religious sacrifice

  Washing machine

  Bio

  Dubsteb

  Winter Olympics

  Putin

  Sleep honey

  Patriarchy

  Selma

  Je Suis Charlie

  Oddities in behaviour

  Enough

  An upbeat heart (For a fantasy novel)

  Forever

  On Aspects of Freedom of Speech

  A different view

  Soul of Music

  Tangerine

  On the Existence of Gods

  Closet Template

  Sugar, we are in a space opera

  On “classical music”

  26.01.2015 Syriza 01/26/2015

  On the actions of terrorists

  Day

  Legend of Zelda

  Strawberry mints

  Flicker Screen of Death

  Batman

  Freaky deaky nap dream

  Nerdy geek boy's first romance

  On being introverted

  In the eye of the beholder

  A red line

  I never was the easiest child

  On the Red Haired Superhero

  Disgust is today's politics

  Stray Cat

  If eyes are the mirror of the soul

  Where it all began (For a fantasy novel)

  On the Airport Security Measures

  Distracted on the Internet

  Pocket watch

  Arsenal

  On Election Machines

  Gravity falls

  Youth and rebellion

  A little dancer (For a fantasy novel)

  Greece's 2/3; 21.02.2015 2/21/2015

  Wight King's Poem and Night Watch Oath (For a Fantasy Novel)

  Jupiter's Legacy

  How little we know of our past

  That ugly grimace

  We are all going to die

  Totoro pouch for your phone

  Still thinking

  Poem-lah

  A Top Gear Job Application

  To kiss a fool

  Hundred

  Barrel in bed

  So today was another day,

  I should already know my way,

  Yet I find no reason to share my smiles,

  As I keep running through these empty miles,

  I am sick of these grey days that see no end,

  I am sick of this constant down trend.

  I feel I am lost without a guiding light,

  That I have lost all my earthly might,

  Even my sense of what is right,

  I do not know how to continue this fight.

  I woke up to face yet another morning,

  My body once again is barely moving,

  And I find my finger on the side of my forehead,

  I imagine a barrel of steel with mechanism for bloodshed,

  I keep trying to squeeze my finger harder,

  To breach the veil of fantasy to our reality,

  But there is no sound,

  I am given no ground,

  And so my finger falls,

  To make space for another day,

  I do not know how to stop longing for my own death.

  The three-eyed fox (For a Fantasy Novel)

  I saw a dream today,

  I was in a forest looking for wood,

  I stumbled on a ruined house,

  Or a barn that had a tree-eyed fox inside,

  The fox ran around me and nudged its body against mine.

  I wanted the fox gone;

  So I grabbed a stick and tried to beat it away,

  But it only gnawed and played with the other end.

  So I took another stick and threw it far away,

  The fox chased and came back with it.

  I took a third stick and threw it at a tree,

  That stupid fox crashed against the pine and still came back.

  So I took my fourth stick and threw it off a cliff,

  The fox followed and tumbled down yet still managed to come back,

  The third eye on its forehead had closed and disappeared.

  I took the fifth and final stick,

  I threw it at a tree standing below the cliff,

  The fox leaped, crashed, and tumbled down,

  The stupid little shit had finally left me alone.

  But there it lied,

  Down the hill all bloodied and still,

  It did not deserve my pointless ill will,

  My anger and annoyance had turned into guilt.

  I woke up,

  I tried to excuse myself,

  I tried to explain how the fox was me.

  But I know it was not me,

  I am forced to look and see myself what I have done,

  I killed that fox and now guilt is my only company.

  Frank Underwood

  Have you ever thought of the burden of a leader,

  Have you ever thought what it took to get there,

  Of all the lies, broken promises, and conscience so dark you have become a miser of heart,

  Of all the dreams and fears you must learn to never impart,

  For those are weaknesses that could tear you apart,

  Of how your intentions became twisted and but
chered,

  Transformed and mutilated,

  How deep down you feel nothing but the scars of how you shall remain,

  Forever broken.

  That is the burden of being a leader,

  That is the burden I chose to bear,

  Not out of malice nor greed,

  Not out of virtue nor fears,

  But for what the world is,

  For what we are,

  And what we are; nothing but pieces on the game board,

  Lives that are either wasted through mistakes or moved forwards with greatness.

  Thus it begged and haunted me with the question;

  What is the difference of being a pawn or a king under the whims of someone else,

  Under the guidance of someone who makes all the mistakes at every turn,

  To be at the mercy of some despondent moron without a clue how the game is played,

  To feel powerless and weak, left to blame yourself for things you could not change?

  The clock was ticking,

  The knuckle kept knocking,

  And I find myself finally here,

  Moving the pieces as the master of all.

  Who would be foolish enough to stand in my way, any more?

  It is better if you just tune in, and do what you are told,

  For I will not repeat the mistakes of old.

  I know my own head rests waiting on the chopping block.

  First snow

  Snow falls once more,

  And my feet feel sore,

  The cold bites my bones,

  As ice begins to cover the street stones,

  The winter has finally come,

  And so the joys of summer are all undone.

  Thanks for science?

  As one of the marvels of today,

  As things are written down and sent without a delay;

  Two lovers tried to convey,

  Love beyond the width of the world,

  Through little phrases of niceties practically hurled,

  Without a chance for correction once the keys were struck,

  So no wonder how I was out of luck,

  When I misspelled the word hug,

  And she got the change to become all smug,

  And turned it into an inside joke,

  And so hug changed to hig as we spoke,

  And few weeks later when she felt lonely,

  She declared desire to hig my bosom quite boldly!

  So here goes our thanks to science and Higgs boson,

  For the secret cue word for us to get all cuddly.

  Feelings during a writer's block

  My mind remains blank,

  Just as empty as a fish tank,

  And if I were absolutely frank,

  I do not think I got money in a bank,

  Just empty words as my pay and thanks,

  So it all gives the context to what is my rank,

  A man to be discarded and forced to step on the plank,

  Whose presence comes stained with a stank,

  And unfortunately it is not a prank,

  It seems my life is a crank.

  To look into mirror

  I have failed and my face stares back from the mirror,

  I know the reasons behind my recent typological error,

  All I can do is try again regardless of my horror,

  I have hope for self betterment though my will remains inferior,

  Will I struggle through or will I just see it best to disappear?

  A seed to a tree

  But a tiny seed,

  Buried underneath,

  The grass and stones,

  Deep into the dirt of worms,

  There it sprouts all around,

  From left to right to up and down,

  Just twitching and stretching as it spreads,

  Little by little claiming more and more as it grows,

  Until the roots are all around,

  And the little bud of leaf pops above ground,

  Basking in the sun at long last,

  Spreading its green wings to touch the wind,

  But it is not quite finished yet,

  The greed to grow evermore,

  Causes it to branch out,

  Leaves flourish and fade,

  As the seasons change,

  And the years pass,

  After long last,

  There it stands,

  Alone on a mountain top,

  Bearing flower and fruit,

  A chance for company and family,

  But the fruits are torn and stolen,

  Swallowed and devoured by the thieves,

  But what goes in must come out,

  A seed survives, and begins to grow out of the toilet sink.

  Literally

  Here I am,

  Look at me,

  I am right here,

  Under your nose,

  No do not look away,

  Do not dare to look away,

  I am speaking to you,

  I have things to tell,

  You need to hear me,

  And you just walk away,

  Why cannot you even see me,

  Why must you treat me as if I am but air,

  Why must you hold your breath,

  Like I am but a foul stench,

  Why cannot you just listen to your own damn heart?

  The Youth of Finn

  Oh how I pity the youth of Finn,

  The generations forced to learn a language not their own,

  A language falsely claimed as their own and a core to who they are,

  Yet it stands as nothing short of being foreign monstrosity.

  Oh how I pity the youth of Finn,

  For the hours and years of time wasted in their forced linguistic task,

  To meet the given requirements most high and official,

  And without a single merit of practicality.

  Oh how I pity the youth of Finn,

  How they are lied straight to their faces without a hint of shame,

  How a minor offshoot of a Germanic language is what they ought to learn,

  Before chance to pick any language of their own choosing.

  Oh how I pity the youth of Finn,

  How the doors of education and academies remain closed shut,

  If they fail to learn that offshoot of a Germanic tongue,

  How their minds' brilliance is wasted and spent.

  Oh how I pity the youth of Finn,

  For the youth has always had to suffer as lesser beings,

  And treated as uncivil, foul, wretched and wild forest gremlins,

  If they speak not that minor offshoot of a Germanic language.

  Oh how I pity the youth of Finn,

  For the reason behind the predicament lies in the past forgotten and hidden,

  How they must do what they must because of Scandinavian Sieg Heils,

  Eugenics, corruption, political trades, if not out right racism.

  Oh how I pity the youth of Finn,

  In recent history only the Apartheid of South Africa provides a reasonable comparison,

  But the forced education of the minor offshoot of Germanic language shall never end,

  Not even if there are no speakers left to be found in the world both far and wide,

  For it is a punishment to a people that once had dreams and aspirations for their future,

  How they dared to think themselves as Finns and not as foul and wretched forest gremlins.

  Oh how I pity the youth of Finn.

  Oh how I pity the youth of Finn.

  Welcome to the world

  It does not matter if you were an accident,

  You ran your flight and sat your sentence,

  And today you will be blinded by light,

  Today you will feel what it feels out in the cold,

  Today you will hear your very own voice.

  Little goose steps you must suffer,

  Little steps to learn how to make haste,
>
  And today you will have to learn how to see,

  Today you will learn how to keep out the cold,

  Today you will learn your very own words.

  Your shoulders must grow strong,

  And as the days pass you must learn to carry the world,

  And today you have to learn to put down your gaze in shame,

  Today you will learn to bear the cold for you are on your own,

  Today you will give up as others remain deaf to your words.

  And perhaps at long last after your lonely walk,

  You may find the chance to look back and ask for its worth,

  And that is the day when you will not have the strength to see,

  That is the day when the cold and dark have all but devoured your bones,

  That is the day when you have lost your own words, dreams, and whatever lingered of yourself.

  Welcome to the world, my little boy.

  Dust

  It is just dust in the wind,

  No reason to be thin-skinned,

  It probably doesn't even sting,

  And that's all there is to sing.

  Crime unforgivable

  I am smarter than you,

  I guess it is something I always knew,

  And telling it should not be anything new.

  But perhaps this is not the right venue,

  As you might want to argue,

  About your own view.

  Perhaps you wish to deny what is true,

  For it puts your entire world view in a skew,

  But I believe acknowledgement is well overdue.

  And so we find ourselves here in this slough,

  Our fates already waiting in queue,

  You cannot run for I will pursue.

  It is the end of the rope,

  Abandon hope,

  For I bid adieu,

  To you,

  My old friend Andrew.

  Why must I quit the Skype?

  One two three four five,

  I am now quitting Skype,

  Or so I promise all the time,

  But here I linger moments more,

  As you no longer wish to see me any more,

  Yet you continue to smile regardless of feeling sleep deprived,

  And I make you laugh and groan as I continue to fool around,

  Until I at long last have finally ran out of words to say,

  So I finally click the button to shut down Skype,

  Leaving you with my wishes for goodnight.

  Post Rock Raven

  A friend asked something as my song started,

  The whole act left me quite startled,

  And the things she just blurted,

  It made me feel quite cheated,

  My moment of peace had halted,

  And my feelings towards her heated,

  Her response to my woes was simply jaded,

  Thus an argument was prompted,