Posted by: tsopr | October 31, 2011

Stephanie Kjaerbaek, Canadian Poet

Stephanie Kjaerbaek was born in December 1975 in Powell River, British Columbia, Canada. Educated in social work and accounting. Hospitality industry employee. She has travelled to U.S. and Europe. She’s single and enjoys biking, poetry, guitar and other pursuits.

                                Featured Poetry of Stephanie Kjaerbaek

A Dream of the English countryside

A body left beside the cliffs
Before the rising low tide
I saw white cliffs and castles
Broken down, and not a soul around
Just the scent of death’s love on ground.

I know he didn’t love me
I know he rejected me
He killed himself because of her
I saw the future in a dream
A story of lost love not what it seems.

I possess a rose inside my thorn
And one only to the subject of scorn
She was as mad as the day she was born
A prickly ox-eyed daisy from the flesh
She lost her fingernails, which bled, torn.

A particular obsession lingers
I felt the sharp nail of a finger
I saw the car roll over the cliff and down,
I slept after I slammed on cracked concrete
Outstretched over a bird’s-eye view of the city.

The jutting hamlet near the township
It was a hot and peculiar day
I found that love had finally found a way
Before my eye the past fell to pieces
And roses replaced the stench of feces.

With a Bullet

I will murder the Tsar tonight
A horse carriage takes me along
With a bullet to right the wrong.
Blood upon concrete and marble walls
The Amber room revisited
I think the ambience serves me well
Taking back what is mine tonight
The beaten down forest and gravel
Assassin’s eyes, a careful disguise
A fur cap and black coat to hide
My instructions from the prison
There entered a bullet, the heat plummets
Into the dusk of Siberian nigh
The marriage and masquerade
I left behind the parade’s vision
I heard the wailing voice inside
And swallowed the moment with pride
A flash of light in death’s air
A strong scent of decomposition
I sent a telegram: ‘Beware.’
Spellbound by the lust in his eyes
A cry against the sudden loss of life
He knew I was coming for him tonight
Never been a savior in my eyes.

Mysteries

Stuck on an island with my regret
A loner they cannot forget
Yet they don’t remember me.
The taste of saltwater leaves a craving
For the secrets of my mystery

The abandonment by my lover more than I could bare
Up there with the wind, I could only stare.
My airplane crashed and burned in the sea
They last heard me on a radio calling
“Sending out an S.O.S., won’t someone rescue me?”

Am I just a castaway to my country?
Why don’t they care about me?
I saw Japanese soldiers after they had landed ashore
I am not a spy but now my prison cell is my home.
I used to have a home, neither am I
A slave nor a spy for the dictates of New Rome.

Regrets

Loneliness is the burden that a man must bare
Or else, he reveals the depths of his own despair.
Fearful of misrepresentation by another
He takes on his fear of vanity by confrontation
Before a broken mirror before his younger lover.
In a sea of no regrets, there is one hope:
The only island left after the crash remains,
And it Is the paradise created for me.

Nobody here to betray, nobody to remain
And nobody left to rescue me from myself.
The light extends as far as I can see
The bay an image upon the horizon
Far away with the sight of bison.
My open regret is my only despair
All efforts fail because I no longer care.
I expected my own determination.

Not life resigned to a man’s expectations
Mold the clay from the drying sculpture if you will
I would prefer to lie bare before the scavengers
Than to surrender to a controller of such formidable skill.

Copyright © 2011 Stephanie Kjaerbaek

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