John Willy Kopperud

-is the mirror, reflecting each and every bystander, rich and poor man and woman healthy and sick learned and ignorant pious and criminal. All contained within the one.

Clearly the world seems to be en route revolving around it\'s own axis with exactly the same speed as on every other day. Yet you stand on the platform wondering if Casey Jones

The carpenter had a hard time concealing his glee as the workshop received the order on Fransisco Franco\'s coffin. Framed in on the wall above

Hooben an te Hooben Vriet an mintjes Bloot groob e tvot Vergoben on lüü Gilbe Troot Ploot, tu frolte Banjer Ploot, vo Morgeverb Traal be hüm Varanjer krill soon Grotelerb Albes grett

As night falls we perch upon this dark blue universe; beaks shut.

Let me walk that park around you.

Past the fence and the leave-laden trees I stepped on prohibited grass to the library window where this supernova hit my field of view; the gloriously illustrated

Blaming the machines is such a waste of time. Sooner or later they break down just like us.

In 1246 the Mongol Khan Hüyuk wrote pope Innocent IV a letter, summoning the latter to the Khan\'s court. Hüyuk wrote similar letters to other European rulers. In case of

The moon\'s position, her face in a reddish glare - an alien sight.

Our celestial body turns and so does yours. Glass of whiskey held high. Broad brimmed hat on your head. The band plays faster now; bass, mandolin, drums and liquor soaked

So the water still rises then? Up the walls, all through the autumn, splashes into coastline and bridges. And you don\'t wish to float away? Trot down the cellar stairs and excavate

His followers cheer him on. Blackshirts take to the streets. Barbed wire closes in on every unidentified foreigner. He strolls down the garden path to the cheers of a crowd

Sleet on the platform. Deep blue blanket overhead, punctured by stars. Past those red and green lights I shall roll. And the very Oslo night is a cool beauty whispering

God Only Knows History Of Music Part XI 2009-03-08 Rhonda wasn\'t there to help me hide the tears of joy as Carl sang and Brian made magic with harmonies. Now, on the

Get ahead, you say, reach a higher level? I\'d just love to be among the fittest, but these days evolutionary guards are stationed on every street-corner.

A lonely moon rises withered and cold. In a dreams distance the freight-train rolls by. No more night buses or rustling birds. Ye dogs, stay inside tonight

According to one eloquent insect autumn leaves hit the asphalt with a red golden boom.

- have been withering for days now. Still there is no sign of Caravaggio.

From afar stars glance down upon pitch dark waters and that lamp made of rice paper masquerading as the moon. One sound only, from the throats of frogs. A squirrels keen

As you grew up the forest was all around. And that was where notes started leaving your lips. Some rose to the top of pine trees. Others descended slowly like heavy golden

My recipe for oven-baked chicken serves as a sharp reminder as to in which infernal circle those very meanest among our politicians belong.