By Leo Honka Memories turn to stone when men age inside hats Taking them off for added warmth past days somersaulting, turning themselves upside down atop your unruly gray hair, half-asleep – whispering how you’ve aged! Tossed and navigated through the years of your life How many of those days did you cast overboard? And
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Migrant Tales Literary: Autumn darkness and the midnight sun
By Leo Honka Deep in the forests of Savo, darkness is not always darkness but a state of mind that has learned to remain an image. In such places, time comes and goes but never leaves; its magic maintains you balanced like a trapeze artist without falling thanks to heart-filled joyous moments of memories once
Read on »Migrant Tales Literary: Fatima
Leo Honka Who is Fatima? Who is the person wishing us from the Joutseno immigration removal center a kind, “Good night. Loved ones.” Fatima is only a name. It houses no human because it is only a name written on paper by a plane dropping bombs, a tank shelling civilians, and a woman hoping for
Read on »Migrant Tales Literary: Argentinean dirty war odyssey
Leo Honka Cemetery silence emerging from the ashes of death next to gagged cobblestone streets and I should be asleep but I just can’t. The keys of my typewriter glowing red-hot are razor-sharp to the tuouch. The night is at a standstill, now searchlights are combing the state of siege a few high-pitched sirens screaming
Read on »Migrant Tales Literary: Cold Turkey Night
Leo Honka* Outside, near winter’s home I stand Leaning against the night All alone Listening to hallucinations Popping from silence and stance. It’s a cold night of thick gloves and clothes A night no one should stand outside too long For sidewalks and streets Solemn and silent Are asleep and lead nowhere. Only a winter’s
Read on »Migrant Tales Literary: Anti-Perussuomalaiset poetry – an eye for an eye
No room for words today! Said the Finns Party politician that racist fascist hypocrite angry as hell yelling at the top of its voice: Give me a light, scum! Lighting its cigarette soon thumbs, hands, arms and other body parts melt and splash to the ground. In my hidout after that affair the police,
Read on »Migrant Tales Literary: Riikka Purra, where is your heart?
THIS POEM WAS UPDATED Where is your heart, Riikka Purra? Did you throw it away in a trash can? Or did you hungrily devour it after you saw your first refugee The bricks that line your political path will turn red hot and melt your shoe soles; even if you can only be tall for
Read on »Migrant Tales Literary: Would you buy a used car from PS’ Timo Soini?
Timo Soini is chairman of the nationalist populist Perussuomalaiset (PS)* party. After the most recent opinion polls showed that the political future of the PS is bleak to say the least, what will Soini do after his party returns to the minor political leagues? Will he start to sell used cars?
Read on »Migrant Tales Literary: Peep show
Leo Honka Folks! We’re not going to visit a traditional peep show with women or men but one where all your bigotry, hate, and racism undress before you. Social media peep show sites like Hommaforum* are such places. People visit them anonymously and get all excited by their lewd thoughts. They too undress but with
Read on »Migrant Tales Literary: When Finland kicked the shit out of tolerance
Dedicated to Eila Kännö (1921-2009)* By Leo Honka I lived in this land of Finland from a long, long time ago before it heard your steps when it could kick the shit out of tolerance and walk away with impunity with intolerance in the streets as soverign master Over anything that moved. You’d be shocked
Read on »Migrant Tales Literary: Building a home in the sub-arctic woods
Leo Honka A well where dreams flourish splashing with ease on a slow poke painted summer afternoon which I wear with the help of a restless bow tie just before stepping on a country path that blushes from my weight. By a gentle pond that turns into serenity warned by towering trees of my presence
Read on »Migrant Tales Literary: Six sparrows in spring
By Leo Honka Six sparrows in the woods fly through the soul but all is not lost there’s plenty of room in spring: goose is exhaled, duck now enters, learns to stay an image hare now hopes in. Late to an appointment sadness rushes out of the door as toucan paints the scene with its mighty
Read on »Migrant Tales Literary: A father who is grand
By Leo Honka Are you now the universe, grandfather? Grandfather grand…How many planets did you see on the day you turned to dust. Did you see gliding stars in the ethereal silence? Is death a place of fleeting regrets? Did you find those days you threw overboard? Your moribund eyes, now like an inflamed meteor
Read on »Migrant Tales Literary: The racist and his rabid dog
By Leo Honka The racist shows off his rabid dog on a short leash footsteps and gleaming eyes speak of satisfaction on the pavement and media attention thanks to his rabid dog. Like flies on flypaper struggling to survive the racist too owns a rabid dog. On a short leash he walks, walks but doesn’t
Read on »Migrant Tales Literary: Abandonment
By Leo Honka There’s a place by the heart, possibly nearer to the soul, where eyes gasp for air, in their own pain Amid arid and warped hills Grass blades sagging like broken horses on desolate plains expanding endlessly in all directions. Abandonment is a lonely place where I long to be. Despite the
Read on »Migrant Tales literary: How high must a wall be to contain hope?
Dedicated to the EU and Donald Trump By Leo Honka No wall can contain hope. It’s a fact but go and build your high wall To hide the destruction you’ve reaped: pillaging riches, pillaging hope leaving people and whole nations devastated, without future. Source: Westmonster. Now we’re knocking on your door With a sentence in
Read on »Finland also locks up asylum seeker children
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- A child in the Joutseno Immigration Removal Center.
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