Viggo Mortensen

I'd like to meet:

“You can look at life as a poem, a story, and you can see yourself… In moments like that, you find not only lessons for your own life, but you find something beautiful in ordinary life, something that links you to the past and to the future.” Viggo Mortensen, 2001

" You are sweating in your sleep on our rented bed like a lost summer cloud pierced by a jet heard only when it's gone. The birds above the waterfall drink mist from giant leaves then fly over the edge." -- Viggo Mortensen

A Peom By Viggo

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No ringside seats compensate
nothing new to be said
about a job completed
for you by others
in the windowless rooms.

A half-soul in transit
the man you were
for one short season
has been pruned
removed
to a well-groomed graveyard
that smells like popcorn.

A poem by Viggo

Hillside

We underestimate damage
done to the sky
when we allow words
to slip away
into the clouds.

I remember making promises
to you outside. We
were watching flowers
that hadn't opened.
A bee darted, careful
not to stick to
your half-shut mouth.

A poem by Viggo

Communion

We've left shore somehow
become the friends
of early theory
close enough to speak
desire and pain of absence
of mistakes we'd make
given the chance.

Each smile returned
makes harder avoiding
dreams that see us
lying in early evening
curtain shadows, skin
safe against skin.
Bloom of compassion
respect for moments
eyes lock turns
forever into one more
veil that falls away.

"The afterthought of chimes filters in from next-door. I am under the echo, not listening so much as noticing it from time to time as I look over the results of my landscaping and weeding from a white wicker chair. An errant vine has sprouted two blue flowers where it reaches roots of the lemon tree. They are beautiful; I am suspicious. Are they a diversion, an entreaty to keep me from cutting back the vine? I'll keep the flowers, put them in a saucer by your bed." -- Viggo Mortensen

I sit beside the fire and think of all that I have seen, of meadow-flowers and butterflies in summers that have been; Of yellow leaves and gossamer in autumns that there were, with morning mist and silver sun and wind upon my hair. I sit beside the fire and think of how the world will be when winter comes without a spring that I shall ever see.

For still there are so many things that I have never seen: in every wood in every spring there is a different green. I sit beside the fire and think of people long ago, and people who will see a world that I shall never know. But all the while I sit and think of times there were before, I listen for returning feet and voices at the door.Text by Tolkien: Art by Wyatt

....STONES....BY V.M.
...........................
MET BY A LAKE NEAR THE SUN.
YOUR MOUTH AND EYES, ARMS
AND LEGS, MELTED AS THOUGH
WE'D KNOWN EACH OTHER WELL
AND NEEDED ONLY REKINDLE
WARMTH OF THE FAMILIAR.
AS IF PATIENCE WERE REWARDED
AND NOW WE'D SHARE EVERYTHING.

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