Christmas Miracle

It’s not about one moment

It’s not about just one day

Christmas brings eternal gifts

of life and joy that stay


Although you may not see it now;

your hope sits on a shelf;

your heart is bruised beyond belief,

you´re still but Love itself.


The stage is slowly setting now,

though you can’t behold its scope:

Each moment holds Eternity

Each day gives birth to Hope


Darkness must relent at last,

cause you are made of Life;

You are the very core of stars:

The sparkle in God’s eyes


So don’t lose heart, do not lose faith!

Your story just began!

A child is always born to us:

The magical part of man


Photo: Nora Graff Kleven


by Nora Graff Kleven







Little Monster

Tonight I was looking through my notes and felt like sharing this poem I wrote a few years ago:


by Nora Graff Kleven

Little monster, deep and dear,
I know you hold this thing called fear
Your breath is foul, your logic stinks
You obey destruction’s every wink

Little monster, low and strange
You are so strong, how can I change?
I’ve nurtured you for many years
I’ve raised you with a thousand tears

Now I am tired; you are lame
I will no longer feed your flame
So if to you it’s all the same
I think I’ll quit this stupid game

Let us now leave shame to shame
Forever may your hate be tamed

Good night!



Sonnets on Library Life

I want to dedicate my first post in English to my lovely friends in the U.K. 🙂 Today I am sharing with you two poems I wrote as part of my poetry collection «Ephemeral» while studying in Newcastle a few years ago.

Do you think books live their own lives? I do!



Sonnets on Library Life

by Nora Graff Kleven



A scholarly gentleman gladly enters,

by habits long had and boundlessly dear,

into the ancient library centre;

a well-cherished friend through many lone years.

By the sparkling fire he finds himself free,

as he brings to life the words on the page,

adventuring back to lost boyhood dreams –

Thus summoning heroes of a distant age:

Tall windmills fought by a deluded knight,

young master hobbit on perilous quests,

or wizards ‘n’ dragons in breathless flight;

Sword in hand and deathless pride in their chests.

Touched by the story of the Dark Lord’s rings,

our friend takes flight with Fantasy’s grand wings.



In the nightly hour, when no one comes by,

do the books question their worth, filled with doubt?

Volume upon volume craving keen eyes,

«Is there no one that cares what we’re about?»

Or do they make out each other’s stories;

proudly rubbing cover against cover

to celebrate their prevailing glory

with passion, like literary lovers?

Still all of this is their secret to keep:

When the new dawn breaks, fresh stories begin

that grace us with laughter or make us weep

as old heroes die and new ones step in.

Remain will the power that books have to touch

and move us in ways we cherish so much.