With mar(bled) masks and muted eyes
from matrassed walls, the poet calls
his voice is nails, his gaze is stone;
alone in ash with ink he wails.
But our sycophantic ears are closed
for keyhole stories, darkly told,
for whispered truths and painted tears.
We hand him drumbeat lullabies.
We hand him silent songs and pillow-guns.
He slowly slips and snares,
the noose at hand: a tightened vise
its jaws are wail of walls,
a lethal dose of tender bricks.
Kiss of death found in Poblenou Cemetery in Barcelona.
Eighty words exactly for Mama Zen’s prompt at toads. Seems to work with the Blood of a poet inspiration.
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September 9, 2015
Björn Rudbergs writings 
Not easy to do, to keep a piece confined to a specific number of words. Nicely written. >
I love to go exact on wordlimits.. it spurs my creativity (maybe that’s why I love modifiers)
Wonderful write! Tender bricks….oh that is excellent. I took like doing things with limits like this, to keep to the limit. I know many people have the concept that limiting limits the creativity but to me, like you, it seems to sharpen my creativity, to open up gates of thought I had not reckoned with.
this goes so perfectly paired with the prompt from MZ. Tender bricks is marvelous.
Those last six lines, wow.
Blood of the Polet, indeed. Damn, brother, you stay so active on several sites, it puts most of us too shame. I really liked this piece; made me proud to be a poet. I like the lines /his voice is nails, his gaze is stone/alone in ash with ink he wails/.
Wow, the darker side of poetry. Great write, Bjorn!
Amazing work!!
Keyhole stories, I love.
Watch out.. it will be an anthology coming out with stories… 🙂
I love the title, and the poem that fleshes(or bricks) it out is nothing if not surreal as it catalogs the perils of succumbing to creativity–and the joys which sometimes are forgotten when the words fall on your head. And how society nerfs us, our voices ‘mattressed’ and our brains lullabyed. A pleasure to read Bjorn.
Listening to the poet’s word and works is his desire. People are missing his intent by going outside his box. Nice write, Bjorn. Nice allegory too.
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Sometimes creativity is painful and joyful. Great work.
dark yet enchanting.
I particularly like that first stanza, Bjorn. Very, very cool.
This is a stunning piece, Bjorn. A real dark blow to the cerebral cortex. And the accompanying picture is perfect.
Very intruiging title, I lvoed to see how you implement it into the poem, I really like those closing lines.
You captured the dark mind of poetry so well. “lethal dose of tender bricks” Love that. We poets have those moments of ink bleed. I’d rather write the darkness out of me than let it grow roots I can’t pluck.
luv the juxtaposition of contrasting images and the use of rhyme
much love…
GREAT title and last line …visually rich… with the poet almost dying from what is expected of him. BUT, survive, poet, and set us on fire.
Wonderfully musical, Bjorn, and visual too–kind of fun even as it is lethal–the mattressed walls and the tender bricks at the end–not so tender for some poor heads–good thing he is statuesque! Anyway, much enjoyed. k.
Great used of language as usual, Bjorn. with such good use of metaphor. Well done. 🙂 — Suzanne
Wonderful music in this, and the imagery is poignant and rich. Alas, the poet’s curse is also his blessing. (And vice versa) 🙂
the tender bricks.. ha… well played on contradictions here like you tend to do a lot… that sculpture is amazing and you managed to capture the mood with your verse
Such a great set of words…. the title!
‘tender bricks’ – cool metaphor, Bjorn ~
“Silent songs and pillow guns” fabulous imager there, Brud.