Water trapped in bogs


Her sentences where rivers once,
meandering through marshlands, 
building into lakes and 
rushing rapids, 
heading for the sea.

“Why was I never told, that mother’s dead?”

She’s angry once again, her words
are trapped 
       in bogs 
       in stagnant waters
backwards flowing, in the moon-pulled tide.

“She died when I was twenty one,
I held your hand… 
                          back then.”

I take her hand again, recalling
how she handled chainsaws once.

Now her hand’s a nestling, 
trembling
          spilling coffee.

“Why was I never told?”, we’re trapped 
        in mud. 
Dust on my fingers.

Slow Swirl at the Edge of the Sea by Mark Rothko

Slow Swirl at the Edge of the Sea by Mark Rothko


Claudia is guest hosting at dVerse poetics today… focusing on my own emotions… Beware of generalization and and join us all when the pub opens at 3PM EST.

November 24, 2015

28 responses to “Water trapped in bogs

  1. Damn, dude. I think this may be my favorite of all your poems I’ve read so far. Outstanding work.

  2. This so touches my heart, knowing of your mother’s dementia. It mirrors my feelings about my own mother and her dementia but couldn’t quite express. It deeply touched me and brought tears.

  3. oh heck – that is very björn – and the emotions palpable.. it is tough to see them like that… love the images you use and also the use of direct speech – makes it all the more real

  4. Powerful, personal, touching yet still abstract, rife with metaphor; an excellent piece, brother; one of your best.

  5. I love the use of hands, the conversation between the mother and her child ~ The loss of memories is truly sad indeed ~ The understated emotions pulled me in Bjorn ~

  6. Bjorn, I really liked the way you seemed to break with your own style and attempted something radically different. I liked the progression of what was being said as cause for the effect of your images. Smiles…>KB

  7. This is simply exquisite: a clear, single image, a focus on just one example of forgetfulness, and those lines about the hands which once handled chainsaws… perfect! Tenderness and sadness and helplessness all come through.

  8. I love the earthly, watery feel this has. The coffee and chainsaw stand out to me as contrasts to the natural theme. Dark coffee, dark mud – backwards flowing anger, the water all trapped. You’re really in a painful place here, aren’t you? Thanks for the read. This was puzzling.

  9. An powerfully drawn metaphor … I feel a sense of distracted bewilderment which – along with the intense contrasts – heighten the feeling of being stuck or trapped.

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