Winter is the broken bridge
between
forgetfulness and
memory of songs.
Winter is the idle smell
between
the cinnamon and spring,
it’s a carcass in the snow.
Winter is forgotten bulbs
it’s unpaid bills
and death of summer flies
on window sills.
Winter is deluge and drought,
it’s aftermath of battles fought
a silent scream
behind the shroud
of clouds.
Detail from a Winter Landscape with Ice Skaters, Hendrick Avercamp
Linked to toads where Marian inspire us with the Song February by Dar Williams.
—
January 8, 2016
Björn Rudbergs writings 
As always, Bjorn. great metaphors for different things we experience in winter. Well done. Hope you and yours are having a Happy New Year. 🙂 — Suzanne
encapsulated winter so very well in both its what is and what it once was – and death of summer flies
on window sills.
but with the added dimension of its aroma.
As always full of admiration!
That indeed describes Winter very well!
This is a beautifully composed poem, Bjorn. I like the listing effect and each metaphor you introduce offers a new glimpse of the emotive weight of the season. I thoroughly enjoyed the read.
I also want to say how much I like the new banner photo you have up. The whole blog looks very stylish.
Yes! That third stanza is just outstanding!
Wow. Such an evocative write… with those hard hitting images.
That third stanza is indeed perfect. I loved it, Bjorn.
I hope that the new year has begun really well for you. 🙂
-HA
love this my friend. this is so creative and such unique perspective
gracias
Beautiful writing and I too am partial to the third stanza
Fantastic writing, Bjorn!
Between cinnamon and Spring. I love this. What a powerful awakening of the senses you evoke with this line
Definitely visually written.
I adore the third stanza – the whole is a poetic gift. Wowzers – what a way to start the new year.
There are no words to describe how your poem touched me ~ especially the first stanza ~ ahhhhhhhh.
Yes, it really is. This is tremendous, Bjorn.
Suggestion: If I were you, I would find another phrase for “silent scream,” which brings up something totally different for me and takes away from the rest of the gorgeous cold and dark of these verses. Even just “a scream” would work.
I can see your point… hmm yes just “a scream” would work… silent screams are a little bit of a cliche as well so I was not all that happy with it..
a car kiss
a sea-ark ass
a cure kiss
Yes, I like that last one best.
forgetfulness sand
forget fullness-sand
be-tween (I’ve never grown up past the tween stage of life. That puts me at about 12, which is probably why I don’t look too terribly old, despite living “hard” (i.e., having 4 kids).
Winter is the broken bridge … a broken bridge between friends/lovers/spouses … It’s a state of sadness and of aloneness. It’s a relationship that’s probably beyond repair.
I love what you did in that first stanza. The memory of songs often equates to sadness. Only in forgetting can we escape the music that remains … the most painful memories. This also makes me think of dementia/Alzheimer’s. In this case, the broken bridge means you just can’t quite travel the immense distance between not being able to remember and remembering. And what solidifies our memories of the past more than our favorite songs? This makes me think of my mother and all her ’50s music. I’m sure that in her head, it still swims around; I just don’t know if she could pull it out, especially to sing.
Lots of forgottens in this … in the first stanza and in the third.
Bulbs are both light bulbs (including ideas and epiphanies, as well as just the ability to see clearly) AND baby plants.
Death of “summer flies.” This is the notion that summer flies by because we’re so busy having fun and cutting up, enjoying the heat and the growth. Winter is the opposite. The slow drag of forcing one foot in front of the other, just trying to make through one more cold season. Winter is the worst time to be in need, to have bills go unpaid, to go without heat or warm water.
on windows’ ills
drought = dr. ought … What we feel we should do. What we force ourselves to do, as if we’re our own doctors instructing our brains/bodies in how to get healthy again.
deluge is so close to delusion … Is that how we get healthy? And do we commit to delusion or rage against it? I think, to some degree, being mentally healthy involves brainwashing ourselves in necessary ways.
aftermath … There’s such satisfaction in this. I guess most people favor the point at which the math has been completed. So few of us find a great elation in actually doing the problems. (it’s aftermath of battles fought / a silent scream … this makes me think of De, working on math homework with her son, who hates every second of it)
behind the shrewd of clues, see-lewds, quaaludes
… Great poem.
Ah.. yes that is so many new layers you have found.. I wonder sometimes if it’s a subconscious mind at work here… but yes the winter and the dark month is a lot of loss… of darkness so there is so much to ponder that… never thought about aftermath that way (but I enjoy numbers quite a lot…)
Brilliant!!! Right up there, with some of your best work! I love this piece!