Our song was not of crickets nor of strings
it was more in depth of water, timpanies
of summer thunderstorms, herons, crows.
We neither burned nor froze, yet with fevered
fingers plucked its breeze from embered words.
Yet, love, though just a word, a single syllable,
is strong, commitment of concrete, a marble pillar,
feathered like your pillowed moan at dawn.
It grows when split in two, Gains strength
from dusk, from rain and as the pearl
that’s built from itch its sheen is moonlit
streets on ponds. You take my hand and
we pretend we still can hear the song
now turned to minor habits built with trust.
Today Walt is hosting poetics for us at dVerse with the topic being music a love. A great topic but also hard, love lend itself to sappy flower language and I tried to write something more real in the form of a free verse sonnet. Still there are a few word choices that are a bit cliche… but as I said, love poetry is so hard to write.
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August 16, 2016
Björn Rudbergs writings 
I like the “minor habits built with trust” – it’s when we are truly comfortable with each other that we know the love is sound…as long as that comfort doesn’t turn into complacency or for-grantedness.
I think we have to come to that point… being passionate makes you a little bit reckless…
‘summer thunderstorms, herons, crows,’ the idea of that made me shiver. Fantastic poem.
That’s how I remember passion…
I love that you did not get sappy with this. Wonderful poem and those minor habits…they come with time and trust. Love that.
And I do love to write it as sonnets…
I agree with Brian on this one, Bjorn. My favourite lines are:
‘We neither burned nor froze, yet with fevered
fingers plucked its breeze from embered words.’
Beautiful.
Holy cow, Bjorn. THIS:
“Gains strength
from dusk, from rain and as the pearl
that’s built from itch its sheen is moonlit
streets on ponds.”
“the pearl that’s built from itch” — are you kiddin’ me with this? Brilliant.
Yes.. that itch is what starts all love I think…. I was rather pleased with that metaphor myself.
Love this part Bjorn:
timpanies
of summer thunderstorms, herons, crows. The sonnet poem is a wonderful song!
It grows when split in two, Gains strength
from dusk, from rain and as the pearl
that’s built from itch its sheen is moonlit
streets on ponds.
This is absolutely gorgeous!! ❤️
You captured the feeling very well. Beautifully written!
such a melancholy feeling
Melancholy or maybe the bliss of reality…
so beautiful, yet so true. indeed love grows and evolves. Love these lines: “Yet, love, though just a word, a single syllable,
is strong, commitment of concrete, a marble pillar,”
❤
A beautiful sonnet about how love grows between two people. 🙂
I really enjoyed this one, Bjorn. An intellectual and romantic rendering of the budding and sustainability of love and how important it is to appreciate each step of the process.
“…now turned to minor habits built with trust….”
enjoyed so much about this piece, Bjorn….and especially this line.
Sounds of love are as simple as a soft inhale. A contented sigh! You’ve done well with this, Bjorn!
“with fevered fingers plucked its breeze from embered words.” Such a great line in a great poem. 🙂
made me tear up, Bjorn
Ah.. life can be bittersweet can’t it
Lovely flow of words & phonetics that it delivers. Lovely read 🙂
Regardless of the meaning it evokes, it just sounds so good to read it 😉
So real, relatable and touching. Passion fades to soft, muted colors. It’s the little things, the small habits, that sustain abiding love. Little things are large in significance. When my friend’s spouse was dying of cancer, the one thing that sustained them the most was maintaining their small, mundane habits and rituals. Great work, Bjorn.
How sad.. yet so relatable… love does go through those transitions… and maybe it’s the ordinary small sounds that remains in the end.
Indeed it is. I had to face down the grim reaper a few times myself, which gave me a hearty helping of personal perspective.
absolutely loved this poem – the narrative si smooth and flowing. these are true lovers in a watery union with and water is after all the realm of emotions. Bet they can still hear those wonderful sounds when they listen
One of your most beautifully written poems, I think seductive in its lovely language.
I agree, some beautiful language in this piece: “We neither burned nor froze, yet with fevered fingers plucked its breeze from embered words.”: Wow! … and again, Wow!