Lacklusterly l linger,
slowly skyward gazing
trying to find shapes
of dreams I’ve lost
or just a little depth
in the gormless grayness
of these listless clouds.
I read the newspaper
of children being
taught to kill
and it seems to me
that letters
sometimes blur to lead
or cumulus.
My face is glazed
from this solemn drizzle
while dusk
extends its bony fingers
around my neck.
I choke and wonder if this earnest rain
is the closest I will ever be
to crying.
A gormless poem for Marian at toads, will also link this to Poetry Pantry tomorrow morning.
—-
March 9, 2019
Björn Rudbergs writings 
The little stanza made me cringe, mostly because I saw my own thoughts in it–the blurring of words and meanings, individual suffering merging into not quite definable communal hurt… getting lost. I know no one feels that way on purpose (at least, we can hope that is not the case), but with so much happening in the world, it’s almost impossible not to end up giving some of the horror less importance than they deserve. And that is rather worrying.
One does get numb to it all at times when horror becomes the norm.
The mood here reminds me of the book of short stories by Murakami I’m reading right now. I’ll finish it just because, but it isn’t a good for the weather and the long winter so far. Where do the skies end and you begin?
You translated the mood of despair very well with your words. It’s a sad world when you look at it closely.
Wow, Bjorn! You took the word to a whole new level. This poem is a new favourite for me – you have encapsulated the wretchedness the world sometimes imposes on consciousness, and the pathetic fallacy is superb!
kaykuala
I choke and wonder if this earnest rain
is the closest I will ever be to crying.
The close reveals the emotional feelings of regret at the despair and begging for answers. Beautifully laid!
Hank
This is heartwrenchingly beautiful, Bjorn! You had me at “like depth
in the gormless grayness of these listless clouds.”❤️
This poem is far from gormless — your observations and personal reflection of these emotions thus evoked are of such a tangible nature.
“and it seems to me/that letters/sometimes blur to lead/or cumulus”: How succinctly put!
Oh that close is so good!
For me, the ‘blur’ that lead us into a depressive stasis is brilliantly captured here. Along with the hint at the close that the release… the fire of emotion from our soul becomes then our way forward to brighter more blossoming days… Brave honest and provoking write, my friend.
I love your poem, one of my favorites of yours.
Children who kill…this is definitely not the way the world is meant to be. Weeping over such insanity is an appropriate response, but sometimes coming close to crying is all we can manage.
A very strong reflection herre, Bjorn. Really a sad state of affairs when children are being taught to kill. One wonders if the drizzle is the earth crying.
Oh my goodness, Bjorn, “letters sometimes blur to lead or cumulus” yes yes! This is so apt, so well describes that listless feeling of not being able to take it all in and not being able to do anything to change anything anyway. Well done, I appreciate it.
Ah, so well penned. Such pain and numbness….and bony fingers around our necks.
Starklicious!
Don’t give up on finding those shapes of dreams which seem to have drifted away. Somewhere, beneath those dark gloomy clouds is a sky
of blue wonder. I am afraid to cry as once I start it is hard to stop, I am forever, a weeping willow.
I love True’s comment about being a weeping willow. It is impossible to read the news without inner tears and repudiation of what humankind has become. Hard to hold onto the wonder. A wonderful poem, Bjorn.
I love this poem so much. I keep reading it again and again. Flawless.
Gosh ! Reminds of old blues standards like the sky is crying. Brilliant as ever!
those “bony fingers of dusk” wow! great imaging Bjorn. Happy you dropped by my sumie Sunday today
much love…
I like the almost-ness at the beginning of this poem, Björn, the not-quite-there-ness of lacklusterly lingering, of the ‘gormless grayness’ and listless clouds. It’s kind of limp and then suddenly we have the shock of children being
taught to kill – enough to choke anyone.
This sums up grey moods–that inability to be more than numb at more bad news/unchanging weather/recurring attitudes. Eerie write, given the subject.
I had read somewhere that depression in response to a sick world is perfectly understandable and logical. This poem is that sentiment given wings.
Sadly the world will never be perfect but that doesn’t mean we should not strive for perfection ourselves. As poets of course we always do that grinning like chimps when something turns out right!
You deftly captured the numbness we’re collectively feeling as the world around us seems to be coming undone. So much suffering. This is well-written and essential reading.
Oh, Oh! I started loving this poem gradually at “trying to find shapes
of dreams I’ve lost”–and fell head over heals in love at those amazing last hoke and wonderings! (sharing)
We all find our own ways of coping with it all and going on lovingly, I suppose.
Poor little kids, they forfeit their lives for causes they dont even understand.
..
Back again. Shawna’s word is the right on. Flawless.
far from gormless, this poem is filled with emotion, a longing for a better world, where the areas of grey are spreading.
One of your most powerful writes that I have ever read.