This dusk at autumn’s equinox.
is veiled behind the pewter clouds
of moisture-laden mist and
a season-sorrow pregnant gloom.
This twilight trepidation
is a lead-wight dread of luminescence lost
it’s a shadowplay of bending boughs
to carcass-feasting crows,
it’s an anguish-angst that plows
the meadows I have spared to bloom.
This dusk is me and me alone,
before it settles into black.
This night Is dust of flowerbed’s decay
it’s the musk of mold,
it’s rot and not
the joy of orchard’s yields.
This night is stretched
in sleepless sorrow
to a sulfur-burdened sickness
of dawn that mimics dusk
and yet the winter walks in boots.
Today it’s Open Link at dVerse. We will be live for the first 90 minutes and I hope to see you there at 9 PM CET (3 PM EST),
Here is the link directly to the live session, but don’t forget to link-up as I will call you to the stand in that order.
September 17, 2020.
Björn Rudbergs writings 
The peculiarly sorrowful/sick quality of this trepidation is very unnerving. Beautifully expressed.
I find the first stanza especially powerful. I loved reading it aloud the second time through – the sounds in these two lines I like so much:
“is a lead-wight dread of luminescence lost
it’s a shadowplay of bending boughs”
A beautiful write, Bjorn.
PS: We are in Provincetown and have an appointment during the live pub today so sadly, I can not be there. I’m certain it will be a huge success again with even more than came last time!
Beautiful encapsulation of a painting I was not familiar with: thank you for introducing me to this in such a vivid and dramatic way. Great song choice too!
I love your writing skills. New friend here!!
I love the alliterative ‘twilight trepidation’, Björn, and the metallic colours, pewter and lead-wight’, as well as the atmospheric ‘moisture-laden mist’ and ‘season-sorrow pregnant gloom’. You’ve also captured smell so well in the ‘musk of mold’.
I very much enjoyed the richness of this piece Bjorn, especially admiring ‘pewter clouds’ and the stanza focused on orchards – which was spectacularly effective, I thought… Not having much luck clicking to join the performance side of things tonight! Will go down for a cup of tea and try again later…
So sorry for that… we have a very nice thing to be able to run a live event. Hopefully next time.
This is exquisitely drawn! 🙂 There is such a natural and rhythmic flow to this especially; “This dusk is me and me alone, before it settles into black. This night Is dust of flowerbed’s decay it’s the musk of mold, it’s rot and not the joy of orchard’s yields.” 💝
“it’s an anguish-angst that plows
the meadows I have spared to bloom
I can feel the weight of this, especially after hearing you talk about those long nights at Open Mic.
Exactly what I was going to say, Ken. What I see right away is that when the poet has a chance to talk about the poem either before or after reading, the impact is that much more. It sounds like such agony to live in that gloom for so many months at a time 😦
Hearing you and Red Cat explicate the difference in light and season, helped immensely to further understand and appreciate your poem and your very real dread.
Yes, Glenn, I agree!
It was great to hear you read this, and the painting is perfect with your words. It still looks summery here, but this is how I’ll feel in a few weeks.
Awesome work, awesomely presented, here and live. Perfect imagery, BR. Thanks.
Wow, such beauty and mysteriousness in this piece! So rich in imagery. ❤
beautiful the way winter walks…
Wintry indeed. Yes to the dig at Keats’ and the romantics – ‘it’s rot and not / the joy of orchard’s yields…’ Simon Armitage (british poet and academic) says that writing poetry in winter is an act of resistance. And here’s resistance (anxious though).
I like your view of death composted and lost in sorrow as winter comes wearing boots! Yes, the dusk does settle from within first!
What terrific lines, “it’s an anguish-angst that plows the meadows I have spared to bloom” You capture the feeling with keen observation. ~ J
A language feast, Bjorn, Captures the melancholy of winter’s approach.
kaykuala
This dusk at autumn’s equinox.
is veiled behind the pewter clouds
of moisture-laden mist and
a season-sorrow pregnant gloom.
A great opening which tallies with van Gogh’s picture of gloom in his masterpiece.
Hank
This is wonderfully written, Bjorn. How cool you are doing live reads at dverse! Have fun, what a great idea!
Your poem mirrors the mood of the many messages I have received from friends who are looking at smoke-filled skies as wildfires rage in the west. Beyond sadness, truly the depths of sorrow.
Beautifully penned.
Wow! So rich with intrigue!
The use of “This” gives the poem a steady heartbeat and it really came through in your reading. I like the placement of the line “This dusk is me and me alone, before it settles into black.”….a more personal perspective layered within the beautiful, dark descriptions.
The first word that comes to mind as I finish reading …… lush. A splendid poem, Bjorn.
Wow! The dusk is me and me alone before it settles into black
I feel this!
After hearing you read this Bjorn, and the ensuing discussion on Thursday, I have a firm grasp on the essence of your trepidation. Thank you for hosting the “live” OMN. I look forward to many more… 🙂
This dusk is me and me alone, before it settles into black.
The winter walks in boots
—— Fantastic lines! This poem is exquisite.