When my hands have gone
from writing cursive into typing
my notebooks blank,
and ink has lost its meaning,
Poetry is far away from dust
but rests unread
in a place that’s not a bookshelf.
In a cloud somewhere
they sleep with photos, films
my library always close
but never seen
except by hyperscalers
processing my soul for revenue.
And I keep
trading my being
for convenience,
and to be entertained
by endless reels.
Today it is Open Link at dVerse hosted by Grace. Any one poem is welcome as we join and read having fun in the meantime
August 27, 2026
Björn Rudbergs writings 
that 2nd stanza is Ars poetica in a very lovely nutshell
It is… or if we let it be.
Well I hope that all our poems end up in the clouds, literally Bjorn. And bring back cursive writing too (I read its coming back for kids). And its sad if we selling our souls by doom scrolling to bottomless pit,
Clouds come in many ways… hope it will rain poetry from those clouds.
This is so deep and potent. I love the image “In a cloud somewhere they sleep with photos, films.” ❤️❤️
And alas it is true if it is a computer cloud.
I agree with Laura on this one, Björn.
Thank you too.