After fire
After fire, the crosses, gowns, and graveyards bones and birch-trees noses, shackles, ropes lay ashen pyre-cold and we are left as ash to fertilize the flowerbeds ash to choke on […]
Author Archives: Björn Rudberg (brudberg)
Winter loss
When only dark- ness tells of winter, while the earth lay bare — an open mud- scarred wound — I long for blue of shadows cast by moon on snow. […]
Phoenix (or not)
When every library is filled, will poets be librarians? Will we take care to not create? If every verse exists, should we let pens run dry, or should we turn […]
Slow-silver dreams
Carry me, snow-moon — gently on wings through winter night’s dreaming and slow-silver spilled in the pools of the polar bear’s tears. Make me stronger through sleep and teach me […]
Behind the seventh shelf
Sometimes, when gibbously pregnant the moon descends behind a cloak of clouds to spend an argent night inside his library. She tiptoes in her silken slippers, teases him with flashes […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 