April rebirth
With bell-cries from the withered grass, a lone-wolf scent and tart-taste gloom is rising from this winter’s pyre, while YOU — my serpent — you tempt me with the slingshot […]
Author Archives: Björn Rudberg (brudberg)
The prison of my dazzling mind
I’ve built my bulwarks filled my moat with snakes and water I’ve raised my drawbridge locked the doors just to make believe that apple bloom and lonesome roses grown inside […]
Poetry as a clothesline
Poet, you — bring me sun- stretched words as summer-muslin bed-sheets drying on a clothesline Poet, you — pledge me night- words delight me darkly as a buttercup rewards the […]
Hush
Hush you, bell-voiced babe, don’t cry tonight; the tart-taste of the winter’s dust-tongued gales cannot claw your tear-culled heart from nightwish of my scythe-eyed charm. Hush you, silk-boughed girl don’t […]
Mountain silence
To wake up to winter silence in a mountain cabin means yet a day of plans fulfilled. The whistle of wind in the chimney would have meant a day of […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 