Rosehips before the frost
This poem is not an oak, ancient, sturdy, leafladen, but a wiry willow, windbent, waiting in the brisk of breeze to shred its leaves. This poem is not a scent […]
Author Archives: Björn Rudberg (brudberg)
Someone should pay
Scarecrows… they look like scarecrows. D.C. Scott Sutton tightens his grip around the railing facing the judge and the barristers.. Remembering, closing his eyes… a young woman’s body, like Ophelia… […]
Shortcut to work
When winter is deep and water’s transformed into ice, the road that we shortcut to work might seem for you an adventure, for us it is normal. When the lake […]
Making sure she is buried
The late Mrs. Emel Mackenzie always came early to better be able to notice the lateness of others, and hence at her funeral the pews had started to fill an […]
Contemplating the void
You left me early that morning in October, leaving only your warmness behind. I overslept, woke with a jolt, wondering where in the shadows you’re freezing. I made myself coffee, […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 