Not owning the night
This night is on fire is one among millions, is sparkling with storm and sensations, is death and damnation, stillness and howling. This night is a night to remember, is […]
Author Archives: Björn Rudberg (brudberg)
Forgetting what the poppies told
We talked of fields where poppies flew where blood had seeped into the soil, where once was ash now flowers grew, where once were trenches grass was green, and blackbirds […]
My marrow
My marrow mourns the broken bones I see in harrowed eyes from those who’ve fled the barrel bombs, the bloodshed and the tear of air from retribution and revenge. At […]
Silver from the stars
The softness of your hands is formed from night Where fingers weave and skin meets skin; delight. We sail the dragon, sieve silver from the stars. My love, embrace the […]
First night of summer
On the first night of summer You listen to the sound from the neighbor‘s lawn mower while you fire up the barbeque. You feel the soft touch from the first […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 