Fear is life itself
The taste of fear is schizoid pure and red, a piece of meat, it’s poppies lost and flown from cries in mud and trenches darkly bled. We harvested the fear […]
Author Archives: Björn Rudberg (brudberg)
The story of life
Stairs to stars and in between is strife of climb — as life before we fall. A very short poem for Susie at toads. We write about stairs. — February […]
The silence afterwards
This is not poem but a cloud trying hard to be, a dragon or an elephant, and what matters most is the silver lining and what’s blue behind. This is […]
Raincheck
You ask me to describe the scent of fear, and I blush ashamed. For some it’s a fragrance red and bloodstained, other say it smells of ice and snow. Fear […]
Palimpsest
If I could palimpsest myself — rewrite the manuscript, I would poetry I would paint myself a smile, and wear for you. I would daisy chain and dance forsake the […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 