An old woman’s blessing
The day we started our walk the peaks were still covered with snow. Áhkká, the old woman, had let her silver hair loose to meet the summer breeze, returning after […]
Author Archives: Björn Rudberg (brudberg)
Mind the social gap
Purple needle marks — a reaper’s trail on Cinderella’s arm. You may kiss her splitted lips, lick the lye, for soot and sins: but no more pennies for your thoughts […]
The scar of pearls
Darkly overhead on wings of dead-and-gone to woods where feeble ferns are teeth, and tongues where from the drying throats: a suitors’ voice a praise of clay and stone, demanding […]
Counting beans
One Hundred Thirty Three These beans, to be, I’m Jack and talk for stalks Fee-fi-fo-fum One Hundred Thirty Four and smell the blood of british man for goose that lay […]
On feline feet
The night’s a shield, on feline feet he passes watchmen’s lines, to reach across the border to our streets, and there at dawn, he’s found a seat in dust; his […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 