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THE HILLSIDE SMITH SECRET

Sleeplessly resting in a fragile hint,

so alike a water circle offers shallowness;

sighted shortly and withheld; so moving

 

 

Tracing then the water in the forest-creek down to the river.

 

Waiting here. Observing with a careful watchfulness.

 

Counting everything musingly and cultivating my freedom.

 

 

Honour is never anything other than right; wise and truthful,

unthinkable to therein search after any hidden motives.

 

 

Sleeping safely next to the hillside smith at summer-dawn.

 

Relief comes when Life again will be enough.

 

Letting fastidious be me reasonable and healthy.

 

 

Opportunities, the now’s possibilities avoided me steadily

and persistently bitterness bites memories sown,

cock-sure and clearly; in benefit for worthlessness

 

 

But, I have a prevalent advantage in clearest excess;

 

I am foresighted on the Holy Path Home to Valhalla.

THE HILLSIDE SMITH SECRET

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THE UNTIMELY

Want to save this moment from escaping,

for it is irreplaceable ― irresistible ―

almost unsparingly fair ― undefiled

 

 

Calmed, by misplaced sun warmth

(the betraying), to take myself a freod filled moment

 

(Wholly and fully as a dumb animal who right away,

instantly forgets, when a little heat reaches to look in.)

 

 

Trees, continuing the raining, in a well-aimed loan

compounded with sighing, home to its certainty

 

Woods, slayed again on its leaves, on its flowers and straws,

molded to clouds and soils service in a secret

 

 

There was something well-known…

 

about all this helpless nuisance,

this here too barren established;

that Life become Death’s only joke

 

returning to soon be the lost

 

 

And while burdened steps cry away the dust of the road

the pouring rain fills an already overfilled water keg

THE UNTIMELY

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WHERE STONE SHARDS STAND

Choice is stone on flowers

or flowers on stone

 

YOU THERE! Follow me here and step on meandering ant-tracks

continuing down through the meadowland; in just this spring

which now remade by the meltwater runs over into…

 

Summer, went past reflecting other little summer memories

up here on juniper tree hills and field islands; down by the creeks

we turn our embraces around full-grown wild strawberry ditches

 

 

The water-mirror slumbered stuck further down in the old hollow

with its pine-needles and dust swimming on after― So prettily teasing

 

We will see invisibly lifted stone shards there behind the glade

by saddened hardened in each corner ― Yet they’re playing

 

 

The views are here allowed to be us stretched far and wide,

reachable, for us hastily taken in right before…

 

Autumn, a scent around blot wood and mushrooms in damp moss

from a silent hiding-place where one single leaf has hanged itself on;

following true life-gladness in search after worth seeing; stainless.

 

 

It died down meanwhile the river silenced below the ridge

and beside me sat a frosted fog denseness in a smile;

in its cold and snowfilled winterarms winterfairest shine

 

 

We return home inside the soll!

 

We strike forward our years on mountains!

 

We break Earth’s veins!

WHERE STONE SHARDS STAND

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AFORE BEAUTY DIES

Where fallow stayed accessible for years

gleaming in its coldest nightstones; calling

inside the forests snow-covered darkness

as night grew all its frost ready; to cling

 

Watching the remains sunken down in blood.

 

(My intensive double eyes

telling about my earlier lives,

remember now my clearest traces.)

 

 

Following my longings impossible demands,

 

That,

 

which never at any time will caress;

cutting a heart that thought too hard; My grave.

 

 

And all my beauty is now dead, as yours,

which in all of you so wrench and aggrieve

 

 

Missing me. My longing is cured.

FINDING. AM. BRED.

I am the new essence matured.

 

 

Extinguishing all my wounds suffering,

and awake, afore beauty dies, once more.

SPRING FLOWERS 1

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IN A TIMELESS

Wide awake.

 

Taking over dawning,

kicking around down in the sand ―

sighting a grey-barn stand among summers ruins

 

Stepping up to the ledge of a still asleep stone bridge

when a grey wagtail flee away with a quenched cry

almost unheard in our consent of silent wind-throws

 

(It hurts to be so greatly charged with suspicion.)

 

 

It cuts hard into my insight.

 

Sad to say, I am an all too easily harmed, an turned inside irascible

that been lured to train myself balanced, to hurt myself galled,

be a vulnerable and at the same time avoid hardest pain

 

(Being all wounds intact and lulling my fairest dream again)

 

Have ragged myself to come down to the others alikeness;

to obstinately be on exception as an unknown curiosity

But… One thing will lead to the last ― In to an unsolvable

 

(Remained left in a late set autumn, in a capricious ― In a timeless)

 

 

Finally my anguish cuts me done.

 

It is late.

 

Care not to carve in overripe wood more now.

 

 

 

Wide awake.

IN A TIMELESS

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DÄR SKÄRVSTENAR STÅR

Val är sten på blommor

eller blommor på sten

NI DÄR! Följ mig hit och med på snirklande myrstigar

fortsättandes ner genom ängsmarken; just denna Vår

vilken omgjord med smältvatten snart rinner över i…

 

Sommaren, gick förbi återkastande andra små sommarminnen

här uppe på enbackarna och åkeröarna; nere vid bäckarna

vänder vi famnen runt rödlysande fullmatade smultrondiken

 

Vattenspegeln slumrade fastnad vidare nere i sänkan

med barret och dammet simmande på Så sött retande

 

Vi ska se att osynligt lyftas skärvstenar där bakom gläntan

av tungsint härdade i varje vrå Ändå lekande

 

Vyerna är här tillåtna vara oss vidsträckta,

åtkomliga, åt oss hastigt infångade innan…

 

Hösten, dofterna runtom blotat trä och svamp i fuktig mossa

från ett tystnat gömsle där ett endaste löv har klamrat sig fast;

följer sann livsglädje på upptäcksfärd efter sevärt; oupptäckt.

 

Det mojnade medan ån tystnade till nedanför åsen

och bredvid mig satt en froströks täthet i ett leende;

i sina snötyngda Vintergrenars vintervackra sken

 

Vi hemvänder inom Jordmånen!

Vi slår fram våra år i bergen!

Vi bryter åder!

DÄR SKÄRVSTENAR STÅR

 

 

 

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NEW BOOK COVER (THORNS)

I went out at Yule for an hour and took these images. I will choose one of these from the session as cover for my next book. I have yet to look closely at them, so in the meantime; is there anyone of these first four that you think is good enough for the cover? Comment if you have Rolls Royce or a bike.

THORNS 1THORNS 2THORNS 3THORNS 4

 

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1 SIGFRIDSSON – HUNTED IN INVIOLABLE BLOOD (POETRY E-BOOK)

After most of these translations have been sitting around for five years, I finally got it somewhat together.

 

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INVIOLABLE

Poured in a few warming glances for sweetly rare memories

to carry away, pity gone by, to enclose this inviolable,

yet get to sense those wet summer meadows caress my legs,

to catch the calm wind close to the corner of this stable

.

Dreamed,

I am everywhere down here called a dreamed

.

A hidden,

inside indecisions; the seasons rake me in as gone

.

Glances of Life linger on to remain inside the bitter hurted

and to guest the old property as if this life still was alive,

as if an unknown mist hanged on to this very Life perished,

as would my life still remain in Life as my own Life

.

(Coldly clear. A partly unhinged wooden gate creaks wind,

opened unto a forgotten yard whose remains can be sighted slightly.)

.

Leaned over wooden boxes filled up with potatoes and carrots,

smelling in filled bags with mealy apples in the foyer cold

which all lasted as long as Winter would hand its permission

.

(Frost stricken. The gravel path glimmers its fragile floes,

small stones set inside the frozen sand did glisten still.)

.

I am snared sorrow-wise, bilious, mild-eyed, fragile and lost

like the last apple shined witnessed left on its winter branch

sees this year’s harvest of autumn leaves beauty rolled in frost

.

I stand ended,

alone left unarmed against unreality’s gruesomeness

.

Sidling up to the charcoal kiln forgotten by the region

in thinking of friends’ swords drawn out from the field below

.

Underneath the darkness,

fresh laid snow mounds in a blue bleak winter night

.

.

.

Brewed afterglow:

Dead stars’ cries of regret in the night

beneath gleamingly lingering daybreaks remain ―

Unreachable

.

INVIOLABLE

INVIOLABLE

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GROWTH OR BE DAMNED

The filthy flour is milled bitterly

down among the Aesir-betraying scum

Blood-letted, wronged, all that is foul!

Truth forgotten, all high forced to dream!

.

Imitate not the dead eternelles, you sorrowseeds!

Raise not your tearfilled voices to a false comfort

around those soiled words of impermanence

Quelled spikes shall die! DIE! DIE! DIE!

.

Lowest are brought here through the entrapments,

and when Good intentions is missing; will flicker dead,

parasites impose themselves not trustworthy symbioses,

excruciating, in denial of Holy Knowledge with an empty spite

.

We all participate in this Fated battleground

The War continues for Odmade against doomed 

Condemned breathe; but have nothing for it

Condemned die,  for their will does it

.

OWNERSHIP IS NOTHING YOU CAN HAVE 

MIGHT STAND YOU NOT TO FIND HERE

.

COME NEAR THE NEW TIMES REAL DEMANDS 

MEET A WORLD WHERE ALL CHOSEN IS KEPT 

GROWTH OR BE DAMNED IS THE CHOICE LEFT,

AS WE ALL KNOW THAT RAGNAROK IS NEAR

GROWTH OR BE DAMNED

GROWTH OR BE DAMNED