Unknown's avatar

MIDVINTERNS ÄNDESTEN

Mörkret har gömt mina stigar

 

Finner inte Verkligheten vid liv här

 

Ärren, mycket nämnt, alltför väl inne är

 

(Tänder nattlyktan och trampar ovan skaren)

 

 

Betalade långt mer än Livets värden

och är driven tusentals år in i Döden

 

Mitt namn: Makternas första resta ändesten

 

Kalken hämtade mig åter lämnad ur Källan

hit sorg och flykt ensamt fann mig att levas

 

Satta tryggbänkade glor lömskt denna väntan itu,

tigga kärt allt vad redbart varit till Världarna värt

och önskar min närvaro att bitas löst och futtigt,

kärvt och slutligt spotta smittorna in efter betten

 

Tjänta smädare sena till nyttiga gravfamningarna 

glädjas över sin stulna, oförtjänta åldrade storhet

och klungande uppå vageln sitter tallriksslickarna 

medan Midgård ruttnat, stelnat, till meningslöshet

 

Vallas genom framställda misslyckanden att timra,

fastvärkta minnen där nekat Världarna blivit sakat

medan dagarnas bett räknar sig kvar sammanbitet

tills vägran tvingades hit; Till ett slutgiltigt rämnat

 

Ristar bergfast att gjort så blir Tiden.

 

Vet att Sanningen är min gravhög.

Vet nu eller aldrig.

 

(Släcker nattlyktan och kliver genom skaren)

 

MIDVINTERNS ÄNDESTEN

MIDVINTERNS ÄNDESTEN

 

(Väntan räckte mig inte fram, forna fränder,
till läkningen, nycklarna hamnade minnets hav,
ty Tidens brännhög är buren facklad i stilla grav)

 

Unknown's avatar

DET TREDJE SÅRET

Tidigt, redan innan dagen märkt mig igen,

kommer det första såret drivet ur mullen

och talar kyligt, i svala, ljusbrutna natten:

*

Är vindsläckta ljusen,

käraste sorgvännen du mött, 

de kvarlämnade spåren i sankmarken

*

Det andra såret, är om nödvärnen stöpt,

övernärt Alltets hopplöst köldslagna famn

och har snart förbrukat all min sårbarhet,

når in till Tiden och vaknar ständigt krökt:

*

Sorgen har spelat för länge på eget bräde

med Livet upplagt vara ett flyktigt intet

(Gömda skeenden rotslagna i förskott

räcker hit själva Ödet ställt  fullskrivet)

 

 

Sista flagorna av ömket skrapas ner

Köldens grepp har snart vridits rätt

*

Där, över tigande dunklet

och skälvande ljusfladdret

stiger en skimran:  Klarhet,

Hemmet till det sista såret

 

DET TREDJE SÅRET

DET TREDJE SÅRET

Unknown's avatar

ALLODJORD

Ser

mull fylla tyg

 

Hör

diken stilla sippra

 

Hasar Ödet.

 

Väntar tre Soldagar

 

Bryter nästat dunkel ― Sprickor

Öppnar trumman ― Sprickor

Bottenfrusna källor ― Sprickor

Gör facklad nattstig där svartklädda fåglar dansar

medan månbetten smeker i en Vindkysst skörd

Lyfter,

trycker mark och berg hem till Gudablodet

ALLODJORD

ALLODJORD

 

 

Unknown's avatar

LÄNGST UTE PÅ EN HOLME

Längst ute på en holme där havet väter skären
står kampen att skydda tankarna från insynen

Mörkad ligger Stigen ― Mörkad ligger blicken

Bränner orden.

 

Lyfter blicken,

slagen den drar till marken att kvara

 

En vänlös

Ty mattat glitter är odugligt

 

En kärlekslös

Ty putsat glitter är befängt

 

 

 

Rör senare vid dammet fallet ödestugegolvet,

i lånat nattläger, sliten itu och famnande Intet

Mörkad ligger Gården ― Mörkad ligger skogen

 

Striden hugger.

 

Lyssnar,

hör stillheten vandra över skogens insjö
när solkattade månan glänser i träårorna

 

Står lustdräpt, vacklar,
i ljusan Sommarnatt framför inre skygga tankar

Drar åt tyngder, hotar,
i mörkan Sommarnatt där alla Svaren sig frågar

 

 

Släpad till Livet märkt igen

In i klarhet och imma hälld

Hatet så starkt att det vägrar sig fäste

att ta strandhugg nere vid de tio floderna

1 SIGFRIDSSON

1 SIGFRIDSSON

Unknown's avatar

TO THE FRAGMENTS OF TRUTH

It bitters

 

just before the sunrise find its dew

and after the dew have been sipped

 

(Could anyway never heal the nights

therein the hours stretched into dawn

while flames searched hard for the Light)

 

Life searched to (leave me)

 

meanwhile Sun silently extinguished the mists

by the still and calm mountain ash by the creek

 

Life will (love me)

 

in certainity,

in the violets waving forestshadows

TO THE FRAGMENTS OF TRUTH

TO THE FRAGMENTS OF TRUTH

Unknown's avatar

THE ILLUSION OF THE GREAT WRITERS

Originally posted 6/1-13 on: http://thesolsticewell.com/

Stumbled upon a copy of “Faust” by Goethe some time ago. I had read parts and excerpts of it in German and Swedish before, so I already knew it was crap.

I had a volume of Goethe’s poetry before and liked some parts and pieces of that, so there is no denying from my part that he could write decent. Technically speaking.

This book is one among the two dozen books that have been typical for the intellectual crowd to walk around with a copy of. Found it so humouring that I walked down the streets with it in my pocket that I actually just had to take a picture of that. 

JUNK-CULTURE

JUNK CULTURE

The story of “Faust” is just dumb and poorly written.

There is the fiction figure called “God” in it that have no resemblance whatsoever with reality. It is really insulting that a fake “god” stole and still use the name God against God. (Not even mentioning the thousands of other things that parasite steal from The Gods).  Furthermore, there are some characters in a nonsensical discussion that also come from fiction, all done with the deranged minds view. Etc. You get the picture.

As the case with all junk culture there is nothing of interest and it all lead down to nowhere land. It reminds me, not surprisingly, of how Strindberg later used to build up his plays.

I do not blame fiction for being non-fiction. I blame these silly illusions to enter and derange non-fiction and then affect fiction. I understand that this is fictional writing from a man that know very little about the realities of life. Still, when people like this spread their junk it affects the minds and continue to kill Culture. It is really depressing to know that junk culture like this have been promoted so well that it is currently called “fine literature”. Or any other cliché I might think of. There is, to no surprise,  even worse books out there by other “great writers”. Burn them.

Do I write better than Goethe? If not, then I have no say, you say? That is completely beside the point. (It is not my personal goal to be a great writer. My goal is to give of my knowledge.) Everyone have to start facing the fact that most of what have been produced in literature and arts have been filthied, some of it is forged and is being used as tools for murder and much worse for hundreds of years. It will all be trashed as the new time enters. Be prepared for it.

Literature, music and other forms of entertainment must be cleaned. Junk culture can only inspire to shape more junk. I am against junk entering the mind, defiling and murdering all higher values. What freedom does the victimized, these insane and twisted have? To make this world a trash can for everyone?

I would rather be completely empty than full of that litter.

Unknown's avatar

MY LOVE

THIS IS THE TENDERNESS EMBRACE OF LOVE!

*

Binding twigs against darkness, the threatening,

that threaten to burn all our heartsongs

and take the loveable away from its curing

*

A young Ash bend down to answer

Flowers step up and play!

My love is for springs, blackberries and rainbows!

My love is for silver fir trees and wildgrown pear trees!

My love is the sun-warmed cowslip slopes and paddocks!

*

I kiss the wind healthy, smiling with the sky here,

laughing at the curious fox there!

One appreciation of the volatile you learn

when we into the heart can pick berries!

*

The wagtail trips, the worms lay on a line

A twig is broken by the ground far from a town

Stoneshards stand in a circle

The cornflower knows everything!

*

My love is to the groves, wild strawberries and ponds!

My love is for mushrooms and extensive valleys!

My love is the glittering creeks and mountain trails!

*

MY LOVE IS TO EVERYTHING WORTH LOVE! 

TIME IS ALL

TIME IS ALL

Unknown's avatar

IN YET ANOTHER AUTUMNFALL

(I am bored with my attempts to translate this poem into proper  English. I will just publish it as it is for now and hope for help… I am fully aware that it is more or less word by word translations that I do of my own work, which others might find “wrong”, but I do work with higher set goals.)

 

Dream me in rowanwreathed Autumnforest days

there shimmering cling near the sleeping fields

meanwhile a broken mist stumbles, lifts ― Rises

 

And a silent rain sweeps ― The bonfire hisses

 

Travelling mist covered

And soon it dawns again  ― Again

 

Watching wilderness, playing with dry leaves,

eating my thistles carefully and gifting smiles

beneath days of past grayish skies mirrored

 

And have alone been stuck ― Where Time stopped

 

The almost unnoticed waves in the mountain creek

listens near by to the pleasing small drops of rain,

watching the forest thin in slow pace with Autumn

and knew that the leaves would fall here ― Again

 

Travelling mist covered ― Traceless

Soon it dawns again ― Again

 

Reached an early marsh in its slow leaf falling,

herein may serenity caress and milden

 

You, Autumnland, are Death´s lost portent

 

And soon a Winternightwind was heard calling

IN YET ANOTHER AUTUMNFALL

IN YET ANOTHER AUTUMNFALL

Unknown's avatar

GLANCES WITHOUT WORDS

The broken white-cherry tree,

split in the trunk as it was,

beautygrown to be and give,

stand remembered

*

While rivulets trickle down before him

he takes out worms from wild raspberries

*

Daydreaming that He reaches Time,

The All Realitys Naval itself

He, in lee safety under shelter

He, which is calmed by the rain

*

HOPE

LUST

WILL

SUN returned

with eyes thorned

He is redeciphered,

violated and tarnished

He is made unseen,

outplayed and leafless

*

Clawed by your nearness

Clawed by my nearness

*

Into the fold to be corrected wrong
and poorly eat betrayal and wretch

He gives glances without words

Flickered

*

This in-borne, devouring,
hates real despair,
frost strikes this inconsolable life
to all the Worlds in wait

You will only find healthy stains
which will appear as like unlike
feed even more than the actual hindrance
which have refused this Önds greatness

Cease to order my realityanswers
after your willbelief of whim emotions
Taking me now from this unbearable;
out from the existence of wassails drink

YOUR SOUGHT DIMINISHMENT DOES NOT REACH ME!

HERE WILL FORCED UPON NEVER BE MY WILL!

KNOW WHO HAVE STOLEN OUR EYES!

GRABBING THE DEATHBREAD FROM US ALL!

CALLING FORTH THIS RENEWED WARPATH!

GIVING US THE RIGHT LOVE BACK!

BENEATH SUN AND MIST

BENEATH SUN AND MIST