Veknade. Stärktes.       Veknade. Stärktes.


Undkom mycket… Endast till onyttigheten

 att därmed ledas till mer oförglömlig bitterhet

när min kärlek skänktes bort för att få känna;

väl vetande att sorger leder fram till lidandet.


Påtvingad missklä livet grånat och gistet;

klart är att erinringarna mest blev hårda hjärtskrik

från upprivande flagnade minnesbilder

där den ärvda tidens vindkantringar ständigt kväst mig.


Veknar. Stärks. Veknar. Stärks.         (Fortfarande…)


Tar här det sorgfria, det livsdugliga, tillrätta:


Är stärkt till att infånga mitt sinnes medvetande,

inifrån ― med en kärkommen tankeklarhet ―

märkbart lättad har det nya sinnets renhet öppnats.


(Lugnet, Viljan, återvänder ― återställer glädjekällornas plats.)


Vägrar nu att härdas först när tjälen vägrar lossna;

närhelst en kall hjärtesuck blir till en hemmastadd vän.


Att härdas är att värna om det äkta i Livet.



Blowing down powdersnow from a pine branch
onto cold, light grey shadows; in the wilderness

(The verge of the ground a reminder of Our gathering.)

Gently gave Water and Wind Life to the cloud
meanwhile snow journeyed in a concern to remain
upon forest hills stones; to be glanced towards the edge

(Finding Now in the stillness,
in a fleeing movement:
All gone and awaiting time.)

Somewhat hesitant break runnels through the ice,
somewhat insolent, asking: When do We reach Home?

This so grievously lovable clarity’s Winterglade
is surely leaving its Answers in the abstruse
alike streamcaressed stones over the creeks have stayed

in the frozen years

Demand our new freedom, as all other time is stricken.FORDABLE PLACE


(A furtively insensible glance beneath the foliage:
The dawningmist caresses the stones.)

Striding hidden through (the belonging pondweed)

Climbing over a rained creek (inside a soft misty rain)

Reading in raindrops on rose-hip; (my property)

I am clear. Clearer than wellwaters megin
I am clear on what is dead with this life.

Clear. Harder than Sorrow’s first tears
Clear. Cleaner than sustenance of real gladness





Seldom do futile words about love take on a living,

but leave in defiance its new ruins everywhere.


Listen in here carefully now, sneerlife;

Wrong in the head gives wrong in the eyes.

Right in nothing own rights to nothing.

Shut thereafter kindly your slow snout.


Advice on advice writes a starving harvest

wording a wisdom stolen from nonsense

wherein tiresome words are endowed pity

so like raisins showing the full grape vine


We know all too well that been and had are us a wretch to harvest

so keep all your filthy, wry-legged and weakmoulded words

where all regretted ”love” always takes its way home to be hated


Hear the laughter at your comparing of mutual infantilities to be sane

and find you thereafter that the will to your wrongs are missing here,

furthermore that more than love is not a mystery; The name remains.


Rip from its hold

that cleanest emotions have here too hard been used up,

that the fairest scum creeps in line before foulest!


Rip from its hold that suffering and death stand all near!


Take to its hold

that Honour will outshine petty survival,

that only Truth does own us in real Beauty!