BLOOD TRACKS PUBLISHED IN FREE LIT MAGAZINE

December 21, 2014 by 1 SIGFRIDSSON

Just got the link for this publishing of my poem about reincarnation; “BLOOD TRACKS” for the “rebirth” issue, and first issue, of Free Lit Magazine. I am pleased with that. It is my first contribution that have been published anywhere in poetry. I have been laying low on sending out my poetry. So, one in three attempts is a pretty good score. (Well, it is actually one and a half in three attempts, as The Ofi Press published the photo I contributed.)

Here it is:

WINTERFELLED

December 19, 2014 by 1 SIGFRIDSSON

(Letting your nightsnow glimmer,

calming the storm while ice snare branches)

And it is winterstill

in sprucewhisper above fleetingly singing ices,

in thousands of frozen tarns inside forest glades

Winterfelled,

rime grabs hold of the branchery

like we hear our groaning steps silenced

Listen.

Be quiet now, snowfall,

here, beside the spruce, the winterbird eats for its life

while Death want to say something about the sorrows

― I was the one born unto snow in a permanent thaw,

one the world skyembraced instrewn splintered answers

and left me to be remained, long lasting as tender snow,

one so aloned, leaving all my sorrow over wrong graves

In tears taking the dead heart in front of the sick

The last sight endearing land of blood and stones

and squint over this too thin-sown beauty

frosty nights caught frozen in shined darkness

Want to own myself nothing beyond rest, endtime dozed away,

wanted something higher the flames of will sent burnt in here

In tears taking the living heart in front of the dead

A WINTERFELT MOUNTAIN

ÄR

December 18, 2014 by 1 SIGFRIDSSON

Ville slumra nere i dalen

invid mandelträdens värdiga blom

Klinga den alltid längtade harpans toner

Men, blev någon annan

Önskade stå fri i mörkgrön höstmark,
renad från alla levnadsårens grin
Leva och dö fagert som ett höstlöv

Men, är vid misstagen vigd

Blev regnfall,
kalla, kallande Vindar, liten till Ödet,
en kort väldoft innan döden,
likt slaget nässel,
brutna citrusblad,
höstmarken efter nattregnen

Men, kan onekligen älska

när något finns att älska

Det vill brista här
mellan gruset och lövverket

Finner sämst kärlek

Den, vilken inte kan hittas

Här duger mig icke svek,

renaste Kärleken kränkt,
ruinernas kläder
eller egna viljans strävan dräpt

Är lagd öppnad, en ensamt oruttnad,
i äppelkorgen lämnad fram till sorgerna
Är sällsamt hårt, så sällsamt mjölnad,
att bäras iväg från övergivna kvarnarna

Känner alla vajande sipporna Sol kysste
De fagert sloknande, redan slocknade,
ställda, där hjärtat buret nästan räckte
och till er vägran aldrig varit saknade

Är snärjd,
slagen ner i släckande futtighet

Är gömd,
med en onåbar kallhamrad nöd

Är grämd,
fylld med alla dagarnas intighet

Är dimma höjd,
omsvept, täckt under svagad vilja

Är lysande snön på frusna stammar
i minnets nedbrända skogar

Är ett stilla nattmoln, en upprest lövdoft,
vilken aldrig finner Världarna igen

Är inlåst,
kvarad där blemmor lämnas

Är min vinst bortöst,
ryckt och svept i en klunk

Håll i Trädet ni vet bär era blad
medan vi bryter av grenarna

Är detta.

Är det ni aldrig kan känna

TWILIGHT SKY ÄR 1 SIGFRIDSSON

THE THIRD WOUND

December 17, 2014 by 1 SIGFRIDSSON

Early, right before the day notices me again

comes the first wound driven from the earth

and speaks coldly, in chilled, lightbroken waters:

I am wind extinguished light,

dearest sorrowfriend you have met,

those left traces in the marsch

The second wound, around self-defence cast,

overnourished this Universe hopeless coldstricken embrace

and have soon used up all my vunerability,

reached in to Time and awake constantly bent:

Sorrow have played too long on its own board

with Life laid up as being a fickled nothing

(Hidden events fully rooted in advance

handing here Fate itself as fully written)

Final peel of pity scraped down

A cold grip soon to been turned right

There, over hushed dusk

and trembling candle flickering

risen as a shimmering: Clarity;

Home to the last wound

THE LAST WOUND

LET ME SEARCH FOR FOUR-LEAF CLOVERS

December 16, 2014 by 1 SIGFRIDSSON

Let me be in all the days

there wild strawberries are attached to straws,

there lilies of the valley gleam white in the glades

and chanterelles glow yellow from the groves

Let me search for four-leaf clovers

Let me pleasuredrown the sorrow

and become the real in me

Let me inoculate a leaf on a three-leaf clover

Let me create four-leaf clovers!

Let me!

Remaining here was this heart

in its anciently asleep well

to retrieve,

open and carry

Rising myself

Letting me newkiss the wetlands sun-warmed cloud-berries

in the wilderness where deers dances with elks

while the stars guard the sparks out of the night

with rowan-berries in still sail over the forest lakes

Rising myself

It takes a while

before the veils are bending down

Gone

are dusted membranes

LILY OF THE VALLEY

ATT TILL LIVET TIGGA

December 14, 2014 by 1 SIGFRIDSSON

Kvar vid en längtan stannades våra famntag kvar,

i döda ord, tryckta mot åkervätan att vägras gro

(Ta vår kärlek ur irrgarnets svar på nattsvärtad mo)

Våra ljuvhetsstunder sökte förgäves efter sina fästen
ty hårt vid ruelsen tänker hoppet oss här ensamäga

(Solkat och färdigtärt hjärtan i torften tvingats ligga)

Det är mig ett okärat hån att återspegla:

Att till Livet tigga

Har väntat,

skimrat oss fast i stoftets hjälplöshet,

vägrat ointagliga murarna, ställt livlek,

befallt oårens ovisa olust en ändlighet:

Att brytas hårt och gravas

Dröjer här

Lärd Död:

Livet smittat genom sitt tärande

Har talat ljuvat ― Rört ett nära skimmer,

samt; Värdigt hatat

Köld,

älska vårt avsked

Värm upp marken.

ATT TILL LIVET TIGGA

LIVING ABOVE THE ILLUSION

December 13, 2014 by 1 SIGFRIDSSON

Ever had the feeling that life at the present is a big set up, especially made to work against your will and anything good happening in your life? What if that was correct and not just a feeling? Welcome.

I could tell about my life and the different shades of negativity and darkness, the strangeness and bitterness that life brings here. Nobody outside those who know would believe it, so… Later.

I think daily about a multitude of things that I should do. I have to start making some goals here in this worthless life that surrounds me, right now. Or later.

TRAVEL

I have been around the block a few times. Travelling is what you do when you have no life and wish to imagine that you are doing something with your life. I guess it is all pretty much the same everywhere in this mono-cultural world, that of course call itself multi-cultural… This upside-down-world breeds the most dumb animals, and if you think that “things just happen”, then you are one of these victims. I pity you. Let me define what culture is. Later.

I hate to travel. Carrying around stuff you need. The strain of being forced into meeting people you would prefer to see dead. The waiting for planes or buses and the smelly rides. Travelling is like eating a huge cake that taste like crap and it is full of fat that you have to work the rest of your life to get rid of. Was the sunset in that vacation spot worth it?

PRETTY PLACES LIKE ME

To have everything and not being able or permitted to use it. Can anyone else imagine that frustration? Ah well, beauty is all our eyes need to survive another day. I tried this for a longer period: Avoiding everything that was not strikingly beautiful. Almond trees in bloom and a stunning landscape helped me with that. Not a good idea. Still, I have done a few things that I knew was less than good ideas; like trying to live like a homeless for a period some seven years ago. The list is small for these private tests on life and reality, and it does not feed my need for knowledge and insight enough. The wages are not enough. Everyone would hate me if I did not try to be more human, so there you go. Love me tender.