FINISHED WITH DEATH IN LIFE

(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

Clear.

FINISHED WITH DEATH IN LIFE

STONES

WISDOM!

How embarrassing you have become,

your scent too near the madhouse
sings its sorrows without any good motives

What wisdom has cannot be used

 when what wisdom lacks is asked for

From the remains think yourself clean
and take the heart freed from words,

for the thoughts upon your path

where no one wish for to wander

crawl down in the ground

where nothing can grow

and carve ruins of the years

to a paltry salary

in shadowlike kneeling,

in self-effacing moaning

*

Clean tears fall only in words,
consolidated under vanity´s shelter
where they have loved with barbed wire and mockery

to a great thrill for all our words´ tragic handouts…

*

Words to the sting, given joy filled lust,
to wishing wells´ finalized completions,
made to participating, present answers
Near the Altar of Fate nailed to remain.

Most alike the believed picture of you is hailed,
or creeps down to another backlash reaction
and becomes its own conclusions´ executioner;
slanderer, and eventually the own wills whore
therein depredated flesh from the thoughts sit
as harrowed, in ridiculous unpalatable qualms,
hailing spilling, tearing down inherited rights,
while monarchy and democracy lie stupidity

upon a conspiring and deranged slaughter table

under imitation, unwanted shiny residues,

showing the highest heights´ devised murder

*

Spring water in swamps will swamp water be.

*

BLOOD TRACKS

Think of faded traces of blood in the woods

turned into dust

in a final kiss of grey

*

Two footprints under the grass

Two dead at this place again

*

Our eyes still remain

crowned over perfection

for we kissed the lack of death

and put stone on thistle

*

Awaken,

seen in wounds

Heal,

we heal

STONE ON THISTLE

STONE ON THISTLE

I ÄNNU ETT HÖSTFALL

Dröm mig i rönnkransade Höstskogars dagrar
där skimmer fastnar invid sovande gärden
medan en bräckt imma famlar, lyfter ― Stiger

 

Och ett mjukt regn sveper ― Vårdkasen väser

 

Färdas dimhöljd

Snart det randas igen ― Igen

 

 

Vakar tassemark, leker med torrat lövrassel,

äter mina tistlar noga och skänker leenden

nedan lidna dagarnas grådask skyar speglat

 

Och har ensam fastnat ― Där Tiden stannat

 

De nästan obemärkta vågorna i bergsbäcken

lyssnar när vid de ljuvande regnstänken,

åser skogen glesnas i sakta takt med Hösten

och visste att löven skulle falla här ― Igen

 

Färdas dimhöljd ― Spårlöst

Snart det randas igen ― Igen

 

Når ett arlat kärr i slött lövfällande,

härinne får friden smekande mildra

 

Du, Höstmark, är Dödens vilsna järtecken

 

 

Och strax hördes Vinternattsvinden ropa

I ÄNNU ETT HÖSTFALL

I ÄNNU ETT HÖSTFALL