All posts by Björn Blomqvist

Published Poet. Both Art Historian and Historian, Amateur Actor and Blogger. Blogs about Art and Culture encounters, and still writing on my first novel and meanwhile a lot of Poetry.

Öm

Därunder, innanför som äggula
Ett tunt skinn, en hud – fotsula
Trampar mark – sparkar bakut
Skalet spricker – när tar det slut?

© Björn Blomqvist 2017-12-12

Nattens blomma

Lidelse genom dagen

som vissna blad

En blommas arma knopp,

när natten gör en glad

© Björn Blomqvist 2017

Nothing of nothing

An empty space
consists of nothing
Divided in two parts
The eyes are blind
by the black surface…

…Hindered by hearts

One world of hope
dreams of everything
Gathered on one place
Our Globe is blind
by the darkest clouds…

…It still an empty space

© Björn Blomqvist 2017-11-23

what ends?

The end,
end of something,
something that ends
in this moment,
ends up
soon…
in a living soul,
lost of hope,
hopes to end
that moment by
something…

© Björn Blomqvist 2017-11-14

Sound of…

Closing my eyes
to the sound, no pain
Sound from the skies,
opening by the rain

Laying still, no silence,
storm throught the night
Black clouds of violence
a star is the only light

© Björn Blomqvist 2017-09-20

An old love

Today, I used my golf clubs, again, the first time in 15 years. I want to start over with it, again. Because golf courses are beautiful and give me satisfaction. The nature, the colours and the green landscape with all contrasts by the forrest, lakes, hills and bunkers. The estetical and artistic surroundings are more pleasure than the game itself. I’m not a good golfer. Last time I played as a member of the club (17 years ago), I’d 21,2 in handicap 😦

⛳️Björn Blomqvist 2017-08-31⛳️

 

Den som inga byxor har…

Himlen i en ljus nyans, ett tyg ett hav
blåare än mönstret om sömmens nav
Skuggans mörka kant, en fåll ett stygn
starkare än solkustens alla dygn

Svetten kring midjan, en åtsittande här
varmare än hjärtats eldiga atmosfär
Gylfens tajta band, en dragning i sänder
svagare än värmen från dina händer

Gräset mot tyget, en grönska så stor
grönare än den avundsjuka som gror
Ytan i ett solblekt material, en hetta
obehagligare än den is som lättar

Oceaner av bara ben, ett byxlöst land
större än de jeans som sytts för hand
Tyget så raspigt känns, fläckat av slem
mjukare än lädret om spännet i en lem

@ Björn Blomqvist 2017-08-30