Tag: Writer

Shards…

The cracks of the mirror
in the clearest waters,
travel with the speed of
the waves from an invisible
storm, straight through
my shaky body

The veins on the surface,
are splashing at the rocks
in my eyes when the
sun’s rays shine against
the delicate layers
of my thin skin

© Björn Blomqvist 2022-11-14

Shaped Emotions…

On a spot in the shadow, I’m standing
alone, empty and filled of silence
Behind the flames by fears, I’m landing
untouched, humbled and out of violence

© Björn Blomqvist 2022-10-11

Sail by Love

The ocean, a place of love
that flows on the emotional waves

Your heart opens up to sail
in a boat through all loving winds

The sea water splashes around
on you, to cold the sexual heat

My coast, is in the arms
of everything you sailed for…

…in the end of an armada of love

© Björn Blomqvist 2022-08-28

Searcher

Traces far away
from the start
Something in a
lifetime, a melody
to survive

Too many chances
out of reach
Everything in a
moment, words
to heat a heart

© Björn Blomqvist 2022-08-13

A thought to my novel writing!

I started writing my second novel, two years ago but nothing is happening, as usual. So like the first novel, nothing will happen with this one either as usual. My first novel is now in the trash, and that’s where it belongs. Current novel is far from finished. Maybe it will never be finished!

Björn Blomqvist 2022-08-09

Eyes to the Ceiling

A surface, white as the sheets,

dry and high above your wet body,

reflecting the softness in your skin.

Two heads on a pillow and

shiny eyes to the ceiling,

brings the blanket to the floor.

An act of love without audience,

in a room filled of emotions,

opens the window to an eternity.

© Björn Blomqvist 2022-08-01

Roses

Like a rose by night,

you’re colorless

But on inside,

as the rose, a red

loving vibe

Like a rose in the wind,

you fall through

But I’m behind to receive,

when you fall for

the wind, to believe,

in love

© Björn Blomqvist 2022-07-09

Unstoppable

At night, in sleep, on a sheet
Hiding, beyond the dark
In a row, huge like a fleet,
carved, deep in the barque

Chimaeras sleep at night
Real ghosts aren’t dead
At day, they have a fight,
mostly here, in my head

© Björn Blomqvist 2022-06-12

The Mirror in my Pocket

Two sides in a reflection of
pictures to delete
You and I, or both of us,
but only pieces of me

Deep in my pocket,
broken and not complete
Who am I, what can I see,
or who could it be

My eyes dance alone
on the mirror’s frame
in slow motions to the
melody of broken glass

Lost in a cracked surface,
life picture isn’t the same
In between lies the hope,
leaved in the pile of mass

© Björn Blomqvist 2022-05-21

Sound of a Sunset

Evening sparrows fill the night
with tones, played on the leafs
Calm winds give bubbles
in a tiny puddle on the ground
The shadows sleep on the clouds
in a dream of a snoring sun

© Björn Blomqvist 2022-05-01

Too much

🎼

Grabbing a glass of beer,
to the sound of a country song
Singing alone my dear,
for being your love, all night long

Fills my life by the barrel tap,
when the body turns to dry
Starts my engine after a nap,
when it lives and don’t die

Hoping to find what I hear,
in a life from bar to bar
Dancing alone my dear,
for being gone, not too far

Fills my life by the barrel tap,
when the body turns to dry
Starts my engine after a nap,
when it lives and don’t die

Shaking the hips and the bone,
to the sound from the strings
Changes words on every tone,
for playing to it springs

Fills my life by the barrel tap,
when the body turns to dry
Starts my engine after a nap,
when it lives and don’t die

🎼

© Björn Blomqvist 2022-03-26

Cat a strophe

In the mood as a disaster 
Lies my will on the floor 
Untouched among cats 
Miles from the outer door

Alone in the rocking chair
Rests my lust under the rails
Sanded to gravel of  stone
When worries cuts the nails

© Björn Blomqvist 2022-03-14

No no no…

Every night I’m squeezing
my pillow, hard and harder,
until I fall asleep, heavily

Every hours of sleep,
at night, is the nightmare
still alive, still beside

Every morning I wake up,
sad, scared and alive, but
lives next to a nightmare

Sweet dreams needs to
fill my pillow every day
and every moment…

…please

© Björn Blomqvist 2022-03-03

Shared Moments 

I just borrowed the sun
that shines in your eyes,
to dry my lonely tears

I walked by the path  
you have in your heart,
to share my moments

I sailed by the wind
in your broken mind,
to lighten my anchor 

I caught the sky
you sent down to me,
to open my soul

© Björn Blomqvist 2022-01-16

Speakable…

On a bench, a painted word
drops down on a leaf
By a leaf, a silent touch
lifts an eye above the head
Inside a head, a good thought
spinning to slips aside
One step aside, a bad
feeling bouncing in the chest
Deep inside the chest, a new word
waiting to paint a heart
Stuck in a heart, a painted letter
still rest on a bench

©️ Björn Blomqvist 2022-01-09

In Bloom…

🥀 The Flower as I 🌻

From a crack in the street, grew a flower with the aim of eternal life.
The asphalt that covered playgrounds and cycling paths was surrounded
by concrete houses. He grew up beyond all the fine flower arrangements and
the road was never straight. The road that led him forward was crooked
and lined with obstacles and resistance.

The acquisition, which was governed by inheritance and obligation, was
the predetermined course. Nothing went as wrong as the credible thesis
– a theory failed. With death as a close visitor, the life got a second chance.
From an asphalt flower to a victim after a deadly journey under a vehicle,
the wounded plant rised against all odds.

From a course change to discourse in the academic flower box, new seeds
where spread. Nectar that has always been there, was suffocated due to
uncertainty. The survivor of the working-class society became a conqueror of
dual bachelor’s degree. The conquest is unique in the collection of familiar
flowers.

Dramatized acting on stage became plant nutrient to the root. The strength
of memorizing the words in the script, became the flower’s power on the stage.
Predisposition for artistic analysis is the strength that strengthens the stem.
Water and sun are mixed with culture that breathes over the leaves.

The pot of poetry
will be filled to the brim
with hungry poems
to feed a starving poet.

Words and emotions
are fed with stanzas
and verses from the
middle of the soul.

The damaged flower
survived a serious
car accident, this day
41 years ago…

and he is still in bloom.

© Björn Blomqvist 2022-01-07

A Path to Something New?

I have been there before, near an open end when all choices are hidden in the trees. I followed the same path firmly in the opposite direction, when a line was drawn under the ground of eternity. Beyond the light, far from all coincidences, a wisdom grew deep beneath the heap. I dug a ditch to finding a hope instead of plow forward in the right direction. In the end, I was on the same spot to look up, to stare down and be dazzled by the light in the front – out of conclusions.

© Björn Blomqvist 2022-01-01

Window Mode

Since 2012, I have written 299 poems, and this will be the 300th. What’s out there and what’s in here, is an interpretation of my poetry that has constantly moved from my inner feelings to beautiful and enlightening things I have seen outside and around me. It has and will perhaps be a journey between the light and the darkness. But in between there’s a force so strong as in the best moments can move the mountains, who are a part of the roller coaster in my life.

So this is my 300th poem

A tiny light, surrounds
by the darkness, I feel

Crushed life that sounds
when emotions are real

Rays of the sun, walks
in a motion, so bright
Color of sensitive talks
paints my hope, by night

A feeling of calm, plays
alone when you can’t see
An inner fight in days,
a personal war for me

All bricks in the wall, sings
a capella for deaf ears
Dare to look, touch things,
doing it, without fears

© Björn Blomqvist 2021-12-20

Between Grief and Grapes

Barrels full of tears in a sad patrol, rest to store fears in rows, surrounded by it’s enemies in oak uniforms. Red wine in the color of spilled blood, survived the battle between the grief and the grapes. In frontline with shields, thin like the shells of the grapes, a bloodline is the line behind the enemy. The infantry still standing on the feet of the wine glasses, ready to fight for what they crying for. Deep down in a wine cellar, far from the sunlight, lies a grief, alone and missed by the survivors who refusing to leave them for the next harvest.

© Björn Blomqvist 2021-12-15

Along the Road

Step by step on a forgiving road,  

a walk alone

Heavy rain falls from the fog, 

a day to remember 

Going back for a moment, 

a memory on a stone 

Lights in the night on a shining mind, 

a day in november 

Tone after tone of a surviving song,  

a mystery voice 

Heavy clouds push me down, 

an emotional fight

Climbs up through the haze, 

haven’t a choice

Strength in the body on a rising soul, 

to catch what’s right 

© Björn Blomqvist 2021-12-12