B. Sven Telander Poems

Gabriel’s impact arches
Starward,
earthbound,
...

Secular manifestation alight
on brainwind- invasion
of atmosphere,
growth of virii,
...

Pagan naked among a dying hunt,
behind a darkling sphere,
Encased with a paradox
of primal fault, replete
...

School of soft
kisses welcome
a bifurcated sybarite
...

A cornucopia of delightful memories fill my mind when I dwell upon the golden timeframe of that most rewarding chapter of my youth: the fortnight- each day comprised of halcyon moments that dashed so fast, due to the pleasure of those
treasured days- spent at magnificent Charterhouse.
I can scarcely recall how I found that magical place; with its splendid
multifoliate gardens, lustrous acreage of plush grass, gentle horses, proud trees, and
...

A dark flock of hideous and beautiful birds, winged to flight from nesting in an ancient forest; plunging into the blanket of night, a veil woven from death and darkness, shrouding all the lost children of wind- descending with shrieks as their songs, over the majestic decay of the ruins of Chamberholme Manor.
Debris scuttled the length and width of the ancient grand concourse in a gravelly whispering random dance across fractured marble and obsidian tile. Sudden rushes of screeching winds, howling in praise of destruction, sent dust, leaves, and twigs tumbling out from overgrown lawn and dead gardens along the pathways of the converging colonnades, the few that had not collapsed, and still spoked toward the bruised and crumbling sprawl of the mansion once called Chamberholme’s Grace. Whirling eddies of airborne detritus now ruled these forgotten paths of an older time.
It was into this set-piece I found myself, disbelieving the sights that met my eyes, the lonely bleak arias of air and bird that haunted my ears, the complex scents and scenes of disintegration that tangled my senses, this tragedy that lay before me.
I was far too destroyed to even cry.
...

Do I forever recall those ancient of times,
where newborn eyes watched creation sing,
and my own wings helped ring primordial chimes,
earning the brief privilege at ear of the King;
...

Past trees and long brick walls she ambles
through glittering mist toward far corridor,
but vision’s trail is left in black shambles
and softer inside, waits her dark paramour.
...

Walking quietly under skies of purple fire,
through whimsical forests, past windows of drab
abandonments, toward ever growing spire
as distance advances like a never peeled scab;
...