Bengt O Björklund Poems

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Dylan Thomas Was Here

Part one

There will never be a moment
like this summer’s day I am.

... And You

I will never fall for dark digital wolfs
that lurk in murky quiet pools
where airy assailants silently die

A Dream

The elevator rises far beyond
the wanted floor
turns into a subway
with an unseen female driver

The Boy

Measuring all dark hills
the horizon can commence
the boy purges the passing
with one poignant word.

No More

Seeping through all that
weeping autumn fortifies
in gales and gusts
and weird tools of mystery

Dog Tired Bones

These dog tired bones
that slowly rot to mire mass
in hollow perpetuation
are but smug charlatans

I Am

The sky’s sea fading bone
is a fight for fetid clouds
and intrepid winds to settle
with their air pockets full of similes

To The Wind

I dare all winds that crawl like stricken birds
over grassy hills in gloomy desperation,
that bellow in the late hours of the night
with hideous sighs of see-through glass:

Morning At The Favela

Vodka breakfast saw the sun
long before the bay’s wild water
twinkled in the long hot wind
rolling thin salt up the hill.

The Old Man And The Sea

Startled by silly words silently soaring
over snow’s dark, fine cover,
the old man finds himself in disarray.

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