Bengt O Bjorklund [Sweden]

 

somewhere above the harbor

where seagulls
spear the day
with old songs
of Sirens lost
I find myself
not anchored
nor moored to the coming
of yesterday’s debris
weathered and carved
a message
a wooden whisper
a note in a bottle
bobbing on grey water
I see you
you ship of dreams
sails singing
my breath the wind
 
 
***
 
that day the tide
whispered a few words
to blue sky above
to make sure
history moved ahead
standing in straight lines
small men
watch the grinder
turning all before them to pulp
blue sky still above
moonlit nights when lakes
tend to loot pale beaches
reed conspiracies sing
of new and inexplicable things
the streets are swept tonight
by a hundred small men
with their eyes on the run
weather is just another word
for being taken apart
 
 
***
 
I see signs in the sky
where worried faces roll
running for office
in countries where flags
burst into fire
on any given day
ruled by the unfair and the dead
unselected and unruled
those with scars and tissue
crawl in the solitude of I
for the sake of no war
no killing
no hate
they also reject indifference
steeped in still back water
weary men run for cover
as tactile bombs
fall from skinny enemy skies
where dark rabbits
do worry
about the end of time
streamed and crying
I see your need to grasp
and understand
the dervish madness
the spinning image
of a life
or an oyster in a dream
I see the dull I see
shaved Buddhist calamity on fire
with nothing to say
breathing heavily
in white man’s
privilege
bowing just for the sake of it
time is a walk to the cinema
before the posters are printed
a dive into a blue pool
before the homeless
leave their poor mark
on the newborn infant
in a park at midnight
sometimes between here
and logs not yet ignited
I dream of soya cream peace
whipped into labor days gone
I will not yield
or pray
this is but another day
pious men’s relief
in dark slaughterhouses
run red with religion
make animals bleed anyway
for the sake
of being more than one
here’s to one man with a sign
with a dream
not only his own
it cannot be too late
it will be kindness
that melts the bow
in the end
 
 
Author’s Bionote:
 
*Bengt O Björklund, Beat Poet Laureate for life, artist and percussionist, was born in Stockholm, Sweden in 1949. Known from the cult movie “Midnight Express” where the character Erich is based on Bengt’s life behind bars in Istanbul in the late sixties. He writes in both Swedish and English and has published 15 poetry collections. He has been to many poetry festivals around the world. He has also exhibited his art since the seventies. He plays the djembe in the band Beat Poet Society, a band that turn my poetry into songs.