Silent sound

This is a most beautiful piece. You do such free verse very nicely. Inspiring to me. I love the spare feel. Particularly because when one is outside–among nature, as it were, one feels so small–so vulnerable.  Yet, on the one hand, so much beauty surrounds us; on the other hand, it can harm, or even kill us. Part of nature’s charm is in its danger, and it is, I believe a good part of why we feel so satisfied when we tame a small portion of it.

Björn Rudberg (brudberg)'s avatarBjörn Rudbergs writings

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Today
Into the fog
The many shades of grey
As nature lost the colors normally
It has
The goal
We know so well looks different
The sounds so silently
We talk not loud
Today
—-
August 28, 2012

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Of course, inventing a new form of Sonnet…

…is very like inventing a new form of buggy whip.  I have two–among many more such–friends who think it’s wonderful that I write sonnets, but who are unable to apprehend them.  Public education has–and in my very humble opinion, quite very deliberately–failed these dear souls; something for which I would like to see the guilty pay the appropriate price.  What would be the price paid for destroying a mind?  Lobotomy, I think, if the universe were fair–which of course it is not.

When I click “like”…

…on one of my posts, it is not only because I like it very much, but also, because I have decided I am finished, absolutely and positively, with any and all lucasing. (still, there may be prequels though)

Even givinn this, I still feel a bit funny or guilty clicking on my own work. But so far I haven’t gone blind. And anyway, I have found that if one wants ones own blogs to appear in ones “reader,” then one must “follow” one’s own blog as well. I have done so, and haven’t gone blind from that either.

Now, here’s where, if I were already blind, I would admit it. But upfront, I’ll let everyone know that that is not the case; I am not blind.

A few changes…

…this morning’s rain-related offering. It occurred to me that It would be quite easy, quite nice, and quite wonderful to make the final couplet:

Older she, than land they rest; her crops
Are they; if brick, or straw–so unrequited.

be a compressed version of the other three quatrains. Continue reading

So it occurs to me that…

…this entry (spaces removed):

as i slept
by a veranda
open to the sea
on a cool night
just right
to let

the wind
and moonlight
and the stars
blow quietly
past me
as i slept

… is rather a sonnet of sorts if two (acutally quite releveant) lines are added to each verse:

as i slept
just inside
by a veranda
open to the sea
on a cool night
just right
to let

the wind
and moonlight
and the stars
blow quietly
past me
caressing
as i slept