четвер, 1 червня 2017 р.

Johannes S. H. Bjerg - poems #5


Johannes S. H. Bjerg: a Dane who writes in Danish and English simultaneously and mainly haiku and haiku related forms. 1 of 3 of the editors of Bones - “Journal for contemporary haiku” (http://www.bonesjournal.com), and sole editor of “the other bunny - for the other kind of haibun” (http://theotherbunny.wordpress.com) and “One Link Chain” -  a blog for solo linked verse and haiku sequences (http://onelinkchain.blogspot.dk/) Has published several books: http://january-stones.blogspot.dk/p/books.html





***

leaf let’s


:


pro nouns


:


stiuped


:

flickerererer


:


glewed would


:


nightrainnightrainnightrainnightrainnightrainnightrainnightrainnightrainnightrain


:


myopicture


:


pill grim

:


bird s pill

:


availabable

:


cliir


:

funnitics


:

seeing it
w/o swooning
life’s stranger

:::

DEAFINITIONS:


another poem about tea: blocked highlights

:

squeeze a swan lightly: neural network

:

combining economy and finger: desert islands

:

what’s left of Bedouins: an eye born in secret

:

sleep and the art of predicting the future: a mountain in a matchbox

:

part moth part flame: a finger pointing at itself

:

Bresson’s smoker and the virgin: mirrored trains

:


***
-tude


in a night's house
cloth and doom



:


to avoid the Iness
a start
            a meal



:


pain of hand
perhaps it's French?



:


this place has a name.
we're strangers



:


took a while to get used to writing the new year's digits
now: a magpiedusk



:


a bit longer than a thought dusk



:

for a while a room full of Chopin




:

it is

dusk



:


not like winter

a smoke
&
tinned sardines




:


your pain
wakes up
before you do

and your word
for it
dreams



:


some lawns gives birth to four shadows



:


fake star



:


I say to myself:
look! magpie!

and I look.



:


just enough wind alive


:

eye movemnet


:


c rossion


:

sea
-inging



:


it's a competion why the ball jumps


:


no need for a language
facing
an orange

:


I can turn on the tv and hear voices


:


orangeing


:


the village
is on a map

I am
somewhere


:


my phone camera sees me


:

Sund
            ay

when
the cloud
is



:


I talk
you talk
he she and certainly it talks

tonoone





:


if you say so
there's a sun
up there



(thought it was a secret                                       )


:


buy the burn-outs make a circus


:

that cooked
chicken

that aching
thumb

that
yes
that


thatyesthat :repeat



:


slow low owls



:

doesn't
mean
a thing

a thing




:

after the second espresso the third
I live


:


what changed the world last year might do it again: I move the chair back


***


Martyrs of the In Betweens


the furious and the non-believers all with cold feet


what an arrow a viola can draw


listening to Saturn my room on a pin-head fills with moths


measure


who touched by dust rose


the little that’s an eye and turned away


more strings and yet her voice still


if Heaven’s a boat in a lake in a thimble if


a fallen city on their legs and dogs


who spoke and went away returning as the white in paper


not enough birds to tell


adjusting the apple to cast its shadow along the pain


after a’ll


for the gathering of leaves in a virginal place



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