November Poems

Hereby some poems by Lennart Svensson, author of several modern classics.

I will now publish some choice poems, creations of timeless beauty and wisdom. The first poem is called Obey the Bey.

Badilidam, badilidoo,
I'm a singer and a poet, I sing as I go.
Dig-a-loo, Waterloo,
that's what we sing in Sweden
in Eurovision and so.

Summer breeze, makes me feel fine,
oh yes, oyez, you'd better obey --
obey The Bey, Ardath Bey,
the wise ol' Egyptian,
the adept and scholar,
the mystic, the rustic,
the king of it all.

I sing for fun, I blog on the net,
writing my poesy for all and sundry.
This blog fares well, there are readers
and stuff, visitors in the night.
It all fares well -- so I bid you,
for now, farewell!

You've just read a poem by me, Lennart Svensson, the editor and proprietor of this blog. There seems to be some visitors to this site and for that I'm glad. I mean, currently I'm not so eager to push it among people. The readers come anyway.

By the way, the pic above is of the Temple of Debod, Egypt.

- - -

Now for the next poem: The Sun in the Dark.

The sun shines in the dark
beaming through space, illuminating Earth
lighting my way as I go shopping:

- sunripe tomatoes

- solar grain bread

- mellow yellow bananas

- Solisan vitamin drink


Sol invictus! Triumphant Sun!


The sun burns in the dead of space
boils in 5,000, maybe FIVE MILLION degrees
radiating its heat into the abyss
and reaching our clod of earth
filtering through the atmosphere
sieving through the air
shining through a tree
and shining on me
as I go home from the store
with solar bread in my basket.

I'm a legend in my lunchtime, a poet and a pundit, a king and a clown, for ever seeking Harmony, Beauty and Spiritual Passion.

I seek and I find, the journey's over, I've arrived. "Home is the sailor, home from the sea / and the hunter is home from the woods" as Stevenson put it. Or, as I myself am putting it in the next poem, called Flower in the Desert.:

The Pilgrim went out into the desert
and there he found a flower,
who said "pick me, I'm nice".
So the Pilgrim picked it and
right then he just knew
this was the Flower of Sun.

Shall I stay in this desert, he mused
or shall I bring this Flower of Sun
to the people, let them rejoice
in its beauty and marvel at the colors?

From desert plains I bring you love...
From desert plains I bring you love...

With these lines from Judas Priest,
those Metal Gods of yore,
the Pilgrim went along and headed
for The Great City, whose lustre
shone ever so brightly beyond the horizon
of the nocturnal desert.

(The rather fine picture is "Desert Flower" by alien9875.)


How sweet it is...! Oh I dare say.

What then, do I say? I say: how sweet to express yourself in poetry. It's so tight, so dense, so full of information in the tiniest space possible.

So enough of my yakking, whaddaya say, let's boogie -- with the next poem -- the fourth and last -- called, Searching:

Searching for tomorrow,
searching for a read,
searching for a blogpost,
searching for some fun...

So how 'bout that apatia they talk about:
enjoy the silence, enjoy the nothingness,
shûnyatâ... how is it done, how...?

Just sit down and dream, la-la-la...
think about nothing, the nothingness now...
I am nothing, I am void, space, infinity...
extinction -- and expansion, evolution:

I have become Cosmos, the galaxy whirl:
"sarva-loka-pravriddha", dance with me Shiva...

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