READ PDF: Moonset; Poems Prose Picture Story and Poems Bjorn Bengtsson 2019 Prelude to Moonset I am allowing for the following procession of lines to intertwine ink and thought. Less I let every thought breathe, let it be – these see some light. Begin Muse meant play o red. Finger black onyx red haired woman. You said that
READ PDF: Coalescence Spiritual Poetry Collected Works Bjorn Bengtsson 2020 Coalescence Bjorn Bengtsson Contents Peasantry .Word Panacea Re-Memory Portrait Of Angel Green, White with Black The Forgotten Altars Thirty-Nine April Joba Unnamed After Name Everything Is Real Wisteria Peasantry O Eternity! Who are we to you? Cradling universal motif by the backs
Letter L Love, lip, language, literature, litany, linguistic, liturgy, lack, lobe, laugh, langor, land, lure, left, loop, linger, longer, leviathan, learn, look, lavish, lacquer, liminal, limit, limitless, lamp.
XI - XIV - MMXX - God is love. Heaven meets earth in light, blinding and calm illuminations: i am home within. God lavishes lip litany and magic manifest moreover in worshipful adoration to a beauty eternal persisting, enumerating life. Last night, prior my sleep, still dreaming i’d found my hands unlocking keys of a grand classical grand piano. The piano being large
XI - XIII - MMXX Crescent moon. Star. God is love. Natural renewal; cyclical theory. Elucidations on serendipity. Perfect posture. Please and thank you. Parenting. The color red. The quality of color. Monk monastic servitude to aesthetic ascetics in artistry. Pink is the color of my fingers, goes well with yellow and with blue. I feel beautiful a bit hallucinated up and slower for it,
Headlights Introduction Headlights is symbol both to the physical light of a headlight blaring orange yellow white blue bright at a near death head on collision for which at 80 mph winds of exhaustion on the I-10 freeway at night would have in turn turned my beating breathing body to sure death, but headlights is symbol both to the spiritual light of a head-a-light
November 12 2020 I want to touch with eyes, to be touched by eyes. God is all seeing eye, color in an eye, experience love. God is love. Were the sun an eye herself, she’d be dreaming a living dream in behind the haze of clouds. Skies are so overcast as my head is. I wake up clouded, head-ached, found i fell asleep
November 11 2020 God is love. Now sun had risen in a new day, alight are the colors. Flowers adorn in glistening, glowing adorations of the Artist. Musically every moment is a sonata. My body is a sculpture. This outside, an interactive exhibit. And i’m the writer, medium of acolyte expression in this hour. I sip coffee from a blue-brown mug steaming into
November 10 2020 I’m in an early morning mountain desert haze. I read a secret painters language in before sunrise’s blue hour. God is love, I’ve learned the love of painting from the first artist. Skies are a patterned blue, textured with deep space and closer clouds adopting a reddish hue of lightyears rising. Moon’s a crescent, a far east star beats
November 9 God is love. Cooler weather warms my soul. Art is for the soul. Any way we get breath by God and the days go on beautiful. I love the colors. I wear rose gold monk, my hoodie. Monastic at the cityside. Bespoke by light utterance, artist in the future writer’s oeuvre today. I am stood beside singing wind chimes. My world personifies. She’s
