Mama, Just Killed a Man

Writing at some depth about the Queen anthem Bohemian Rhapsody would take a book, so here I will have to settle for just touching at the subject. A few thoughts on the lyrics. They're just as impressive as the music.


The essay has been moved to my personal website:

Mama, Just Killed a Man

Time Flies

Chronos.

One more year ends, a new one starts.
They say that time flies.
It sure does. Fast. High.
I want it to land.
Walk with me.
Step by step, in a slow pace.

As a child, I flew with it, shared its wings, urged it on.
Go fast, go high!
Watch out for what you wish.
I got my will – when I gave it up.

That's of what time is made:
Grief of days locked in the past, hope for days to come, and fear of the day that is.
None more real, none less so.
You must be winged to bear it.

Time is a beast, too.
It chews on you.
Bit by bit, it eats you up.
Spits you out.
Leaves you in the waste, as it takes off to find new prey.
There is prey.

But then, time is joy as well.
That of a tale we love to be told.
From here to there, through a land that's not the same twice.
Not once.
Still, we know it when we see it.
It's called life.
From birth to death, it would not be if there were no time for it.
So, we've got time.
And we want it.
More of it.


This is a syllable poem, by which I mean a poem composed only of one-syllable words. Check my website for more of them: stenudd.com

What They Should Have Sung

Some songs have an element of magic. They squeeze your heart and flood your mind. It's far from always clear why, but it can happen in an instant, and it happens again each time you hear the song anew. The mystery of music – but lyrics have a lot to do with it, too.


The essay has been moved to my personal website:

What They Should Have Sung

When Dogs Die

I've experimented with what I call syllable poems, because they consist of only one-syllable words. I made video recitals of them, with clips illustrating the content – sort of. Above is the most popular one of them, When Dogs Die.

The English language makes little resistance to one-syllable poems, especially when you write about the big issues of life, death, love, hate, god, joy, grief, pain, and so on. The most important words are one-syllable. For that matter, so are the four-letter words.

The above poem, asking whether dogs have a soul, has received a number of comments, mostly from people who have recently lost a dog, and mourn it. It seems my poem gives them some kind of solace. What more could a poet ask for?

I've made a small number of syllable poems, so far. Here's a playlist of them all:
Syllable Poems