Blackcurrant Tea

From restless sleep.
To writing poetry.
I stay up and sip some tea.

Ron Bergquist
Oct 30 2004



You sick little doll,
May I fix you?
I’m going to rip off your head,
lay you to rest in a dirt bed.

Oh please don’t scream
You make such a lovely dream.

May I have this dance
Who cares about your broken stance.

Shall I keep you?
Or kill you?
A headless doll,
Not good at all

How’s the dirt?
You say it hurt
Did it?
Oh shit.
I guess you were human…
…After all

I Love You Like Death

I am the perfect mix of normal as normal
can be; as normal being; weird, as weird is normal;
but not so weird, as to be so weird it’s not normal,

I am of the present and am of the shadows
I shadow the present as it presents shadows,
that harrow the past – gifting me with today;

I am only as sane as you on your insanest days,
the rest is a mock rehearsal and I want my moment;
oh lament – you’re insane, maybe I’m sane; baby.

oh lover, dear, hear me say I love you like death.
as life is pitiful, hate filled and judgmental,
so I – I…I love you like death;
so pure, silent and serene.

Cold Fingers

As fall fell with leaves tinged rusty brown,

As humans do intoxicated, they fell to the ground;

And rotted. Hidden by the smooth covering from the sky,

Snow – oh so white – blight out my sins, hide my lies.

I cannot revive ‘till spring warms my cheek.

The bleak weather has passed

I was a corpse dead and gone and rotten,

The snow melts and reveals the truth.

I held you with my fingers rotten and frost bitten,

Broken tenders, will never be forgiven…

This the end

Marked by the beginning again;

We will mend, we will mend.

My fingers gripped you trough the ice

Pulling hatred from love and love from lust,

You were nice – we were a bust – you were a must,

Still my fingers laid broken till the rains brought the rust…

My joints creaked and groaned ‘till the sun shone,

Though I remained and you were gone,

and now the sun shines; I feel like rain –


What remains shall grow.


Have you ever seen the echo of a whisper,

Root itself in the soil of a friends or lovers heart;

Soothing pains with pleasures that quiver,

Soul and spirit – rescuing desire from the dark.

It’s getting harder and harder to feel anything.

It used to matter to me when my mind began to slip,

My hope dissipates as my dreams are fading.

For this journey, I did not come well equipped…

Life thrives now and not just the worms,

Beware though, the shadows that move,

They wrap around and it’s you that’ll squirm.

Little embers of lies will be hard to disprove.

Lost in a dump of a wasteland that dishonesty created,

It sits in the back of my mind, my idle hands wasting time.

Days slip by and I begin to wonder why I’ve hated;

It’s lonely here, here where we atone for our ugly crimes.

Ron Bergquist

Jan 24th 2015

Limping On A Peg Leg

And if I was like you, raised in purity
My talent wouldn’t be wasted
Describing the hatred of a man whom is bitter
Towards all the loves that should have lasted …

Dear mother, dear father – where are you today?
It’s been 24 years since you said “I’ll see you in a few days”
And how I waited and prayed to God I’d see you again…
The devil answered me with sticks and stones to my body

Beaten by people who loved money;
Isn’t life ironically funny…
I can make people happy…
But not my sad self…. not my sad self…

I am to worn by a world of dark desires
Interwoven into me is violence and anger,
Bitterness, hatred and darkness – familiar pains….
I like intoxicating relationships… I understand what is broken.

I want to fix everyone so much in my own self too,
But I’m limping on a peg leg wearing one shoe.
Future calling me whilst the past strangles me.
It’s not too late – but too late for this time to be ….

Anything more than a worn out soul
Alone and cold and hollow
Honestly utterly depressed
I’m followed by my old shadow….

A dark cloak I sometimes put on and lose myself;
In the nostalgia of being disconnected from society.
I never felt like I belonged anyway
Me trying so hard to fit in is a falsity.

So I’ll die alone…
I’ll sit here and write alone.
I’ll hide and drink and do drugs
Till I’m numb to the bone.

I hear the voices in my head
All pulling and wrenching on me
I’ve tried my best yet faith bests me.
How am I supposed to stand now?

I sang my last battle cry – I ventured fourth
To conquer a measure of what I lost
Only to be put down again and reminded when
It rain it pours….

Dear son, my son so angry
You’ll be a lot like me.
I’m sorry I couldn’t be there this year’
Know that we share the same tears.

All these years so hard and so slow
All I’ve learned and yet to know…
My heart is heavy and I’m wondering why
For all I’ve done and tried my efforts only make me cry.

Is it me? Is it the past? Is it life or all of this?
I keep dreaming one day I’ll wake up
Good things will happen,
And I’ll finally be content…

I’ll finally be content…
I’ll be with you…
I’ll be clean…
I’ll finally try to live again…

Ron Bergquist
Jan 12th 2012