Hanging the head,
The head
On the palm,
Slip I,
Slip I down,
Down the memory,
The memory lane
Of sweet remembrance,
Sometimes,
Sometimes up to,
To the corridor,
The corridor of
Thought and idea,
Image and reflection,
To the balcony,
The balcony of reminiscence
Always remembering,
Remembering and dreaming,
Dreaming of you, my love,
O, where, where you,
Making me wait,
Wait for!
A poet writes
Feelings that dance,
With wild thoughts
Musical verse,
It’s not by chance
Life is the most
Essential gift,
And precious host
The fairy land
Poets love most.
Leave a Reply
Too much!
When intensity’s
Too great,
You become a poet
Even at an early age,
To give vent
To all that passion
To content,
Life’s deep compassion
To express,
And to give birth
To all the love,
You cannot ration.
Leave a Reply
All is nothing
And nothing is all,
Emptiness, prevails
Down long empty halls,
And yet!
We hold on,
To Life’s
Incomprehensible
Call
Because Hope still
Burn eternal,
In those with
Sensitive Souls
As creativity plays
Its saving role.
Leave a Reply
Film’s, musical scores
Invade my heart,
And not only do I see
Those romantic lovers,
In their dreamy films
But I also hear and live
The galactic music
Of the stars,
That makes me, even
Sometimes, cry.
Music, that will
Always thrill me,
That has been with me
Like a friend
That will not part,
Just stay forever
In my silly heart.
Leave a Reply
Words come,
Adventurous dance,
Elliptical gyrations,
Fascination,
Poetic World,
What a chance
To embrace you,
Sometimes willingly,
Sometimes, by mere chance
But always a Miracle,
This Poetic Dance
Voyage in verse,
Dancing with words,
Loving this land!
I can till
With heart and hand.
Leave a Reply
Comes a light,
That helps you,
Find,
Some joy, some truth
That’s why,
We must always think
Of a lot of things
And try to resolve
If we can,
The emptiness that Life
So often brings.
Please, answer the door
When curiosity rings.
Leave a Reply
Misunderstood,
Thrown in a corner,
No can, no could,
No love, no would,
Alone,
Who should,
Go on?
Pity,
Those loveless ones,
All Alone,
In moonless ponds.
Waiting for the sun.
Leave a Reply
I want to cry,
And the more I write
The more difficult
It is for me
To keep my tired eyes
Dry.
Why do we cry?
I ask myself,
Does it make
A difference
To express,
Tristess,
That state of
Melancholy sadness,
With tears?
Maybe so,
For Tears are
Our Souls’ Rivers,
That overflow.
Leave a Reply
Like the finest wines
Like the finest things,
The Most beautiful things,
That man has created
And that to Life may bring,
The best, yet anticipated.
I like to be intoxicated
By these many things,
But above all, by Beauty
Kindness and Love,
I like to be taken
Far away by dreams
Like the cinema used to do,
Where today, mostly bloody
Streams, lead the way.
It’s about almost all they do.
For me,
imagination, kindness and creation
Are.everything.
No drug will intoxicate me
Like Love, Poetry
And beautiful sentiments
Towards all that lives.
That from the heart
Keeps giving,
Believe it or not
That is precisely what keeps
Me and Some of us,
Still Living.
Leave a Reply
They abandon us for others
Fidelities, hardly, known
But it doesn’t matter
I’m accustomed to being,
Alone.
Leave a Reply
Of life,
Inspiration calls,
A poem vibes,
Harmonizes inside
Begging, Hoping
To be born!
And if that blessed moment
Does occur, does arrive
The inner stars
Of inspiration,
Feel such a welcomed
Sensation,
All explodes in adoration
Of this fluid, ardent Art,
Born, from overflowing
Love,
That Poets cannot hide.
Leave a Reply
And hurts so much,
There is no place to hide,
And you cry,
As if the eye,
Were the torrent that magnifies,
Pain thru tears,
As Time embers the fading Past.
Our lives are like dried flowers,
That slowly lose their sun,
Searching the shadow cast,
By our dreams and hopes and fears,
Knowing that nothing in Life is certain,
But made up of some rare smiles and unshared tears.
Leave a Reply
to keep things out,
other times
we build fences
to keep things we treasure in.
19 February 2008
Leave a Reply
frightened,
nervous.
I am in stress.
Sometimes
I am proud,
confident
and joyful that
we are trying
to build a
castle from afar.
Sometimes
It worries me
that our
fatigue may
be unproductive.
That will bring aching
and heart breaking
pain, fear and suffering.
(Trying to build a spiritual
castle in all earnestness
can bring us into real doubts
of darkness, fear and sufferings) .
Leave a Reply
And lov’d when they should hate, like thee, Imelda! ~
Italy, a Poem
Passa la bella Donna, e par che dorma. ~
Tasso
We have the myrtle’s breath around us here,
Amidst the fallen pillars; this hath been
Some Naiad’s fane of old. How brightly clear,
Flinging a vein of silver o’er the scene,
Up thro’ the shadowy grass, the fountain wells,
And music with it, gushing from beneath
The ivy’d altar! that sweet murmur tells
The rich wild-flowers no tale of wo or death;
Yet once the wave was darken’d, and a stain
Lay deep, and heavy drops but not of rain?
On the dim violets by its marble bed,
And the pale shining water-lily’s head.
Sad is that legend’s truth. A fair girl met
One whom she lov’d, by this lone temple’s spring,
Just as the sun behind the pine-grove set,
And eve’s low voice in whispers woke, to bring
All wanderers home. They stood, that gentle pair
With the blue heaven of Italy above,
And citron-odours dying on the air,
And light leaves trembling round, and early love
Deep in each breast. What reck’d their souls of strife
Between their fathers? Unto them young life
Spread out the treasures of its vernal years;
And if they wept, they wept far other tears
Than the cold world wrings forth. They stood, that hour,
Speaking of hope, while tree, and fount, and flower,
And star, just gleaming thro’ the cypress boughs,
Seem’d holy things, as records of their vows.
But change came o’er the scene. A hurrying tread
Broke on the whispery shades. Imelda knew
The footstep of her brother’s wrath, and fled
Up where the cedars make yon avenue
Dim with green twilight: pausing there, she caught-
Was it the clash of swords? a swift dark thought
Struck down her lip’s rich crimson as it pass’d,
And from her eye the sunny sparkle took
One moment with its fearfulness, and shook
Her slight frame fiercely, as a stormy blast
Might rock the rose. Once more, and yet once more,
She still’d her heart to listen all was o’er;
Sweet summer winds alone were heard to sigh,
Bearing the nightingale’s deep spirit by.
That night Imelda’s voice was in the song,
Lovely it floated thro’ the festive throng
Peopling her father’s halls. That fatal night
Her eye look’d starry in its dazzling light,
And her cheek glow’d with beauty’s flushing dyes,
Like a rich cloud of eve in southern skies,
A burning, ruby cloud. There were, whose gaze
Follow’d her form beneath the clear lamp’s blaze,
And marvell’d at its radiance. But a few
Beheld the brightness of that feverish hue,
With something of dim fear; and in that glance
Found strange and sudden tokens of unrest,
Startling to meet amidst the mazy dance,
Where thought, if present, an unbidden guest,
Comes not unmask’d. Howe’er this were, the time
Sped as it speeds with joy, and grief, and crime
Alike: and when the banquet’s hall was left
Unto its garlands of their bloom bereft,
When trembling stars look’d silvery in their wane,
And heavy flowers yet slumber’d, once again
There stole a footstep, fleet, and light, and lone,
Thro’ the dim cedar shade; the step of one
That started at a leaf, of one that fled,
Of one that panted with some secret dread:
What did Imelda there? She sought the scene
Where love so late with youth and hope had been;
Bodings were on her soul?a shuddering thrill
Ran thro’ each vein, when first the Naiad’s rill
Met her with melody?sweet sounds and low;
We hear them – yet they live along its flow –
Her voice is music lost! The fountain-side
She gain’d?the wave flash’d forth?’twas darkly dyed
Ev’n as from warrior-hearts; and on its edge,
Amidst the fern, and flowers, and moss-tufts deep,
There lay, as lull’d by stream and rustling sedge,
A youth, a graceful youth. ‘Oh! dost thou sleep,
Azzo?’ she cried, ‘my Azzo! is this rest?’
?But then her low tones falter’d: ‘On thy breast
Is the stain – yes, ’tis blood! and that cold cheek –
That moveless lip! thou dost not slumber? speak,
Speak, Azzo, my belov’d – no sound – no breath –
What hath come thus between our spirits? Death!
Death? I but dream – I dream!’ and there she stood,
A faint, frail trembler, gazing first on blood,
With her fair arm around yon cypress thrown,
Her form sustain’d by that dark stem alone,
And fading fast, like spell-struck maid of old,
Into white waves dissolving, clear and cold;
When from the grass her dimm’d eye caught a gleam?
‘Twas where a sword lay shiver’d by the stream,?
Her brother’s sword! – she knew it; and she knew
‘Twas with a venom’d point that weapon slew!
Wo for young love! But love is strong. There came
Strength upon woman’s fragile heart and frame,
There came swift courage! On the dewy ground
She knelt, with all her dark hair floating round,
Like a long silken stole; she knelt, and press’d
Her lips of glowing life to Azzo’s breast,
Drawing the poison forth. A strange, sad sight!
Pale death, and fearless love, and solemn night!
So the moon saw them last.
The Morn came singing
Thro’ the green forests of the Appenines,
With all her joyous birds their free flight winging,
And steps and voices out amongst the vines.
What found that day-spring here? Two fair forms laid
Like sculptured sleepers; from the myrtle shade
Casting a gleam of beauty o’er the wave,
Still, mournful, sweet. Were such things for the grave?
Could it be so indeed? That radiant girl,
Deck’d as for bridal hours!?long braids of pearl
Amidst her shadowy locks were faintly shining,
As tears might shine, with melancholy light;
And there was gold her slender waist entwining;
And her pale graceful arms how sadly bright!
And fiery gems upon her breast were lying,
And round her marble brow red roses dying.
But she died first! the violet’s hue had spread
O’er her sweet eyelids with repose oppress’d,
She had bow’d heavily her gentle head,
And on the youth’s hush’d bosom sunk to rest.
So slept they well! the poison’s work was done;
Love with true heart had striven?but Death had won.
Leave a Reply
nothing much
but not nothing
just something
I pick up your
gentle fantasies
and start to read
like when the two of you
are sitting in the
dentist’s waiting room
making occasional remarks
which you’ve forgotten
before you said them
Leave a Reply
I read a poem here and
instantly want, because
of the love of poetry
or goodness, or truth, or beauty, or
whatever, to
live the life
of the poet who
wrote it
though
on reflection
that might not work out
or, I might not know
I’d exchanged lives!
but
at the moment I thought it
the thought was pure because
thanks to poetry
and the very human poet
our hearts were indeed
as one
(for Oscar Mireles)
Leave a Reply
Becomes a poem,
Sometimes,
The perfume of a rose,
Can be sublime,
Sometimes,
A tear can silently,
Produce a chime,
Sometimes,
A Love may fall apart,
And no one know it,
But so does Time.
Leave a Reply
Synthesize, the pain,
Dance out and sing in trembling rain,
Let your hair down, cleanse,
Start anew,
Understand,
That there’s nothing new,
Under the sun,
Become you and then…
Just go on.
Leave a Reply
Express themselves in verse
Trying to find open roads
Trying to secrets, burst.
In the high noon of life
Feelings come first
They must be obeyed
In order to satisfy
Life’s unquenchable thirst
Just to realize, after
That all the harshness
And pain of the mind,
May be written,
In one single,
Apocalyptic and visionary,
Internally revolutionary,
Confession of lifelong,
Travel and find.
Leave a Reply
Gets the best of you,
And you lash out, with impunity,
Foolishly, with lunacy,
Trying to calm your Inner Pain,
But you must find a balance,
Between reality and insanity,
Hard thing to do, I know,
If you are an Artist,
And a Poet, too
Leave a Reply
Holds you, like in a trance,
And All, the held back feelings
Come tumbling out, All at Once
And you can’t stop the avalanche,
The waterfall of sentiments and words,
That so emotionally disturb and chant.
And behold! the poem is born and lives,
Reflecting all the mystery and force,
That Life to Poetry gives.
Leave a Reply
Darkness can’t veil.
In such a wrecked life
almost, I dwell.
Where hottest sun can’t dry
the wet sands of my floor,
The coldest night can’t calm,
the burning of my door,
My heart sinks
to the bottom of the sea,
where my good times hide,
playing hide and seek with me.
Bring me a rain of smile
on my lips cracked,
fill in me a wheel
of rising hope and will,
on my voyages ahead.