Strange

Sliding up and down,Moody steeple,Want and want not,What can you trustOr trust not?Who can help you thru the dark?Life is no amusement park,Explanations one or many,Let me know if you chose any.

Of idealistic rubble,Part of HistoryOr just memoriesMuddled,Whose very existence,Was more troubleThan worth,Because we seem committed,To toxicityInstead of creativity and mirthOr even,Just forgotten, how to actWith some specks of human worth.

To have captured the spirit,of a dream once dreamt by me,I have always understood you,More than you could ever tell,I have loved you much in secret,But I’ve loved you long and well.Love begins with a small sparkle,Other times when lightening strikes,I will love you so forever,All my days and all my nights.

I think it Is,Poetry, the Champagne of literacy,Opens unfathomed stages of thought,Where language gains supremacy,Permitting the mind not to be enslaved,And setting the Spirit, Forever Free.

Love all that,That cannot be,And still be part of Mystery.

And the sound of ‘Never, Never’,Seems to always seal my fate.I had dreamt of you so often,Love complete and full of grace,I had loved you as a Secret,Never having seen your face.The Ideal we fall in love with,Is sometimes a desperate case,Not responding, corresponding,To our mental, warm embrace.Yet, I’ll not betray you ever,And this Love…

So much hurt and nothing changed,All clouds return as summer rainAll vital claims, disclaimed.

In a Nation of Fast Foods and mental obesity,Not all the Computers, nor dishonest men,Can ever, unfortunately,Make this Country whole again,Goodbye, America, Goodbye,Too BadGreat while is lasted,Now,Sad, Sad, intolerably, SAD!

And don’t kill TruthRespect and protect life!Because without thatNo civilized Nation,Can thrive or survive,Peace brings progressKeeping us alive.

Because Love makes you or breaks you,Because Life is nothing, without Love.

Ah, the good old times!When Life was LifeNot just an unmelodious trance.

Found their Art,In Bette Davis and Cate Blanchett,And ‘That’s, That’.

With words,Holy be he who will,So chose your words carefully,Responsibly, lovinglyThere is time, still.

Straight into my soulForever more.The love I did not have,Where did it go?Stayed as the dream,I’d never know.

Like the Soul,It can’t be bought

Can be watchedAnd appreciated,Over and over again.The Art of FilmTime does not dim,True talent,In all domainsSings immortality’s hymn.

Those you neverWill forget,When love opensThe best momentsThat you never,Will regret.

What can move us forwardAnd what can turn us down?Love can help you travel,But existence, MysteryAnd if you walk aloneLife is a lonely travelWhen Love’s but Fantasy.

We can just conquer,Change troubling Oceans,Into positive streams.As we get older,We lose our thunder,And sadly realize,That all remains as it seems,There are no miracles whipped by words,That will fulfil the idealist’s dreams,We’re but Fools, trying to fix,The devil’s dirty bag of tricks.

Would happily conclude and more,But now I realize, sadly so,That ours were footprints in the snow,Love cannot die and bloom again,Today can’t be what we were Then!

You receive one day,Full of beauty and melody,With the fragrance of surprise,Pleasant image to the eyes,That speaks a language,Never shy,But upholds sentiments,That just won’t die,And sometimes, only sometimes,May bring some tears,You have to cry.

Is a wonderful thing!The spirit of creationIn us sparks,And makes usLive and speak,A world without artWould be inhumanSo impoverished,Less smart,Like birds without songsWe’d wither alongArtistic creation,Is our cultivated Rose,Our salvation,Beauty’s selectionThat only love knows.The artist’s creationIs like his beloved childSo intricately, love woven,Meaning more than his life.

Time traveling redeeming,The things I have seen,The Past, Films and musicThe Present, new song,The Future, uncertain,So much can go wrong,And yet I do love you,I’ll follow it AllYou are My Computer,My own Crystal Ball.

Where wouldYou rather be?I couldn’t chooseAnd that isWhy,It seems to meI tryTo write,What someMight call,A sort ofPoetry…AlwaysFloatingBetween,Two Seas.

In the mystery of dreamsWe had what we had,But never enough.In our love for nature,Ethereal beauty and the Above,Our souls merged together,ForeverLike in no other love.

In its unique, fabulous wayBut how it makes you feelWhen it hasThat incredibly vital,Falling in love, appeal.

It seems that only,Poets and Fools,Are still able to feelAnd behave that way.Pity!How painfulAnd sad,This is to say!

Navigating in the fog,Of loveless planets, cold,Searching in the cratered Moon,For poems young and old,Searching for a kindred Soul,A story yet untold.

Lost, gone too far, Lost, gone forever?Not knowing where or who you really areOr if you’re coming apart at the seams,Trying to live, too many dangerous dreams.

Give the bestThat you can giveDonate progress.Make Love your theme,And Truth your Hope,Delight in Nature’s scene,Make others happy,Make things betterThan they seem,It doesn’t hurt to dreamSomewhere, somehow,Dreams do come true,Be a better you.

The Poet’sWritten words,So naturally were bornSo that in trance,All those that readWere, inevitablyAnd willinglyJust held.A master of her ArtIt was not the handThat wrote,But her kindAnd precious heartWhere feelings felt,Were soft and pureAnd blessedMixed with her tearsThey formed a partOf all the lovingThings,That Poetry does best.

Thinking is a process of Discovery,Without which you can’t get by.

Who are not afraid,When Life is here,Falling apart,Trembling, decay,When people cry,Or cannot pray.Blessed are those,Who cannot feel,Who go through life,Not knowing where,Love will reveal,It’s holy prayer,Nor do they care,To show their bliss,Just unaware,That Life existsWith pain or care,They are just there,An Empty Stare.But, now beware,Of those that feel,That all of Life,Is a bad Deal,They know…

Enough, natural disasters,Why do we provoke more?After so many centuries,It’s time to stop the killings,And close of violence, the store,Institute Peace,Love, forevermore.

A painful cleansing,A thirst for purification,Edification,A person becoming a person,A Holy Journey towards Light!Illuminating Souls,That dancing with delight,At it’s Presence,Drink the sweet nectar,Of Peace within Peace.All becomes whole again,There is a rebirth,Of the Soul, Of the Flesh,A deliverance of the Mind,A Freedom never before felt,The ultimate liberation!The Truth,So difficult to Find,So difficult to Tell,As man’s…

Without a Rocket,Just a poem,On hand.

The oldest and less profitableOf all Arts,But who cares?As long as it touchesThe deepest fibersOf loving hearts.

What it should never be,Is Mad,For madness belongs,To the world of fools,Where life is just shattered,And there are no rules,Poetry is feeling and hope and dismay,A promise of Wonders that people can say.

Moves the Soul,Best of all,Sometimes,Makes us think.

Mi pasado, mi presente,Mi futuro y mis alas,De todas las cosas de este mundo,La mas amada.

Such, Hypocrites,Yes, with a capital H.,Always molting their skin,Like Vipers in a pit,Pretending caring, charityAnd fairness for all,While their FangsDistill, poison at will,As tyrants and liarsThat they areNever changing,Once more historyRepeats itself,And poor DemocracyIs left hangingOn some dusty,Forgotten, shelf.Remember,Everything is manipulatedIn all lands,Where Truth and CountryAre strangled,By their bloody, hands.

That we can be better,And things arrange.We are our own worst enemy,A sword in the sand,That becomes burning,Full of destruction,When it comes to power!And ownership of land!

Can only live in deepest fright,When the Candidates they see,For sure will Swindle, you and me,All throughout long History,Nothing’s changed reality,We, the Serfs, still pay their fee.

That form a loving tower,Each time you’re close to me.

And the sound of ‘Never, Never’,Seems to always seal my fate.I had dreamt of you so often,Love complete and full of grace,I had loved you as a Secret,Never having seen your face.The Ideal we fall in love with,Is sometimes a desperate case,Not responding, corresponding,To our mental, warm embrace.Yet, I’ll not betray you ever,And this Love…

Like Cupid’s Life-Giving arrow,Love turns Poetry into Art

Human jealousy,The petty partsOf our dysfunctionalEgotism,Such is the grandeurAnd UniversalityOf their Composition,For more than all elseWith purest Love,They touch,And conquer the profundityOf our hearts,Making, both human and divineThis glorious transition,Into loving Poetry and Art.

That it’s not even kept upIn those who have sworn,‘The Truth and nothing but the Truth,‘So, help us God’Please….