Tag Archives: #heart

We Hide What We Hate

SO you hid yourself within your flower (a perfect world
that threw away today) You, believing and so kind,
that wearing upon your smile you, unsuspecting me, wear me
too — oh, from a perfect world that threw me away
just today And the angels know the rest.

Better make you strong
Better make you fall
Just bleeding like a
fallen storyline
And you: from a perfect
world that’s inhumane
today, today, until
i am so small i will
love you.

And here is the answer.

:: 05-07-2016 ::
:: 11.30.2022 ::


Observations of Life

Blood has a thirst by life;

the heart by love’s promise;
time by burning dreams;
World by passing fashions;
Souls by the lessons learned
and nature no human morals.

:: 11-20-2014 ::


SPIRIT OF PERSONALITY

Look into my heart and what do you see?
floating down unconcerned dreams
the haters caught me / those gaudy
Whiteskins taking us for targets
we nailed them to colored stakes.
and i carried nothing for my crew.
No Flemish wheat or English cottons.

You gave the forger and gave it in
God’s Name — oh, no, so, yeah,
you got the spirit of personality!

Where you from?
“didn’t say.”
They think you put a spell upon me
and my mind’s gone.

OH baby – it’s a beautiful day.
Again. This thing, like a, yeah,
Spirit of Personality.

:: 11.08.2022 ::


BIFURCATED LAUGHTER

i ATE the hatred!  WHEN I WAS AN ALIEN
i conjured familiarity!  Now, right now
there’s a  reason for the big answer:

WE GOT TO FIND A BETTER WAY

 JUST because you are paranoid
doesn’t mean I hate you ~~ i love you
 so find another way to get away!
  Get away!  Get away!  

——————intermission cut to live…….
and so children that is how the mongoose survives
in the wild. (audience laughter)
   Inside this barricade of Love is such a thrill
 and awe all you girls we can’t take you all home
 … ============================================

   stepping outside she broke down after sacrificing
all her Life for so many years | God needs a dressing
gown?   His aid picks up a letter after untold eons.
  Sir, your baby has died. +++++> oh! how life struggles
after living so many years \\      I STAND RIGHT IN FRONT
OF YOU said the words of greatest WISDOM.  

the answer:  LET IT BE.

:: 11.08.2022 ::
   


All Things Great & Small

DO not weep for me tonight
the streets are sleeping
and stars are singing their light.

Forgive the clouds you see
: some days they weep for you
but in secret feed the trees.

If the world should express
emotions of compassion
it should be for Love ~~
the language of Things

Great and Small.

:: 09-25-2018 ::


Placed Into a Box

I sat and wept at a brightness that was you: an autumn sun forlornly pouring
light on the corpses of the flowers — a thousand blossoms dead, with no roots.

Grave to decay, and no dreams.

I saw the artist paint his portrait, and wished to know how your eyes
grew clear and darkened at sight of his canvas, and how, at each stroke,
they searched for the clear water of your eye: were you thinking of me?

Or what?

Your poverty brought many, many gifts, which the artist and I,
having explored together that barren wasteland, as tourists through one dead spring,
took to Bali, for a holiday, that morning.

The darkness of the vacant land was covered with blossoms and yellow fruits.
The blackbirds that flew from tree to tree folded like aprons.
The birds all looked, above, like spiders’ threads.

I tried to imagine the inside of that bee, searching for the flower
with a tail, that flew away from him, yet who with it had already disappeared:
from which dark was a fire (Light in front, fire in back)

Or was it an illusion that would be blown away by the wind?
The honey-like fruit of the wild apple, turning dark
as the bee drank, or was devoured.

We all died that day, one after the other, and how they died, I can never know:
like the drop of water that is misted up and creates a sea of salt in the skies.

I saw it, and wept, for you were killed, and I thought of how much
you’d longed to go to the honey.
But how it must have been for you to die:

As the bee, all writhing,
Eaten away.

The bee, is what I remember most.
The bees were only like us.

They were trying to do the same thing as we did:
to make it all better.

Like me.

So I put you into a box, and wrote on the lid:

I shall go now, it is time.

:: 08.10.2022 ::


Give Me

TELL me: where does the wind come from?
where do the stars come from?
what are these wings and walls that they take
around, around to be happy and straighten themselves
to return from what?

And for whom they carry around everywhere and the desire to return.

Give me the smell of their body

The smoothness of the body the sweet grassiness of the pellet
and the scent of their eyes, the road underneath that they keep marching
all the time in pursuit of each other.

Give me the softness of a human spirit and the weight of her soul.
It’s not because I ask for that I desire the animal,
that’s all, I’m only certain of what I seek.

Like eyes that sleep on the shoulders
like the fragile set of the hands
that are always looking for contact
and they might not find it, in whom they could be.
because the animal is too weak to survive the scouring flame.

Give me the makeup of their being
and the sound of their music
The bird that is like a triangle
that hangs like an anchor
The shadow that burns by going
into the sun and comes out of a hole

Give me the tree that grows in pensive sleep
The heart that lies by the feet
the lips the lungs the soul that dries up in its eyes

Give me the leopard that cleans up in it’s corner
and the jackal that does kill within its sleep
the bar that cleans up the wine

Give me the god who buries his hair
in the thunder that’s shattered the whole Earth
The pig that’s eaten all its world
The father that sits within the wall of fire
and the wing that does not flap

Give me the mother of a demon that reads its own novel
The sky that flies towards nothing
The roots that destroy everything
The post that does not reach the Sun

Give me the light that is being the light
that’s been in this world a long time

Give me a cave that seems to come out
to a party that is going to come out
of the garden that is being the womb
of the mother of the dead and the desert
and the mountain

give me

Nothing.

:: 07.27.2022 ::


Breaking My Heart

I want to hear your voice in my mind as you claim me.

Claim me.

I want to taste you.

Taste me, too.

I want you to feed me. The power that lies within my mouth is the power I will employ to make you scream.

Scream.

I want to possess you.
I want to bring you to the edge.
But you won’t let me; you’re in a hurry,
so you push me away with your arrogant smirk.

With your arrogant winking as you take another free-hand
with your fingers, ’cause you’re like that.

I want to be on the receiving end.
I want to give it all to you.
I want to be grateful.
I want to regret.
I want to be satisfied.

There you are again wandering through my dreams,
haunting me, making me helpless to resist.

I want to see you again making me wild, shooting through my body.

Letting me know, listening to me scream and cry for more.

I want to feel you again.
I want to own you.
I want to feel your teeth on my breast.
I want to see you again close to my flesh,
your hair piled high in a manner you have perfected.

I want you to have your way.
I want to feel you again.
I want to fuck you once more,
but this time I want you to be mine till the end of time.

I want to savour it. Till the moment we enter my womb
and know, with our blood, that we are a mother and a father
together.

I want to see the vastness of our love in the walls of our home.

I want to see it, know that we are a family.

Until there is nothing more.

:: 07.07.2022 ::


Then Shall I Knell

Now listen to me, my Lover; is there love as sweet as love this?
Then lo! wither thou art, there in that far wall
a single flower is frozen, and through the hole is a voice.

See her pretty breast, whereon there kisses I beat,
till from the wall I hear her song on the steps.

Is it I?—no, but it’s my own.

I have never known thy love;
I have never said that I loved thee;
But now the walls that kept her apart
have let me in, and I can say it.

At the sight of it all
the tender thoughts of love
of that sad flower
Come and they tread
Upon the blooming thoughts of me.

Now I hold the flower,
and play with her rosy lips;
I kiss the blade of thorns,
I seize the stem,
and press my lips against the petal.

It is not my flower, it is not my love;
It is but her sadness and her grief.

I hold it and let it go.
We are equal in tears:
And this sad flower
When it is once freed
Shall come and say
How sad she was!

Again I kiss her stem,
And pass from the courtyard.

And then shall I knell.

:: 07.05.2022 ::


SAILOR SAILING BLINDLY

On one of these laps of the fishing boats with their red sails that scour the island of the insane we look up.

The woman who was staring from the harbour is back there, in a sea of people.

We read about the great gap between the people and the colonialists.

The press that did not come here that shows pictures of half-naked women with white clothes and black teeth.

The madness of the man on the second floor is beyond the penetration of the purple arrow.

We read the messages of the leftist and the feminist struggle in Portuguese and Spanish and we do not know what it means.

The man who raises up the voice of union does not know the relatives who listen to the voices of the streets and of the flowers and of the trees the voice of the ascetic saying that does not stress the ear.

I clearly knew beyond this stormy weather within my head. I am the poet writing this prose.

The sailor sailing blindly — flying!

:: 07.02.2022 ::