Tag Archives: #hearts

YOU ARE HERE WITH ME

I want you to know
one thing. You know how this is: if i look at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window, if i touch near the fire the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log, everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists, aromas, light, metals,
were little boats that sail toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
Well, now, if little by little you stop loving me I shall stop loving you little by little.
If suddenly you forget me do not look for me, for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad, the wind of banners that passes through my life,
and you decide to leave me at the shore of the heart where I have roots,
remember that on that day, at that hour, I shall lift my arms and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But if each day, each hour, you feel that you are destined for me with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower climbs up to your lips to seek me, ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated, in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved, and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.

Those moments when your heart stops beating for me like the moment when I first stepped
on the moon, the time I got a colostomy— those moments are what I treasure most,
the flow of blood in my veins, the enveloping of my heart.
I have been longing since the first night that I spoke to you.

My body had always been content, and had always had the sound of your laughter.
In the first thousand times that I touched your hand, I kept them still.
I could feel my body, I could feel the blood flow, I could even feel my heart pumping,
and still I could not say a word.
And I still do not know why.
Now I always speak. Now I am not content, I feel more pain.
My tears freeze like those on the glass of a window, like tiny crystals of ice.
Now my body is not content, in my mind and heart not in my soul.
Perhaps there are moments when I know that your love for me is more
than I can bear.
Perhaps it is in the hour when I see my life descending,
when I smell the last breath of summer, when the daily walk on the river takes me far from you,
perhaps it is in these moments that I cry for you.
And as long as you hear me, as long as I am alive, my tears are filled with your blood.
Sometimes in my heart, I am so full that I burst, and I think that my heart has come to an end,
and I understand, through my tears, that you are the one who is dearer to me
than I am to myself.

At that moment my heart feels as if I am one of those saplings that have roots in the earth,
and as long as your love does not die, your roots will not die either.
That is the truth. And if the day comes when my roots set off to find you, and your love dies,
my life will come to an end, and I hope that at that moment even if my heart is in pieces,
the sound of your laughter will echo in my mind, and it will say “I remember.”

Nothing in this world can make me happy.
Nothing in this world can calm my fears.
I am never happy. I am always in pain.
I have tried for many years to find the way through the darkness
and the cold, but my soul cannot accept it.
And there is no escape.
I dream of something that will make me happy, and I wake up and find myself with my heart in my hand.
And I can not cry for happiness, and I cannot cry for death.

I cannot cry for the things that I love.
I cannot cry for the things that I have lost.
I cannot cry because I am afraid.
And so I cry, and I weep, and I am weak, and I am so very alone,
but I cry and I weep, because you are not there, and I do not know
what is right.

I have tried to love and to hate, to live and to die, but I cannot understand
or love or hate.

You are not there with me, in my love, in my hate.

You are not there in the sea.
You are not there in the sky.

I walk in a place where no one knows me.
I walk in a place where no one needs me.
I walk in a place where no one can hear me.
I walk in a place where I do not fit,
I walk in a place where I have no place to stay.

But I have so much love, and I have so much pain.

And still, I will not let you go.

You are so near to me, so near.

I cannot run.
I cannot hide.
I will not let you go.
I cannot explain.
I will not explain.
I will not cry.
I will not cry.
I will not cry.

You are not there.
You are there.
You are there.
In my mind.
In my heart.
In my soul.
In my very soul.
You are there, with me.

:: 02.25.2021 ::


SO NOW

so now

That the Iris opens her eyes upon early morning sun
that the wind dances her showy flowers and is luck
the lost voice of forgotten lovers?

some Not

when wind forgets its dance and green devours
(feelings) by nature’s beauty shall the fisherMen
of hearts sail from continent to unknown places;
their gravely instilled by amorous desire.

some NullAS not would never go there.

:: 01.21.2021 ::


FOURTEEN

i wish I had more time and opportunity to explain my disgust to your rust-stained sarcophagus. To offer a calm palate of meditative colors for our feelings (why not) — you seemed so surprised to be called from a glass prison.

Oh, blessed crystal, what do I have to do to kiss your hand with a succulent kiss for you have forgotten the grain of truth to your rust-stained sarcophagus!

To offer a calm palate of meditative colors for our feelings (why not) — you seemed so surprised to be called from a glass prison.

Oh, blessed crystal, what do I have to do to kiss your hand with a succulent kiss for you have forgotten the grain of truth and your heart could only love the person who feeds it for nourishment — is a difficult task; so you resorted to Cupid’s slingshot!
But here’s an alternative: follow my heart down the garden path, until my sticky feet block the entrance of Cupid’s grave.

Here — get me the jar of colorful paint and I will show you the
sparkle of love.

Here — get me the fork and I will show you the flavor of our love
that came from one man.

Here — get me the ball and I will smash it across my canvas of life.
Here — get me the pencil and I will draw you a gentle, tender picture.
Here — get me the jar of colorful paint and I will show you the
sparkle of love.
Here — get me the fork and I will show you the flavor of our love
that came from one man.
Here — get me the ball and I will smash it across my canvas of life.
Here — get me the pencil and I will draw you a gentle, tender picture.
Here — get me the paint bucket and I will lay it on a canvas of life

It was exactly 14 days since you told me you left the store early.
14 dreary days and I do not think you’ve been here once (not that I
would blame you for believing it).

14 days since I was mean to you, and then you said you’d be back
by 14.

:: 12.24.2020 ::


SUN AGAINST THE NIGHT

The nasty dark night ate the sun!

The farmers wailed against the dim moon,

“Be sane, or make it otherwise!”

Yesterday i awoke with a torn brain

against lover’s thousand acidic eyes

ripped apart by dying beds.

My screaming wish held but just Ourselves–
and Immortality.

:: 12.21.2020 ::


REFLECTION OF LOVE

As my sensational sensual moments bleed away and are no more seen by the vilest minds
my face deep within the riches of Earth’s soil away from unthought wars!
Unburdened by high wilt of human rine–
as pure Love has championed over darkly love.

And smallest voices as new born children spiritually cries of Spring keeping new born
butterflies afloat, is where Love strives
as droll god-beasts!

Such is the dance of perception as a reflection
through a prism; or early morning dew drop.

Time that not be for us — as purple roses
are sweeter to the but for me: deeper!

:: 12.21.2020 ::


WITHIN MY ALL “DREAM”

CRU
SHINATELY

AIN

CRU
SHINATELY

is  Godless 

PUR __ ,
pose
AS WORDS that cry
and break SILENCE ——
(endbegi ndesginb ecend)tang
lesp
ang
le
s
of EnteralL i ght
WE eat blood and flesh
2 B e per Fect
PAIN IN OUR H8ARTS

LO ve
Lit(
-tling-
for souls
of) ! (a. Sprit because we
Adore Birds for they sing
our SONG —–
Y & es
(all from the e
ter.

 nal.  Universe.

KEEPSUMMERGROWINGBEAUTIFULFLOWERS
OFLOVE

:: 11.21.2020 :


A HUNDRED POEMS – XXXVII

confession: my life is emotion more than words which i write
that emotion speaks to me  more clearly than the tongue
and a written word- better   a feeling sometimes, a little
  just a kitten needing milk   and others, a beast untamed
  nothing can stay it’s rage   a prisoner am i; a soul cage
emotions — my dwelling hole and at times the mountain peak
but often middle ground — therefore when you speak to me
know i am feeling each word that, emotion speaks to me
more clearly than the tongue and a written word- better

:: 04-04-2014 ::


A HUNDRED POEMS – XXX

my part a half of whole
a thought a slice of more
that my life lived and soared
my part your half our none
an emotion : the wave of ocean
that my life becomes
Life and as one
what more
than one and whole?

:: 04-03-2014 ::
rev 07192020


LUSTFUL MOON

How long….how long can i hold your hand
within the darkness of this night!
Look! The moon shines — sweet heart / shines\
i have not felt flesh moreless a caring hand within this
venture called Life. Beautiful.
And now you chance the winds , the rain, and the world?

and of me?
I am drunk, high … i am fixated upon beauty of a heart
as you are.
We could cross the road toward wilderness or toward
the concrete city — i prefer wilderness.
Where we can be brilliant intelligent animals fornicating
under the silver light of the Moon.

Stay near. Me. So that I cam smell your skin and fill
my lungs with you.

:: 09.09.2020 ::


FROM HISTORY (Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien)

FROM history a golden step,– among
memories from ancestors, gray
gauzes, and broken bones that
turned back tyranny as bronze
liberated Souls and children
in the sun, no, i regret nothing
No, i regret nothing
so paid for, done, forgotten
i do not care for the past
 pain, blood, and miscarried
hopes — i’m done with the love
and trouble of Life so i start
over with nothing!

:: 08.02.2020 ::