Tag Archives: #poetry

Three Disembodied Heads

The three disembodied heads on top of a heap of dolls of whom only one is recognizable as a face have very curiously looking deep-set eyes, on fire with curiosity and intent on finding out what’s to be discovered in this tub.

—Rinsing off, three children wash themselves—that’s the noise made by two old men who don’t know each other— As they creep out of the stall and escape from the flood of hot water. They strip off their white night clothes, and don’t know why that their naked breasts seem to glow.

So the clear pale skin, broken by narrow white slits, folds into the two white globes so that they’re held un a most pleasing manner; the dark nipples become large and pendulous, and in a flash the scarlet eyes—the one about five and one on top of the other—Snap open, and fill with intelligence and a glint of laughter and mischief. The other has a slightly different appearance—large white globe with a dark under eye—and his neck is bent, and his throat is thinner and shorter
and his nostrils a bit flatter—in a flash the tiny face golds a curious thing, and then, suddenly, the nose us curled up—and you can see something on the top of his head—

The last victim, the youngest, I’m sure, is best described: A pale pink globe, pale ivory, transparent, lashes like silver wings, loose curls of dark hair around her face; and, whilst the mother is resting, playing with the child, the little lady looks at you with a real face like a child and wants to play.

You will have the impression that the facial skin is loose and very clear.

:: 08.07.2022 ::


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 ::


Cherry Blossom Heart

THE moon slid slowly from the light
to slumber in the crepuscular shroud

An illuminated universe lies
in the silver light’s glow

The mighty golden note slumbering
in a valley of undying silence

The distant crimson light’s whisper
Causing butterflies in its wake
The song of the moon played so sweet
as the golden sun faded behind

Now hear the bitter mocking warble
of the bitter hermit’s chant
and ghosts watch me leave you further behind

As the dirt drips down bedding your heavy box
the front of your funeral dress all shadowy lined
And droning iridescent crickets throb in time
within your beatless heart

Cry, Pink White
Cry, Pink White
Cry, Pink White

Like a needle in the pinball machine
you don’t know what you got till it’s gone
If you’re the only one to hold me in your arms
Baby please don’t make me cry

Say it with me now

Cry, Pink White
Cry, Pink White
Cry, Pink White

My Cherry Blossom Heart

:: 07.27.2022 ::


The Beggar

As there is beauty to be south
And then as rain beauty seeps into soil
from skies through mortal eyes weeping

A beggar not egging for food but for
compassion

Is the truest love when given.

:: 07.23.2022 ::


Hold My Hands

HOLD my hands
become my Queen
Inside our hearts
is a wired fence
within a hidden door
Weeping Clouds
Weeping Tears
Weeping Eyes
How wonderful are butterflies
tasting forgotten dreams
inside this heart
is all for you
And i love her
She gave me everything
eternally and her kiss
brings cool breezes
How could a love as ours
ever die ~~ bright and
loving is a love of mine
it shall never die
Loud are the lovers who cry
for losing Love
Proud as I am
I forever know
she’ll love me
until the skies
fall dark
it’ll never die
and I love her.

:: 07.20.2022 ::


FORGET AND REMEMBER YOUR HEART

Degrees of confusion
inside the heat of a heart
millions of minions sad
and lonely walking along
i pretend to be fine
inside my head oh my mind
my mind pretends my heart
contends my feet sore

Inside the middle of a sun
burning souls
outside lateral
pretending flowers
burning

i met a group of no one
and felt content
i met a poet who fed
my mouth mutton
inside his soul
was dangerous

i saw the future
and the beginning
and met the middle
inside my stomach
i kissed the ending
with all my lips

YEAH!

:: 07/20.2022 ::


Angels of God

Angels of God come down with smouldering torches of their own. The wide parking lot of a dead woman waiting for her lover.

“Here, listen”

Neo-natalist psychiatrist burning down suburban homes
Lives of free will and happiness fled and lives of ruined heirs —
Living inside the abomination of the foul abattoir Grotesque cannibalism in ancient days
He sits on the fire escape, the path of the yellow rattle, where the desolate thousand rivers mix.

“Hate! Hate! Hate!”

Blind dogs sniffing the air they discover Inanities, nothing more inconceivably imbecile all

They sniff that air they sniff — smells like hate, smells like hate —
Rats! The first snake of the morning, here in the shade of a clothes line.
Here in the shade of a broken jawbone that the man grasps.
This broken jawbone he grips it tight in his bloody hands and the teeth in his hands a tomb of profound madness.

Because now he thinks he will kill a human
Because now he thinks he will kill a human
She weeps out of meekness
Because of my impotence.

You understand, I realize, it is intolerable to me too, but how am I to obtain my revenge?
But if I cannot, I shall never smile I shall never be satisfied — a world without end.

Because with a dead man who has bared his teeth —

This man — the biting points of me
The jaws of a blackened beast
His upper jaw the jawbone of a lion
He will get his revenge
You know this, I realize, I realize,
but I will do nothing.

“Can’t, can’t, can’t, can’t”

Somebody’s screaming, somebody’s crying,

Somebody is still alive —

:: 07202022 ::


The Deepest River of Love

Don’t want to leave. I can feel you so close to the right side of my soul.

But I feel how you stole my vision, drove me from myself so you can fill
your meaningless world. our only child | i forgot how love felt when i became devoured by horror with a hand, a soul. i got you to agree.

~~ she went into the front door

~he sent me to a place i never knew

the skies were bleeding blood

~~ she left me alone to deal with our youngest child

~~ i now wander alone.

Within the darkness and my soul.

Drowning inside my strong will and I can’t break free.

The deepest river of love ~~~ is good enough for me.

:: 07.11.2022 ::


Sognare il Cuore Dell’Amore

Non morirò finché non avrò vinto! La mia fantasticheria è come una febbre, sulla quale prendo la forma di un uomo addormentato.

Giù, quindi, a un castello maestoso, con mura dorate e scale di marmo; un maledetto pazzo è morto,
il cui occhio è sull’oro.

Là, sul pavimento intriso di sangue, sono bianco come il peccato di un profeta prima che ti temo.

Delicata, delicata è la nebbia bianca intorno alla mia spalla! E ogni volta che alzo lo sguardo e guardo l’occhio caldo, lì, una fiamma di fiamma.

Una notte vi vedo una forma orribile, un gigante mostruoso, un pallido cavallo della notte che galoppa,
su, su va, in cupa agitazione, tra le spesse mura nere.

“Cosa vedi, dio?”

«Un nemico del castello che è mio.
In nome di Dio, vieni da me!

Ti desidero.

Dalla tomba e per il cielo vado a lui; là, dove si esauriscono i raggi
di luce a mezzogiorno, nascerai! Tu nascerai!

Quanto sono forti le grida!
Che batteria!
Il mare bolle!
Sei nato!
Com’è doloroso il parto, e com’è dolce la nutrice, che nutre la fanciulla!

‘Tu nascerai!