rain came, seeds will grow.



watered places i cannot reach,

**** half full.



noisy day, farmer making hay,

lambs  moved from  mothers.



they say the sun will come

later to dry.

Sadness speaks in lullabies
No one wants to hear
In tears that fall
Without permission
In the ache that says
"You are not okay"
Bt you will be,someday.

Para que tú me oigas
mis palabras
se adelgazan a veces
como las huellas de las gaviotas en las playas.

Collar, cascabel ebrio
para tus manos suaves como las uvas.

Y las miro lejanas mis palabras.
Más que mías son tuyas.
Van trepando en mi viejo dolor como las yedras.

Ellas trepan así por las paredes húmedas.
Eres tú la culpable de este juego sangriento.

Ellas están huyendo de mi guarida oscura.
Todo lo llenas tú, todo lo llenas.

Antes que tú poblaron la soledad que ocupas,
y están acostumbradas más que tú a mi tristeza.

Ahora quiero que digan lo que quiero decirte
para que tú las oigas como quiero que me oigas.

El viento de la angustia aún las suele arrastrar.
Huracanes de sueños aún a veces las tumban.

Escuchas otras voces en mi voz dolorida.
Llanto de viejas bocas, sangre de viejas súplicas.
Ámame, compañera. No me abandones. Sígueme.
Sígueme, compañera, en esa ola de angustia.

Pero se van tiñendo con tu amor mis palabras.
Todo lo ocupas tú, todo lo ocupas.

Voy haciendo de todas un collar infinito
para tus blancas manos, suaves como las uvas.

I miss my mum
She's not dead
She's just holed up in work instead

No complaints
No regrets
But I know she hates this life when she scratches her head

I miss my mum
She's in the next room

Wanting to be free
But she doesn't leave
Because she misses me too

You weren't another animal in the shed
you loved even before your sight bled
not one to pretend you knew
your eyes only saw pictures that were true
and I wish I could've been so
yet bounded by my mind I never grew
but you tell me its not the end of the show
maybe still in a torn down cabin my world would brew
all my wear and tear in your silent chest I could stow
you wish nothing of me
and that's all it takes to make one want to be
and maybe one day we'll come together and be three

Truth is the light of love, science is the shadow of truth.

but not consecrated, nothing holy. 'bout me, excluding this bodies holies, by which I blatant blather re
my hole-ies,
the sane same places thru we ******,
intake
expiate
initiate
the most
intimate
intense
purely
human activities
breathing
excretion
speak
see
hear
make love
completely
hell
maybe  the
places
we get


consecrated

**** ain't that iron ironic

or is this just another con
centric to human existence

Victoria, que nombre.
Corto y poderoso
Tanto como usted ,
Tanto como su sonrisa.

Me gustaria que me ayudara,
A sacarla de mi corazon.
Ya he aprendido la leccion,
Pero no dejo de mirarla.

No es mi amor,
Nunca lo sera .
He entendido eso
Pero mi corazon aun arde
Cuando pasa cerca de mi.

A very thin man,
And a very fat prettyy lady,
Met on a warm sandy beach.
They gazed at each other and their hearts thudded,
They played on the beach,made sandcastles  and sang songs  
And hand in hand they let the waves hit their feet.
Then they sailed in a beautiful pea green boat for a month and a day,
They smelled the sea and let their spirits fly,
At night the man would look at the stars above and sing love songs  in a lovely voice ,
As each day passed their love grew.
They came to a land where an enchanting small church stood,
Said the man to the lady,
My Love let's get married,
For long have we tarried,
So they were wedded the next day by the priest with a scar on his face.
The lady said to the man,
Now we are wedded we shall share everything 50/50,
I wash we wear
I cook you eat,
I diet,
Till we become same in weight.
30/5/2025

Tú cuya carne, hoy dispersión y polvo,
pesó como la nuestra sobre la tierra,
tú cuyos ojos vieron el sol, esa famosa estrella,
tú que viviste no en el rígido ayer
sino en el incesante presente,
en el último punto y ápice vertiginoso del tiempo,
tú que en tu monasterio fuiste llamado
por la antigua voz de la épica,
tú que tejiste las palabras,
tú que cantaste la victoria de Brunanburh
y no la atribuiste al Señor
sino a la espada de tu rey,
tú que con júbilo feroz cantaste,
la humillación del viking,
el festín del cuervo y del águila,
tú que en la oda militar congregaste
las rituales metáforas de la estirpe,
tú que un tiempo sin historia
viste en el ahora el ayer
y en el sudor y sangre de Brunanburh
un cristal de antiguas auroras,
tú que tanto querías a tu Inglaterra
y no la nombraste,
hoy no eres otra cosa que unas palabras
que los germanistas anotan.
Hoy no eres otra cosa que mi voz
cuando revive tus palabras de hierro.

Pido a mis dioses o a la suma del tiempo
que mis días merezcan el olvido,
que mi nombre sea Nadie como el de Ulises,
pero que algún verso perdure
en la noche propicia a la memoria
o en las mañanas de los hombres.

to make you fall asleep
like a bird in its nest,
I’ll hold all the
summer rains in my
arms
just for you
I’ll carry all
summer rains, I will
carry them in
my
arms,
like a heart on fire

Selmhem Naise
03/2016

Poetry is so much
more
than many people think it is.
It is
the place
where the battleground of light and dark
makes its  finest stand..

or most pathetic fall.

I now close this door,
like a chapter marked
by dead ends
and trial and error.

Now, stepping ahead,
I open a door unknown.

Some years echo,
Golden songs of prosperity,
Others trickle through.
Black liquor seas,
There's blood on these bricks,
So much happened before 1776.

You and I—
we feel,
we love,
we regret.
Yet we remain
the binding particle
of a formless self.

They divide us,
pit us against each other.
We found safety
for thirteen days.

Before dawn,
we felt the breath
that seeps through cracks
into minds like a narrow thread of force,
and the fog spilled out.

Above our heads, false stars
created by warm bodies
to annihilate
what passed through the gate
of a birthing woman.

We write words to conjure
happy endings
at the ball of extermination
that tears apart
the pulsing light
of a thousand veins.

Please sit with me
before you go
Do you feel it—
the mourning procession
of human beings
transforming into a state of fission
and drifting away?

And a sigh is so sad
of trembling atoms
when the victim becomes the destroyer.

Feel the force of the fall,
and do not shatter hope
even if the world
trembles to its core
because there is still YOU,
still ME,
and still

OTHERS.

peach to red to white
the colors change each night
but oh,
how i long for the white
on my skin
in my heart
the lines are my life
yet they fade

I wish I lacked empathy.
I don’t want to feel.
I don’t want to see signs.
I don’t want to be real.

One minute, I’m fine—
then my soul explodes in my chest.
I wish I didn’t see that.
But I did. And now, no rest.

I wish I could shrug,
say “that’s not my concern,”
but every flicker of pain
Causes my stomach to hurt.

I notice the silence,
the shift in your tone—
there's nothing in your voice
It's all I think about alone.

This is why I'm standoffish and stick to just me
There's no ache in loneliness
At least not the kind that stings

Maybe I'll make friends but that feels like betrayal
These self imposed rules- a safe fortress failure

I wish I didn’t feel
At least not to this extent
My day was going so good
But I ruined it again

"Some people just can't resist your smile,talent and happiness for no reason."

a slurry of fire and magma can’t escape
through the crust, being stopped by a
thin layer of earth, unable to express
itself, to wreak havoc upon the earth.

it’s passion is bottled up, its fear is contained,
his fury is sealed, saved for another day
when it can express its emotion.
but now, the crust encases it like a weighted blanket

i love both my parents
but i prefer spending time with just my dad

he lets me do what i want
he very rarely says no
he does threaten to beat me for looking at him funny
but we can move past that

my mom says no to nearly everything
she criticizes and nitpicks everything i do
she makes me feel like im constantly in the wrong
it's like i have no freedom when she's around

shows my priorities, huh?
that i'd much rather be beaten then trapped

The puppet said to the sun,
“Never shine upon me.”
And then it said to the clouds,
“Do not hide me from the light.”
And then it gnashed its teeth at the sky, saying,
“I never asked to be seen
I never asked to be hidden
I only asked to be free.”

Ese alto caballero americano
cierra el volumen de Montaigne y sale
en busca de otro goce que no vale
menos, la tarde que ya exalta el llano.

Hacia el hondo poniente y su declive,
hacia el confín que ese poniente dora,
camina por los campos como ahora
por la memoria de quien esto escribe.

Piensa: Leí los libros esenciales
y otros compuse que el oscuro olvido
no ha de borrar. Un dios me ha concedido

lo que es dado saber a los mortales.
Por todo el continente anda mi nombre;
no he vivido. Quisiera ser otro hombre.

Of late:
this "silence" conceptual haunts,
an irregular daily daunt,
coming evenly but oddly timed throughout the 24 hrs.,
writing Psalms and Sonnets demands sacrifice, sweat,
tears, no blood as of yet,
   but who's to say, that it will
not be eventually requisitioned

in my life,
there are long intervals of intramural silences,
when afforded,
the art of contemplation assumes templar control, and my senses
to overdrive go

somber somnolent,
ironic that,
in the periods of deep surficial calm, creation is raging
in the fibered tissue of my neuronic cells, and though,
outwardly still, my heart chest pounding me to emit the
inner contents and context
of the 4 W's  of every moment of my existence

(who, what, when and why)

the quietude of silence
is never whole, notions fly in, runabout, then depart, without a word of farewell, leaving not a trace behind, and the potential poems shrivel into stillborn drivel, leaving only an undisputed but an undistinguished stain, a fact that they was, were, conceived, but the mind's  body was not fertilized sufficiently to see them nurtured to expulsive birth fruition, a less than subtle reminder that even and every state of being is regenerative even unto the very last breath,
when it is no longer...

I’d like to find the words
to cut right through the muck,
but when it comes to you
you know that I’m just stuck,

I ready up the blades
and soap clean my hands,
to work toward the heart
no matter where it lands—

All the things—
We said—
Will forever be dead—

But I’ll hold on—
Instead—
You’ll always live inside my head.

Why am I writing a poem
in the middle of the night?
Because I am brilliant?
Probably not. Every human
being is a brilliant poet.
It's just that so many
are unconsciously afraid
to be their real selves.
What a tragedy! I feel
for those people. They
are both the guards
and the inmates. They
both flagellate themselves
and cry out for help.
The sentence for all
of them is lifelong.
Everyone's greatness
is imprisoned for as
as long as they live.
Do not be afraid to
be your real self. Do
not hide your brilliance.
Share it with all others.
Make Earth shine even in
the middle of the night.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

Светит месяц серебряным светом,
Ночь развесила звёздный шатёр —
Соловьи разливают квинтетом...
Тропка тихо зовёт за собой.

В белом платье ночная ромашка
Перевёрнутый месяц в пруду.
Приготовлена жизни упряжка —
Может быть я тебя украду?

Не срослось... — Разбежались дороги.
Только память грустит о былом.
Зашагали стремительно ноги...
Закрутилась судьба колесом.

Светит месяц серебряным светом.
И черёмух струит аромат.
Дальний май мне помашет приветом —
Полуночные мысли кружат.

Compose the day
Suppose a ray
Propose the sun
Oppose no one.

You would think having roommates would be difficult.
And you would be correct.
There is nothing like a good old roommate. Or roommates.
That word.
Gets me everytime.
We are supposed to be friends. We have rooms, and we are mates. But, mates could be mating.
I’ll put it to you this way,
being single and alone for a hot minute of your life is paramount.
Do this and you will have zero regrets.

Birds fly
So do I--
Lifted by your hands.
Paper *****,
Wrestled falls,
Laughter with no end.

Scars earned,
Lessons learned,
Gearing me for life.
Always here,
Support clear,
Pillar of my life.

When I reach for free time
as an adult,
and quickly find it taken,

I remember that ambrosia
is only for the gods,
and mortals beware,

do not interfere
in anything
made for the gods.