AlexSalazar - Hello Poetry

I stand on our mountain, and make offerings to her. I find the warmest of stones, and build tiny glass kingdoms I bury the sweetest of apricots, and grow tiny red arboretums And then She comes Under a pink noon Smelling of sweet Tangerines Releasing Belly laughs Into the valley below She nestles on my shoulder And raises my arm Pointing above to distant stars Absorbed in those green engulfing stones I find myself on a surf her gaze lifting my body into the air She clutches me close And spells out some fears I tell her it took Courage to finally get here My hand on her cheek As the cover of night approaches Her body begins to phase Holding her until she disappears gently into my heart

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Jan 18, 2021

Jan 18, 2021 at 11:18 PM UTC

AlexSalazar

Pink Noon

I stand on our mountain, and make offerings to her. I find the warmest of stones, and build tiny glass kingdoms I bury the sweetest of apricots, and grow tiny red arboretums And then She comes Under a pink noon Smelling of sweet Tangerines Releasing Belly laughs Into the valley below She nestles on my shoulder And raises my arm Pointing above to distant stars Absorbed in those green engulfing stones I find myself on a surf her gaze lifting my body into the air She clutches me close And spells out some fears I tell her it took Courage to finally get here My hand on her cheek As the cover of night approaches Her body begins to phase Holding her until she disappears gently into my heart

26

glimmer, soft silhouette. an outline so evocative. a strange desire to sing the unwise, to catch a name and raise a fist, to bare a few words, and claim this evening, from an otherwise drunken mood. habitual courage summoned at the sweat of another drink, a committee of stoic voices living inside of me. passed down through a millennia of spanish men incessantly clamouring for more whiskey. incessantly advising to just breathe and let go.

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Nov 5, 2020

Nov 5, 2020 at 10:23 PM UTC

AlexSalazar

Dodecahedron

glimmer, soft silhouette. an outline so evocative. a strange desire to sing the unwise, to catch a name and raise a fist, to bare a few words, and claim this evening, from an otherwise drunken mood. habitual courage summoned at the sweat of another drink, a committee of stoic voices living inside of me. passed down through a millennia of spanish men incessantly clamouring for more whiskey. incessantly advising to just breathe and let go.

14

Fall I scrape my knees, and pick up my soul Rise i breathe heavy and lose control i own the night i own my dreams the right to live my only scheme

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Sep 1, 2020

Sep 1, 2020 at 10:07 PM UTC

AlexSalazar

Responsibility

Fall I scrape my knees, and pick up my soul Rise i breathe heavy and lose control i own the night i own my dreams the right to live my only scheme

14

On the ground dead Half buried, arm sticking out Abandoned and left with a lily A ceremony long finished People just passing through A sequence of prayers Long dried up and floating into the ether Winters almost gone Duplicity is just about melted The sun is helping the rot And what's left of the body Is bordering near dust

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Feb 24, 2020

Feb 24, 2020 at 8:47 PM UTC

AlexSalazar

Full possession

On the ground dead Half buried, arm sticking out Abandoned and left with a lily A ceremony long finished People just passing through A sequence of prayers Long dried up and floating into the ether Winters almost gone Duplicity is just about melted The sun is helping the rot And what's left of the body Is bordering near dust

12

Forests of stone, glass and light. The truth cries out in the night. Dearest oatmeal, Sometimes we fail to be whom we need to be. Sometimes trepidation assumes form and takes judgment. I need you to ASK yourself, Can I trust this voice? Discover the self, And feel for what you say, Does it strengthen my position or fragment it? This world full of thunder, Awaits someone more than you. Someone outside the domain of opaque Predispositions. Someone ready to tender, and accept the world for its stench, and will enough the courage to make it better.

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Nov 25, 2019

Nov 25, 2019 at 11:20 PM UTC

AlexSalazar

To see about a girl

Forests of stone, glass and light. The truth cries out in the night. Dearest oatmeal, Sometimes we fail to be whom we need to be. Sometimes trepidation assumes form and takes judgment. I need you to ASK yourself, Can I trust this voice? Discover the self, And feel for what you say, Does it strengthen my position or fragment it? This world full of thunder, Awaits someone more than you. Someone outside the domain of opaque Predispositions. Someone ready to tender, and accept the world for its stench, and will enough the courage to make it better.

14

The best kind of people are the ones not afraid to tell the truth. The best kind of people are not afraid of showing vulnerability. The best kind of people laugh with infectious glee. The best kind of people make a stand and work out love or for the possibility of it. The best kind of people shed themselves of filters (judgements) and fall fourth straight into arms of possibility. The best kind of people sacrifice in the now for a better abstract future. The best kind of people are wholly selfless.

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Nov 18, 2019

Nov 18, 2019 at 9:50 PM UTC

AlexSalazar

The best kind..

The best kind of people are the ones not afraid to tell the truth. The best kind of people are not afraid of showing vulnerability. The best kind of people laugh with infectious glee. The best kind of people make a stand and work out love or for the possibility of it. The best kind of people shed themselves of filters (judgements) and fall fourth straight into arms of possibility. The best kind of people sacrifice in the now for a better abstract future. The best kind of people are wholly selfless.

7

Transference is inevitable. A flower that grows in between the dead cold moss. A small hope cradled as a warm stone. A kindness born through some invocation, some attempt to make sense of our place in this world. Its a prayer, a distance seen in your eyes, A doubt formed in the mind, by the brief rejection of a potential lover. We are the esculent, made ready to be consumed by the love of another. We are a breath, held on by the hands of a good friend. A flame stoked, Gently in the night. We are, we are, weight (significant).

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Nov 13, 2019

Nov 13, 2019 at 8:42 PM UTC

AlexSalazar

Indifference

Transference is inevitable. A flower that grows in between the dead cold moss. A small hope cradled as a warm stone. A kindness born through some invocation, some attempt to make sense of our place in this world. Its a prayer, a distance seen in your eyes, A doubt formed in the mind, by the brief rejection of a potential lover. We are the esculent, made ready to be consumed by the love of another. We are a breath, held on by the hands of a good friend. A flame stoked, Gently in the night. We are, we are, weight (significant).

15

This feeling, Is a whisper crawling out me. An echo made by a stranger underneath my skin. A tiny yearning that bubbles up, as a set of continuous chortles. My heart beats, and I give into phantasm. The Crimson sun that never sets, The moon that bathes and overthrows us with all of its beauty. The ocean breeze and it's cool attempt, The delicate, fleeting, goddess silhouette.

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Nov 7, 2019

Nov 7, 2019 at 7:28 PM UTC

AlexSalazar

Barefoot in the dust

This feeling, Is a whisper crawling out me. An echo made by a stranger underneath my skin. A tiny yearning that bubbles up, as a set of continuous chortles. My heart beats, and I give into phantasm. The Crimson sun that never sets, The moon that bathes and overthrows us with all of its beauty. The ocean breeze and it's cool attempt, The delicate, fleeting, goddess silhouette.

13

Beautiful things don’t ask for attention. ineffable contours, that cannot be tamed with a wordy depiction. Like water running through my fingers, Ephemeral, and leaving me to linger. Caldera, my steaming desire. Instantiates a spy, that is ready to be set on fire. Daughter of eve, Carousel of dreams You’ve drowned my angels And left me to die in a reverie.

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Nov 1, 2019

Nov 1, 2019 at 12:02 AM UTC

AlexSalazar

Candle at the end of the hall

Beautiful things don’t ask for attention. ineffable contours, that cannot be tamed with a wordy depiction. Like water running through my fingers, Ephemeral, and leaving me to linger. Caldera, my steaming desire. Instantiates a spy, that is ready to be set on fire. Daughter of eve, Carousel of dreams You’ve drowned my angels And left me to die in a reverie.

10

You are, someone else, something better. Something worth of living and loving. A sky free of judgement, A land full of green. An air of honeysuckle, A bite of tangerine. A soft hum of roses, A rising tickle of joy A kindness without any poses, A lover ready to deploy.

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Oct 26, 2019

Oct 26, 2019 at 7:20 PM UTC

AlexSalazar

You are

You are, someone else, something better. Something worth of living and loving. A sky free of judgement, A land full of green. An air of honeysuckle, A bite of tangerine. A soft hum of roses, A rising tickle of joy A kindness without any poses, A lover ready to deploy.

11