miguel-m-castro
American
I'm a writer and translator based in Miami, Florida. / / My interests include: avant-garde poetics, traditionalism, religious and philosophical thought. / / I will publish a blog where readers may read and critique my longer work. / / "He saw the lightning in the east and longed for the east, / but if it had flashed in the west he would have longed for the west. / My desire is for the lightning and its gleam, not for the places and the earth." / -Poem 14 by Ibn Arabi
The sun casts long shadows upon the lawn
As a man races for that distant point—
a heedless body of effulgent brawn,
brighter still than the gleaming stars at dawn.
In him the earth and heavens are joint,
like a chimeric animal, a faun.
But only insofar as he is free
from the accursed gleist and its petty plea.
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 12:50 AM UTC
Aún naciste niño pobre,
pero, a través de los años,
has desempeñado el papel
de un hombre sin doble.
Y como el hijo que no olvida
Yo será tu segunda vida
Porque siento el fulgor
del amor, amor, amor...
Dec 7, 2016
Dec 7, 2016 at 8:05 PM UTC
Have I tired thee with my affection?
It cannot but be, I will now admit,
since all wanderers must elect a star
to consult for their journey's benefit.
Else they are cast afar without a light.
And how can any man hope to probe the night
Save by another's luminescent grace
Evident in a most startling face?
Dec 5, 2016
Dec 5, 2016 at 6:15 PM UTC
1.
The reverberations of the dark blood
Steam and flood
The hollowed eyes;
And once mouthed, issue sighs
Which split the wood & shatter rock.
2.
The tremulous wringing of ageing hands
Shift hot sands
In ugly time;
And once marked, strike the chime
Which holds the hour & breaks the clock.
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 4:28 PM UTC
A lone, brooding shadow in blighted May,
He lifts his noble head against the day.
About which unkempt hair tumbles in curls.
(The large unblinking eyes glisten as pearls.)
In pastures bold and free, untouched by hands—
Here the dark horse, immovable, stands.
Sep 19, 2016
Sep 19, 2016 at 1:25 AM UTC
There is a kind of
silence
which is not
silence.
It is the gnashing
of teeth,
the obstructed
bowel movement.
Speech is an inducement
to polyphony.
But not the truth
behind a muffled cry.
In this, the shudder
of leaves
is more sincere
than all the wrack
heard at the county fair.
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 9:57 PM UTC
At 27, I catch glimpses
of my reflection, the edges blurred.
What I thought was an identify
is really a funerary pall.
You sought Mercy Street
on Beacon Hill.
I walked the star-lit night
until I stumbled against a street sign
which read: “Dead End.”
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 2:21 PM UTC
The moon appeared to me
like a snickering school girl.
She brushed the snot from
her nostrils, clearing her hand on
a communion dress made from
luminous, white fabric.
She proceeded cautiously,
balanced precariously on spiked heels,
Stumbling along uneven paths
like a hunchback in a Flemish wood carving
But then she posed for me
in the manner of a silent-movie star,
all smiles,
lipstick beauty and cabaret flare.
(“Your Martini?”)
Her lips drew close to my ear.
With a graceful sweep of the arm
we were hid behind the dilated eyes
of a peacock-feathered fan.
She said nothing, nor did we kiss.
And she was gone,
just as quickly as she appeared
to vouchsafe a brief vision
in the interval of a cigarette.
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 2:05 PM UTC
1.
Spires our-soar the sky.
Men and women are machines.
The hallowed trees shrink
from encroaching wonders.
Now man has been made sickly.
2.
Anxious are the days
for leisure and solemn rite.
I, too, want holiness
to stifle unfettered greed
and restore life's dignity.
3.
To some it's finished:
the idea of trust, betrayed.
Money out-bids honor.
Truth is a red-ticket item.
Some vines bear shriveled fruit.
4.
Skies melt at sundown.
Cats wet their whiskers in gutters.
I light another cigarette.
Hope burns like a dim candle,
flickering in the tempest.
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 11:09 PM UTC
O handsome thrill, immodest in measure:
the red death upon which I cast my infamy
is visible in the village square.
No judge shall restore bleached skulls to dignity
now that I unlace my boots at leisure.
May 21, 2016
May 21, 2016 at 3:31 PM UTC