Sometimes we float on a surfice
Of a calm sea
Silent tenderness is lulling us
Back and forth on a watery bed
Pumping blood slowly
Other times we rage and scream
Loudly and messy
Lungs filled with passion
Hands itching for touch
It's a dark night again and lonely
Sleep avoids me
Just a slow hunger eats
Coldness and fear
Love and lust
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 12:17 PM UTC
My tears are gone
My fingers are cold
Morning crisp air
Makes my skin crawl
I hate you
Your small fake smiles
Angry thin lips
Long, long list of lies
**** off
Just **** off
No good mornings
Can change my mind
When evenings bring
Clouds to your eyes
You're walking around
In your huge baloon
And I'm sending you small dart
In the color of **** off
You'll understand
Better than others
What the hell **** off is
You're master of the art
You wrote doctoral thesys
In the field of **** off
Oh **** off
From me all right
**** of
Same old me
Morning and night
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 2:55 PM UTC
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."
The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.
To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.
What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.
That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.
As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.
The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.
I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.
Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.
Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.
Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.
Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 4:50 AM UTC
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
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 10:19 PM UTC
Light touches
On my skin
Dancing game
Like candle flame
Kisses and whispers
Tangled hands
Love, love and dreams
Slow walk on paved path
Hoping odd stones
Avoiding cracks
In the narrow old street
A thousand year old wind
Tease a milion year old sea
Just as you tease me.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 5:58 PM UTC
I am guilty of all you've been told
I admit to being cold,
Mean, inconsiderate and selfish
Not minding this beauty without blemish
Have I used you? yes, guilty
And I will do it again as need be
Forgive me for the wrong I have committed
Though a wrong carefully coined and crafted
I have used you in so many ways
May be those even wrong,
Dear poetry, you must endure the pain
Because whenever I get the chance, I will use you again.
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 1:42 PM UTC
We were known to rise our voice
high from time to time
To throw the things
And break loudly around
But we're never known to truly hate
We're never known to run from fate
We say it's just passionate nature
We were know to be afraid
Of the dark and lonley alley
And to laugh out loud
At the wrong moment
But were never known to run away
We're never known to sleep the day
We say it's just passionate nature
We were known to scream
With no obvious reason sometimes
To turn around in the middle
And stomp away
But were never known to cry
Were never known to hide
We say it's just passionate nature.
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 1:35 PM UTC
Pickup line was short
one long, hungry look
one short, voracious sigh
gently twitching of the upper lip
brief movement shakes the hair
Incognito quiver of fingers
mild shiver running down the spine
moment passed
only love, with the T lasts
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 2:02 PM UTC
****** be freedom in blue
in the blue sea the waves carry you
in the blue sky you float on imagination
in a blue uniform seriousness you're pretending
****** be freedom in blue
in the blue bottle bunch of pills
in blue pills dreams
in blue dreams emptiness
**** freedom in blue
in the blue diary tear stains
in blue ink unintelligible words
in blue words silence
**** be freedom in blue
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 1:52 PM UTC
Not all my days were white and not all the nights were black. Groggily whiteness I splashed sometimes with smiling brush in an abstract marble, and nights illuminated with a fire in the wolfish eyes. When the walls became too blunt, and the air too dry, I took mindless walks. My long legs loping tirelessly along black paths, and a friend was making me a company. While talking him, my voice still trembles and my throat scratches sharp dust of compassion. My friend was the one-armed elf. He lived in a large, abandoned, dilapidated shack near the circus tent , fed by the grace of great circus Masters of Ceremonies. When they were in good will he performed for them trinkets, collecting their garbage, all for small coins. Circus visitors avoided him or pretended not to see his pointy ears and tortured eyes. We rarely talked, this friend and me. Sometimes I went to the magicians to get some of the green, sometimes purple potion for him to sleep better. Once I bought at bartender a pack of cigarettes. We had a pact, him and me. I wasn't a fairy brother, neither circus water-bearer, nor merciful sorcerer. We had a pact, he doesn't ask, I don't ask. We wandered the city in the small hours, under the adrenaline of flaming street lights, in silence. Someday a steel dragon stumbled and with his tail swept the hut, I saw him no more, neither his pointy ears nor his tortured shoulders . Only sometimes during a quiet walk, down the path lined with quivering birch i remember the long shadows under his eyes .
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 6:58 AM UTC