It rains.
A truffled scent
glitters
in dead leaves,
naked trees.
Transudation
into the depths
of the night.

here, silence echoes
the vibratos
of distant forests,
its longing.

in my homeland,
the fishermen widows
salt their hearts
and hang them to dry.

in my homeland,
they say there is a cliff
where the moon gives
birth to the ******

and where the wind
whispers and howls
until the sails
get lost in the far.

Take her sidereal night,
its darkness
and the shimmer in it.

Draw a co-secant,
a beam,
in your full-light trace.

The script is embedded,
it runs on its own:
see?

A pulse,
myriads of whirling suns,
a blaze within her,

a firmament
for a cotillion,
a constellations' jigsaw.

Her night breathes,
in symbiotic pace
with its aural lover

and, within its velvet,
darkness is an indigo,
drunk on orgastic throb.

15.5.2015

The old man was standing,
still and quite,
his back turned to the sun
as it drowned
in stormy shades of orange and pink.

The old man was still and quite,
staring the wavy distant line
hills and mountains drew.

The warmness of the dying day
spread a scent of hay, exhaling,
a violet blue slowly cloaking
distance and nearness.

As the full moon rose
in close roundness,
brightening contours
in a charcoal outline,
the old man lowered his head
and turned away.

In the early morning,
their feet wet by the dew
glimmering the fields,
giggling children
and women with panniers
swinging in their hands
would come
and harvest
the ripening fragrancy
of strawberry fields.

Now is
what
never is.
Can't you see it?

Now is just
a suspension,
the bend before
the wave,
not the flow
nor the wave
but
the suspended
breath
of a perpetual
motion.

Winter is here.
Its romantic
******,
frozen death,
nights that linger.
Yet,
arms crying
into windy skies,
trees carry
a pregnancy,
sprouts
like a plague
ripping
every branch.
Oh yes,
spring
is coming.

Now is never.

Quietly,
silently,
let us watch
as time bends,
unfolding
what was
and what
for sure
will be.
Quietly,
silently,
let us ride
that bend
and know
that
never
is now.

Somewhere in my brain, a black and white
picture glitters a vain embalmed past.
Come on, girl! Join the play, merry
you must be, all's a drollery.
Over the rainbow, you'll know, nothing waits!
Come on, girl! Join the play, for the heights!

Gritty playground, running coloured voices.
Aside, she seats wishing that someone calls.
Come on, girl! Others can notice
you, yet, silly!, you hope they will see!
Get off that uniform, stand up, reach out!
Come on, girl! Spin and sing, dance it all-out!

time walks.
giant steps
carving
an absence,
a heart shaped
niche.

time walks.
rosary stones
ground
into nothing.
not an echo
nor a breeze.

mwanamke

mwanamke

birth my dreams
turn my shadow
into firing flash
anoint me in gold

mwanamke
say my name
warm my wings
in the shell
of your hands

emakumea

emakumea

patient grinder
time carer
you grow silence
in the lit wood
in the cradling lull

emakumea
i forget
unaware
i walk ahead
emakumea
you accept to linger

emegtei

emegtei

i am no more
the scout the hunter
i dream of my gold
you throw into the fire
what's left
from your feathers

nārī

nārī

mirror for me
the story of then
be my water flow

nārī
this tide
in your eyes
nārī*
is it
the intangible you

empty shell, these hands, a praying whisper...
a dew glitter, frozen dawn, the bird flies.
waving branches, a single tree, so unclear,
empty shell, these hands, a praying whisper...
shattered threshold, rendered abyss, the skies,
blind hands, trembling flame, the river dries.
empty shell, these hands, a praying whisper...
a dew glitter, frozen dawn, the bird flies.

she was a pretty little one
with her braid hair of yesteryears
in her eyes the mist of green forests
the await for a shinning armor

i got to keep her tainted clothes
in this confinement on death row

houston, come in, houston, i told her to stay put, houston!, but she wouldn't listen, houston!, she let it all flood in and it spread all over, houston!, she said she was digging it all but she knew nothing, come in, houston!, i tell her it will all fade away but she says she is making it all flow out, houston!, she is getting out, houston,

this is houston. we hear you, clear and sound. and we don't give a ****.

then
he made a gesture

like a farmer with a full hand of seeds
he made a gesture
and colours spilled over the world

and words

like water coloured worlds
dripping in my window sill

flooded in

waves
of forbidden wanting
in a dispersion of me
luths and flutes
silky veils and a galaxy

i made a gesture

walls of cold glass
intangible all the colours

his sail is a wing
a hiatus in the blue
hollowing me

i tie an iron ribbon
to my heart
and watch it
drowning

silently

12.11.14

[Here lies...]*


Here lies memory.

Kneeling grief,
monologue
cloaking grave stones
loveless hands polished.

Self pity
in automotion.

Solitude.

Who will love us now?
Retelling stories
of  the gone past,
biased truth
to elude
this
emptyness.

Hey, hey, gather around,
ashes went cold and the wind blows!

Of toads and kisses, green peas and geese
i bring you no news, but of the fair lady
hidden in closure, cinderella her given name!

We all know how dazzling
in the ball she showed;
his hand in her waist,
oh, they could have danced
all night and a life!

Here is the true story yet untold:
the charming prince, you see,
left with a single shoe,
soon found another fit

for standardised shoes
- just that size! -
walked by in all feet.

And so the blond cinderella
turned grey and his gown
lost the diamond gloss;

her heart was handcrafted
- oh, but not easier than a shoe
to be shown as the true one!

The prince grew into a king,
his wife  launched a fashion
shoe line (CEO the godmother!),

cinderella kept being... cinderella,
in all lights and nights; maybe
you've seen her, wandering in wonder...

She accepted
the crayon
and drew
a transparency
to step across
the mirror.

Living on
horizons
long forgotten,
she sprang from fire,
her love affair,
a tale of fairy.

The baobabs grew,
feeding on her,
shredded the glass.
A darker night
devoured the moon,
diluted her crayon.

Then came the day after.
She rose
and drew a crayon.
She accepted lucidity
feeding on transparency.
She took a step.

The abyss is my realm,
there, furthest,
where all light lives
to taint black my being.

There, in deep dark,
a tantric hiss
scales my harmony,
my core longs.

Here, amongst you,
my locks, my wings,
all veiled, eons
concealing my search.

And he finds me.
He faces me.
I gift him my blood
and shield his sail.

His sword is sheathed,
he looks into the faraway.
In his eyes, I wait for
his voice to tell my core.

Words:
whispering sybils
of concealed worlds.
In betweens and beyonds,
somewheres and nowheres,
truths for making believe.

Words.

Carmine nostalgia of the unexperienced.
Utopia upon a time.
Windmill wings to grow a heart,
flavours and scents of new seen worlds,
tangible places pulsating in snow globes,
cosmogony of what is not.

Words:
scribbling, engraving a forever world.

In the cold winter greyness, by the whipping leaning willow,
I gently throw my heart in the stream and watch it sink.

Through the waving naked branches, the stuttering wind goes
plunging lullabies in the dormant numbness of the river.

Aside the howling wandering world, the selfmade outcast departs
choosing dissoluteness in the watercoloured light of love.

The river flows hiding its depth, its surface keeps trace of nothing.
In the thick mistiness of life, to impossibly love breathlessly.

She
asked
him then for
sanctuary,
to run, hide away
from pain and death calling.
He let her in. Could he not
see, would he not know...? A stardust
path she silently draw... Never was
his thirst fulfilled, her heart unfolded.

dance and dance away

enhance that beat
a compass of you
a pitch of high

dance dance that way

round the fire
a walking pulse
preparin' the flight

dance a rising sway

drums' echo rumble
****** and rattle
the bracelets

dance and dance away

close the night
enclose the dark
foster that tempo

dance your dancin' way

call on that rhythm
across a note of blue
comp in colour the chords

dance dance

maybe he'll stay
willing to dance

to dance

country roads
highways
bridges
exhibiting a city in
kinematic frames

to pass
high speed
low speed
lit windows

a kitchen
a tv screen
a bedside lamp
curtains down
nobody's home

cottages
villages
overcrowded districts

dots and dots
each lit window
each turned off light

a story
a me
a us

they

lost
anonimously
as dots
in the distance

forgotten

yeah you did
and now you don't
'cause this furry one
pulled the carpet
on the oldie and her
smashing umbrella
and finally
took his revenge
even texted it in 140 plain
characters or less
yeah i ate the tweety
and it made me burp but
this putty tat taught the tage
#thehellwiththebirdie

[for Joe Cole's prompt]*
~~~

Grain of sand?
I have no remembrance
of me being a grain of sand.

All I can tell you about
is this me you can see:

this glassy transparence,
a melted me,
metamorphosed
by fire.

Seemless frontier,
I can't but to split
daring to reach
the other side.

Grief, from this
sandy longing?

Yes, you may
say that's me.

Life blood
in lush colour
of humming scents,
a promise of a bloom
summoning a decay
- the swan song
in a ripe sigh.

the day you thought
it out
i can imagine
it not

but today
no doubt
with words
i play

and on friendship
i am taught
and to this heart of mine
i try to grip

thankful i say
are we for this world
a home in the whirl
of silent frozen cold

[to the thousands of men, women and children fleeing their war-torn countries.]*

Adrift,
this huddle of fear
in the starless night.

Adrift,
this frieze-like
of carved anguish
surging in heavy
striped hearts.

Flimsy shores
draw an old world,
of other lords,
greedy of their pastures.

Plundered, ravaged,
preyed upon,
adrift
- who will see
our human face?

an old fishermen village

narrow streets
unaware of time
asleep in the sun

ancient presence
of fishermen
and their nets
women seeking
the horizon
eyes narrowed in distress

ghostly presence

i stayed for hours
the tide flood in
violently
and went low
violently

i stayed
sat still
and watched
the clock mechanism
a gear
moving the earth
to the right
moving the sun
to the left
to sink it all
colours and light

and the fishermen
lit their pipes
and thought of
their women
and their warmeness

ghostly presence

an old deserted village
of dead fishermen
and their drowned women
the wreck of it all
in the haunting growl
of a nocturne sea

wintry sun,
brief,
byplay yard
shadowed in cold

and yet

powdering
golden tones,
drafting
a fire, a mirage.

heyday adjourned.

ethereal hibernaculum
of the light,
tilting floret in
full-blown decay.

i turn around,
pretend i don't see,
and then i forget
about it.

as simple as that.

i know i'll die
alone. we all do.
me, i will not know
if i have lived.

that's hell, they say.

found a word,
down the road:

dandelion.

and, in a snowy way,
the  autumnal spring

- delusionnally -

took the girl
in a sway,
blowing away

her last match,
a blur of orange
in the smoking grey.

Did you ever spill salt
over a slug, saw it being ****** up?

Did you ever take a flame
near a spider, saw it being twisted?

Did you ever scold a kid
in a grounding voice, saw his will grinded?

Senseless time, senseless routines,
senseless solitude: salt, flame, grind.

Can anyone pass me the pepper, please?
I'll fade in the chill but in a spicy hot blast!

Life walks by
and in a useless longing
I dive into the crowdy time.

Then, unexpectedly,
a chord fills my mind,
words arise together
sieging me in opacity,

in a growing uneasiness
of a mouth full of marbles
that finally fall
with a heart rythm
as omen stones of a sybil voice.

[14.11.14]

Like a solemn
blossom,
he makes his appearance,
this hindrance,

in my rooftop,
with a flip-flop,
in cherubic
outfit,
oh so tiny
and limy!

This perplexing
cherubim, mixing
beams and a pigment
from a distant
perfection,
shouts 'action!',
up on my rooftop!

I climb the immense
leather
in my underware
- oh what a brilliance
of a ****
homemade!

I say 'salutations,
in this christmas' occasion!',
he moves backward,
the makeshift,
and then forward,
in his heart a lift,
engorged,
in my beauty scorched!

As his host
I had started a toast
but went speachless
finding him flightless,
for a wingless cherubim
was he...!

But it's Christmas,
so in ranges
we had some oranges
and tequila,
for pain healer.

On my rooftop
as a isthmus,
oh gods of Olympus!,
we hear a pop,
a cackle,
stars as sprinkles
of kringles!
- Oh oh, is it Santa?!
- Oh no, it's my Claus...!

The house is now silent,
as if always it was this calm -
all asleep, all tidily done -
and in a thoughtful gesture
she reaches for the quilt,
grabbling for the needle minder.

In her mind, a coloured trickle
of threads draws upon the
inlaid tree branch - oh, the blossom
would happen before us,
would we look it trough her eyes
- as she picks a flaming orange
for the feather stich
and an ocean blue one
for a stich of satin feeling

and - there!, it starts showing,
the bird she nested for so long,
that bird bursting into songs
- now and forever catching your eye
here, molded by her hands.

It is so late, now.
Slowly, the unfinished quilt
is folded, threads and needle kept away.
The bird in esquisse flutters in her heart,
watching her stepping down
into the dark frown of the bedroom.

once upon a time,
she alighted
on atlas' shoulder
and softly
told him a story.

as he unfolded
his path going
west, she unfolded
words, tracing the
east, for the sun to rise,

and then she sighed
and he held her, made
her his night sky
- heaviness of light,
folded heart.

in dancing shoes
and sparkling laces,
the puppet leans

in a shed string net
- comets' tails blown
like a last match
in the night of snow.

the puppeteer never was.
she tugged the chords
and watched him drift.

she leans, but to rise
a melancholic moon
in strings of orange gold.

What is this?

Alms,
out of pity?!
Fake gold, a slap
in a heart's need?!

Take it away!!

I had it all,
once...
A threshold,
a sanctuary,
iridescent,
for a bird
to borrow...

Oh, grand, it was!

What, now, is this?
What?!
Scraps...?!

All right.
I'll take them.
Leave them, please.

But go.

Just go.

In a angry windy day,
an ordinary tree grizzled away:

- Unlucky me,
grounded to this soil
of such poverty, all it gave me
is this unattractive
dim green!

- You fed on me,
tree,
- rumbled the grounded
humus -
*but it was up to you
to lively up your green
if a green foliage
should be yours.

Alices in holes,
swaying in the
land of mirrored
doors. Stiffed
Humpties on walls,
in the distant light.

Dumped my faith,
once, twice, three times
dumped it.  So, you see,
chopped my own heart,
had to.
Will you have me
around your table,
Mad Hatter, sir,
'cause i'd suit so well,
into a merry go-round.

No more me to
hand out, delusional
believer in stories,
made up stories
in snow faked globes.

Oh yes, of course,
i can pass the sugar,
we ran out of salt.
Shall we overdose now,
from a sweetened slumber?

slithered
harangue,

crow's nest's
caveat:

quo warranto,
Echo,
obliquity weaver...

pots and pans.
the radio is on.
the curry
fills the air.
vivid red
and dark
orange silk
float around
a porch,
you'd gift me
mangoes,
ripe mangoes,
this sweetness,
this yearning.
pots and pans.
the radio's mute.
time to stir.

i'd carry your dreams
inspire you with visions of unseen
expire in the play of your hands

if only you'd believe my existence

say my name

please say my name

and this mist inside
will dawn in the alarm
of self awareness

please say my name

fill the outline of me
and this unrest
will engulf the dam

please say my name

and say it gently
as if you'd have found me
finally

say it gently
as if you'd want to kiss me
deeply

please

half way there
- half a wing,
a colour by half.

sat for a while,
halved the moon,
half of an orange,

yummy!

what ever half there
- way, wing and colour -
met me halfway,
in total eclipse.

beauty.
the dark oneness.

iced finger tips
wrapped in hands'
warmness

stired, not shaked, leaning

salty neck line
light aroma of hey
freshness of ruby cherry silk

gaspillage
of entwined drive

flambé

spoiler alert: #implicitly mature, in some way...#


TAKE 1
a bench. a garden.
the guy: *yeah, ***, to **** my way through,
so, i'll be on my way.
the girl: (silence).
close-up: the guy, his back.
fade.

TAKE 2
a car. in the front seats.
no sun set.
the girl: yeah, but it is not worth it, so.
the guy: yeah.
panoramic: a street. cars passing by.

TAKE 3
total darkness.
a voice whispers a scream.
the guy: why can't i *******?!
the girl: (silence).
total darkness.
the guy again.

TAKE 4
a river. a wooden fence.
the girl. leaning.
close-up: her hands.
the girl: (silence).
her hands. a cat comes by.
the cat moves away.
panoramic: the river, the back of the girl.
high noon. no shadows.

for every time
we fail to see
ourselves

and every time
we failed to see
the other selves

for every self paced
story the fool
believes to be true

and for every
thorn we pull
and again hatch

and for this
incompleteness
we drink

into drunkenness
by the fire
of red beard bards

Petit à petit,
je rentre
dans mon cercueil en fer.

Essoufflée,
à bout de larmes,
épuisée par l'attente,
ce souhait impossible
de le voir
en courant
pour me retrouver,
je chavire
en rêvant
de son sourire.

A bout de larmes,
étourdie
par cette peine aiguillée,
je bégaie,
sûre que mes mots
ne servent plus à rien.
Je rentre dans mon cercueil,
tout en disposant du barbelé
autour.

Et je ne regrette que
cette brillance
dans mon coeur,
son sourire,
qui est venu
sans que je ne l'attende
me rendre amoureuse
à jamais.

~~~~~~~

ON THE EDGE OF TEARS

Little by little,
I go back
into my iron box.

Breathless,
on the edge of tears,
torned by the waiting,
this impossible wish
to see him
running
to meet me,
I sink
dreaming
of his smile.

On the edge of tears,
dizzy
by this stinging pain,
I stutter,
certain that my words
are no longer meaningful.
I go back
into my iron box,
barbwiring
all around.

And all I will miss
is that glow
in my heart,
his smile,
that came unexpectedly
making me fall
forever in love.

words: beads
in silver strings,
pushing aside
the wishful adieu.