Children under trees,
Windy leaves wanting to fall,
Autumns' joy swirling.

My love in doorway,
A joyous wind wakes my eyes,
Her dress on the floor.

With you,
The color blue is never sad.
The north winds are cold,
But there is no chill.
The sun is a friend I had not noticed,
Beaming.

With you,
My hands are woven
And the grass is weaving
A great blanket,
Safe and long and warm
Like your hands,
When they cover,
When they touch me
Like my lost, new found friends
The sun and the sheltering
Earth
And the autumn winds,
I no longer dread,
No longer fear,
With you.

We made our bed in the spring green grass
Like two deer, innocent, when they sleep,
Many years have passed, love has fled,
And the gentle forest does have left.

I remember that day on Mount Tamalpais.
We picnicked under the loving sky
On Bolinas ridge, atop Wicklow hill,
The maiden’s breast.  We found those apple trees,
Who’d gone wild and fell into their world.
A blossom on the way.

I took your picture and you developed into
A sea-horse, or was it a mermaid?  The ridge
Was foaming about you and birds were swimming
Like fish underneath.  We found a tree, an umbrella
Left at the beach.  The coral-grass became our bed
And wine turned into water.

A spiral dance in arms of anemone, it was
All embrace!  That reef was spawning heaven.
At the treasure chest under the sea maiden,
Like children on highland pap, we played
At the beach that day in a castle above the clouds,
Beneath the wave.

Seeking a paradise in your arms tight,
Look at your eyes without a fight.
Memory of the sea near the sand,
Feeling your soft hand....



Walking in the same gardens where roses grow,
Yours lips kiss and go.
Hug me with your love up the hills,
Love is to feel...



Beds that can,t tell you nothing anymore!
See faces, knock at your door.
Romantic in an old fashioned way,
Love is to feel I will say.



Birds that will always sing,
Faithful in your dream.
Lonely nights without any break,
Love is to feel great.

Warmest regards.
Victor Marques

One day we will die,
We will stop lie.
Thoughts for gain,
People with no name.


The birds will fly,
One day we will die.
Secrets that will be free,
I will die for you and me.


Games will disapear,
No stress ,no fear.
One day we will die,
Say thank you, say goodbye.


Warmest regards.
Victor Marques

I was thinking why I write poetry?
To be a part of me.
I write in French, English and Portuguese,
I write because I need.



I was thinking who will read my poetry?
Only me, only me...

I write for the beauty of the universe,
Because I enjoy and relax.



I was thinking who cares about poetry,
People that you will never see.
I write for the day and night,
I write because I like.


Warmest regards.
Victor

Where have all the days gone by?
What once was new, now is made;
Night is falling, close my eyes,

Now, the moments softly cry,
The light has clouds racing away,
Where have all the days gone by?

Fresh and verdant the gentle tighs,
Summers sweetness up in blaze,
Night is falling, close my eyes.

What once was truth now is lie,
After rains shear loss of May,
Where have all the days gone by?

I hear the hush, leaves that die,
I fear what the swan has to say,
Night is falling, close my eyes.

Awakened to such sad surprise,
Spring was such a fleeting haze,
Where have all the days gone by;
Night is calling, close my eyes.

my ghost, my ghost
my darling ghost
tonight, like most
leaves only sorrow in the sepulchral depths
of these quiet sheets
my heart, my heart
my foolish heart
will stop, then start
no matter how much I despise the sound
of those steady beats
my one, my one
my only one
like winter's sun
slides deeper behind the clouds above
-i must release
my hope, my hope
my endless hope
cannot fade, though forced away
for your peace
my ache, my ache
my lovely ache
i cling to with a child's fearful grip
unable to let go
my ghost of hope, my aching heart
my only one
you have shown me who i must become
and for you it will be so.

The best advice I was
given about writing was:
write appropriately, suit the reader,
don't make the assumption that they're careless enough not to notice sentence after sentence of redundancies. Most of all, avoid confusion.

And even though I'm young, I try to write for
a younger generation, my generation, one that produced the notion that it is feasible to aspire to write without having the will or desire to read. Welcome this juxtaposed generation with delight. They were born to dream, and there isn't a need for articulation when you keep your eyes closed.

What words will make a bigger impact?
Because what is wit to a man that only
finds enjoyment from himself. The outsider
at this point would rather listen to a person's
complete hatred of napkins. Because they're
just a paper towel folded twice.

Kids want money and fame and respect.
And who doesn't to some degree.
So maybe I must act accordingly.
I smacked a ***** to know
what it feels like. And I keep a gun in my glove
compartment. Don't even ask about the trunk,
because you already know it's locked.
I do drugs because they make me feel good,
and when I feel bad everyone else will, too.
When I crack open a beer I pour some out.
That's for my friends that have passed.
When I pop champagne I pour it on ****.
Because a two-thousand dollar shower
doesn't require clothes.

If that's not what's normal, I don't know what is.
But it's almost as if this generation is
too ignorant to care. Being underprivileged
isn't ironic when talked about wearing
thrift shop clothes, but that changes when you
hop on private airplanes to deliver the message.
And I'm not trying to say I'm different,
I have twenty dollars in my pocket, like most,
although I'm only looking for a come-up.