If I was a poet: Favorites

Jan 2018 If I was a poet

Ernesto Estefan

Cigarettes after cigarettes after cigarettes ,
Barrels of nicotines
Sometimes green flowers with harsh smoke veil ,
Her tunnel she mazed with mist of darkness ,
Weaving the oblivion never knew where it leads ,
How it ends ,
She kept practising over and over again .

His voice was cold ,
Yet heavy and bold ,
Paving the dim yellow lights
He drilled the night's routine ,
Chased the bewildered dream ,
Like a wind and unseen ,
Reached the volcano's end ,

He saw her glistening eyes ,
No matter how dark the shade was ,
How in distant it was ,
Still shined like the silver queen of the sun ,

In her nest , panting ,
uncanny was her dance beat ,
Euphoric ideas enthralled by his sight ,
Roared in her veins ,

Like a blue bird she wanted to fly away ,
Like a humming bird she was crooning to his breath ,
A gorgeous gladiolus that she smelled ,
Quivered her toes from beneath the planet .

Between the bars two glances were met .

©

Jan 2018 If I was a poet

The Nemesis of Deborah

Jan 2018 If I was a poet

Glenn Sentes

The Nemesis of Deborah

She saw the face of Judas in him.
The bearded kiss festered no truth
and the metallic breath
exhaled putrid faithfulness.
The trampled petals spoor no lusting stares,
redolent no more
even as the tongue creeps by the shoulders.

The razors have summoned from the stinking room!
A slit in the neck
could rhythmically go by the thrusts unnoticed
But the chorus of the beasts
as shrill as the gongs of hell
maiming vengeance yet
not in the loss of blood will you die.
Not in my hands.

His demonic pleasures went on as the voodoo doll
resurrected in the beat of my own gongs.
Keep stirring as this spindle rouses my anathema!
his chest hairs
pint of blood
vulture’s beak
stallion’s tails
bobcat’s eye
dead evergreen
Deborah’s tears.
Stir and stir and stir!
Murmur satan’s prayer
mana mana mana boo!
ruba ruba ruba hoo!
Count the sands of the transient hourglass
expiring ‘fore tic tac sound.
Now her man froze,
bulging eyes, blackened pulse!

‘tis freedom, Deborah!

Free.

Doomed.

© Glenn Sentes
03-06-13

Jan 2018 If I was a poet

Nemesis

Jan 2018 If I was a poet

Lady D'Los

Nemesis

The Enemy is our closest friend
And our best teacher in the end.
We cherish them for challenges made
And save them so our strength won't fade.
We love them to death, and hate them the same.
For us, our enemy is the best part of the game.
And we pamper them while shaking their hand.
Then turn around and ravage their land.
Bound by the blood of each others men;
Brothers in battle, and with ale at the inn.
We save their lives so that when battle is won
The game continues until the final one.

(C) Lady D'Los February 2010

Jan 2018 If I was a poet

Lost

Jan 2018 If I was a poet

D Baby Bey

Lost

My mind is numb
I sit and think.
The thoughts don't come;
A blank page with no ink.
Do I feel?
It's hard to say.
I don't know what it is today.
Beyond the edge of perception,
Dark clouds foam
Come to join the depression reception?
I wish I could go home.

#depression

Jan 2018 If I was a poet

Gasp

Jan 2018 If I was a poet

D Baby Bey

Gasp

Choking,
Just beneath the surface, I drown in the weight of the subconscious.
Choking,
I gasp for the relief of release
But still the tightness in my throat won't go,
like a wave crashing down; the pressure is non-relenting.
Choking,
I give in
Letting the thickness of suffocation overtake all, then-
Glory,
Choking no more the lights of spastic magnificence flash in my mind and I, dead, find a new energy of one fighting to live.
I breathe again.

#panic #choking

Jan 2018 If I was a poet

Please

Jan 2018 If I was a poet

Noah Sholler

Please

I can’t stop
The pain and I
Just want to be on top
But no reply

All that happens is a hug
And meaningless actions
Might as well be a shrug
I guess there was no taction

Why won’t the thought of you
Just get out of my head
Please you need to
Leave and go somewhere else instead

Jan 2018 If I was a poet

Liqour of love (Papaya Juice)

Jan 2018 If I was a poet

Ernesto Estefan

Liqour of love (Papaya Juice)

And your tenderness is unwrinkled ,
The boiling surface ,
A sip of sweetness , another slightly sour ,
The nuance of variance ,
Hits every particles ,

And you float ,
Like a boat ,
Not on the water but on the pond ,
Pond of perpendicular humane desire ,
It goes on ,
Endless in vow .

Then you drool ,
Like the winter dew on the peak of a bent over green lash ,
The drop falls but never on the ground ,
Demolishes in air ,
It’s gone , disappeared .

Now you swim each corners of the torrent ,
Like the tornado , contagious ,
And you destroy anything comes in your way ,
In different manners ,

The bitter the better ,
The sweeter the greater ,
The **** is the eater .

©
18.1.18

Jan 2018 If I was a poet

Beloved’s Touch

Jan 2018 If I was a poet

Ernesto Estefan

Beloved’s Touch

So, I entered the tavern ,
The winebringer served me with ancient bottle of silver wine ,
I poured it on my soul ,
Each and every drop ,
And it became Love .

Jan 2018 If I was a poet

It hurts

Jan 2018 If I was a poet

Ernesto Estefan

It hurts

The morning was harsh ,
And it hurt.
The sun was bleeding ,
The morning felt the burn .

It hurt bad ,
The heart was heavy ,
Heaving with shrouded shout ,
It hurt .

But do not let the door stay closed ,
If it hurts , let it hurt more ,

The wine turned black ,
The lunatic bled ,
And every drop of blood, she tenderly swept ,

The noon was harsh ,
And it hurt ,
The sun was obscured ,
The clouds were black ,

It hurt bad ,
Really really bad ,
His breath was heavy ,
Suffocated ,

Smothered in wound ,
It hurt bad ,

But do not let the door stay closed ,
If it hurts , let it hurt more ,

The spoon turned red ,
With the heat he freed ,
The lunatic bled ,
And every drop of blood, she tenderly swept ,

The afternoon was a rush ,
He could not weave a new burn ,
But he melt .

The flame ,
The ruin ,
The wound ,
The unseen ,
Forsaken .

The night was cold ,
Snowy and alone ,
He could not breathe ,
Still he spoke ,
Mistaken , misfortune ,

She nurtured , She swept ,
Every drop he bled .
It hurts , It is wounded .

©