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LBG Sep 18
Borges Arte Poética

Un breve mármol cuida su memoria;
Sobre nosotros crece, atroz, la historia.

Pienso que si pudiera ver mi cara sabría quien soy en esta tarde rara.

pienso y solo siento al pobre soñador de su propia persona el que no pierde ni un segundo en escribe, el escritor mas puro de el mundo, un elegante señor bigote, un montrou poeta, que para por momentos a sentir su corazon que siente el soñante de este mundo minisculo, que se hace cuanto los dias ya no son escrituras y las escritos no pueden recitar, recuerda el recitar, de el hombre invisible, el unico, el terrible infant born inborn wild man of the corn, he partakes indefinitely, he was nevertherland, he was norse, he was el bewolf olvidado, el fue irlandia, el fue prague, el entendio a kafka, fuera el pratimonio a el. tengo algo que te sorprende harvard boys, que piensan de virtudes, que es el intelectual en este mundo, gira y no alguien lo compro, se sabe que el mas sabio se retira y no dice nada, huevo de pascal, huevo de wells, huevo invisible, hombre divisible. moneda, oro, maya, azteca, o inca, enblema, de nativo que es la pena de vivira, existera, existera. vara till, uthärdar.
uthardae vara till
Norman Crane Sep 14
follow her follow
her doubled in greenlit
rooms,   golden bridges
possess her    /    she is possessed
of death: falling—.  in love again.
Norman Crane Sep 13
woodcutter's sunlight
absent like truth at the gate
at raintime; strangers'
memories, flowing as mud
a samurai was killed, but—
Norman Crane Sep 13
Snow. Globe / Newspaper
:: tycoon revealed as nothing
but a boy, taken
from mother / Nature simple
as a sled burning: "Rosebud."
Nora Jan 29
Meticulously maintaining
Impossibly feigned nonchalance,
Toying the cigarette ever so slightly
In her fingers -- careful so not
To appear as too calculated

The pariahs parade the dancefloor,
Shades of ignominy culminating in a
Prismatic rainbow, heightened by
The stale odor of ***** and body heat

Still, she stays in her perch like a silent sphynx
Waiting -- watching --
Aimlessly, but with direction, such
Carefree flamboyance below her,
A stoop to which she’d never deign

And so she watches, resigned
To fate, as much a fixture in the joint
As the gilded barstools --
The closest she can come to confronting
The fact that she is no different
Than any of the rest
After so many years, finally attempting to resume my cinematic poetry project — this one based on 1934’s WONDERBAR, as easily inferred
Christian Simon Nov 2020
A lifetime of growing old;
Always looking back:
Motown, Northern Soul,
Joy Division, Happy Mondays.
No time for the new.
There is nothing new.
Put the tune on
Stop my brain thinking for 128 seconds.

French Nouvelle Vague,
Hong Kong suave.
If the past is a foreign country,
I want to buy a house there.
2 steps forward
3 steps back
Always looking back.

Miss the future
Recreating the past.
Progress turns to static.
The future is another planet
And I'm scared of space.
Moving forward in life
But always looking back
Norman Crane Sep 2020
Dust spirits dance in empty houses,
Parents fall ill,
     Families move,
Childhood lasts until words which soothed
no longer do,
Imagination introduces us to friends,
     in unexpected places,
          in necessary situations,
Remember: not all who ail shall pass away,
But sometimes sacrifice is made,
New friends seem scary,
But never be afraid
     to give up the umbrella that you carry
     for a leaf is scant protection from the rain,
In dreams giant trees grow from seeds
     watered by joy,
Believe that they persist,
For when comes the day to pack your toys,
     and move away,
When youthful years have passed to adult grey,
The distinction between memory and dream ceases to exist,
Dissolving into mist,
Through which you can still make out their silhouettes:
You, Totoro and the cat bus.
Norman Crane Sep 2020
That gibberish he talked was city speak,
Gutter talk near the Tannhäuser Gate:
Memories, you're talking about memories,
Moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain,
All I could do is sit there and watch him
die. Slow thing and he fought it all the way,
Where do I come from? Where am I going?
Go to Hell or go to Heaven, I'm afraid,
That's a little outside my jurisdiction,
Fiery the angels fell / deep thunder rolled,
Ships on fire off shoulder of Orion,
More human than human is our motto,
I watched him die all night. To have feelings,
I've seen things you people wouldn't believe.
Created from lines from Ridley Scott's 1982 film, Blade Runner.
Carlo C Gomez Sep 2020
"Suspense is like a woman. The more left to the imagination, the more the excitement."
A mixture
of sinister and sweet,
smoking gun at your feet.
Reclining dead
in a meadow,
or wishing you were
as you gaze out your window.

Bottling undecided dark,
catching keyed-up light,
in random, misleading angles.
The uniform hour
holds Grace, Grant,
and the mystery
it entangles.

Don't look directly
at the camera,
icy blonde afterimage.
Everything you need
is written on the page.
Number 13,
Mrs. Peabody?
Don't you know
all contemporary
escapist entertainment
begins by turning your back?
Lingering on what
suspicious minds track.

The migrating voyeurism
sits as the crow,
wired and unfriendly.
The method is an organism,
an implication, a crossbow,
thought, but unseen.
He will push the girl,
until you succumb
to dream sequences.
It's snowing humiliation
at Winter's Grace,
for out of the male gaze,
invading your space,
you become gifted
at doing nothing well,
in sheer

(for inner circles & triangles of fur
are all the rage in Europe).

Yes, he hates pregnant women,
because then they have children.
So leave him
to his work,
to analyze your handwriting,
and build that ramp
directly into your trailer.

His larger than life silhouette
will fill the silver screen
with tension,
trip wire,
and a ****** ambivalence,
that ends with
the violent sound
of someone
packing a suitcase.

He enters by virtue of this door,
and you leave through another,
and another,
and another,
until the final scene
alters your state of mind.

Your pretty little feet
dangling precariously
over the edge...
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