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Dante Rocío Jun 17
A gun came up along the way.
Marrying you with the grave prematurely.
However, all that was needless,
As your father had already engaged you two before,
You’d been dead inside for oh so long.

Todd was right about that all along,
More perceptive than the rest.

How ironic and grotesque:
a fire burning so truly and strongly was put out
with a single blow,
How the greatest few hours of your life were made gradually
into your worst and, eventually, your end.

And how is that fair?

The curtains have been drawn,
The audience is long gone,
Yet your act won’t be in vain,
Not if I have something to say.
No, most certainly not!

You’ve become the greatest proof for all those fools
Of the power of the living word,
Of the power of a rebelled voice,
Of the immortal art of a being of poetry,
who’s the true soul of the universe.
Keating’s work became fulfilled in your choices,
The very fruit of his teachings.
You showed those mortals, that no matter
what they claim, do or inflict on you,
they could never **** you.
Neither rules, nor words nor the trigger.
You’re the champion, you’re the winner.

Altogether, we became Poetry ourselves.
No quills, paper or audience were needed,
just the world around us, our voices and passion in our eyes.
We gained the upper hand in the process of the withering,
Weaving ourselves into the tether of all the matters.
Now, no grave or unwritten memories shall restrict us or make us perish.
Never more, as art has no rules.

With all due respect, I give you back
your rightful laurel wreath.
With all your greatness you deserved that prize,
of meaning greater than just a crown of an actor;
The victory over others’ power,
Over fear to speak,
Over fear to sing,
Over fear to be.

You were a misunderstood artist, though not like those, that are many of them.
Your amalgamation of all that you were,
Though so harshly interrupted on that fateful night,
made the authorities and that cold academy see,
That it is them who let you down, not you,
That they can never quench
the call of the Life,
the truth whispered up there
among the trees,
A soul’s thriving beauty, in all the madness of the existence

The curtain’s fallen,
The audience is long gone,
But I shall commemorate you forevermore,
As a poet and artist of the Life owes it
to another of their kin.
With all the pride, honour and bitterness,
You are more than welcome,
as a true member,
in the Dead Poets Society.
- - -
As I let quote myself
in this gender observation,
based on the B. Sáenz work:
“Por eso lloramos,
Por eso reímos,
Por eso se alborota
nuestro corazón,
Y por eso vivimos”
An elaborated epitaph for the person of Neil Perry from the cinematic masterpiece “Dead Poets Society”
A minute of silence for all that perishes with one’s world’s departure.
I thank that story for rejuvenating my battle for the freedom and actual breathing, seeing and “poetising”.
Gather ye rosebuds while you may
Kristian Bonjet Feb 2019
I walk the road less travelled
For this is where i can be myself
Not one to try and change me
Not one to tell me what to do
Just me in control

I walk the road less travelled
Finding my own way through
Not one to say what i should be
Not one to tell me i did wrong
Just me deciding for my own

I walk the road less travelled
For here is room to breathe
Not one to tie me down
Not one to disagree
Just me being myself

I walk the road less travelled
Learning as i walk along
Not one to preach their beliefs
Not one to pity on my choices
Just me living my life

Just me being me
This piece was inspired by a quote of Robin Williams in Dead Poets Society. Though he was already quoting someone else, I do have a huge respect for the works of Robin Williams who has inspired a lot of people when he lived. May the good man rest i peace.
neko-nae Aug 2017
scattered thoughts
but run


yoga s t r e t c h,

b r e a t h e

b e    h e r e,

finally figuring out
how to focus on what i have,
not the lack--

waking up to your comments
& feel a jolt,
the remembrance of what i'm working for,
or what could be
once i learn

I can do this.
neko-nae Aug 2017
my eye lids are crack ed
flaking, an abundance of tears
leaving so frequently

a multitude at once, i know for sure
the end is nigh
but i charlie brown drag,
puff puff, no pass
and clean, straighten
in hopes of piecing together the in-
side while at it--

self-reflection looms
as i stare steadily in the mirror,
but i know you have much to learn
& i can weather my demons
or just
flush them,

if only soul depth
could be explained as simply
as wiping away the cat hair
from the bathroom sink--
neko-nae Jul 2017
the rain streaks the house,
mist thick with sticky-sweat
like the furrow of your brow
amidst the drone of fellow worker bees
buzzing furiously in the hive, hollow--

this work we do,
this constant give



to the corporation of fools
and zealots destined to become sheep,
however fully compensated & empty, too--

oh to have wings,
but be afraid to fly free
fast, strong & able
as a mind without a doubt, cellophane-
clear and successfully damaged
to take threatening direction,
to find the golden ticket
amongst racist Oompa-Loompas
but walk away from the true reason for being alive--

c'est la vie--
neko-nae Jul 2017
it hurts
and I chew my lips
until they’re gone,

though that’s what
lipstick is for,

to press to your
collarbone and hope
it’s enough,

am I ever enough–

this dull pounding in my chest,
gets heavier, harder
so I reach out to you

I hope the demons
will accept me,
allow the gifts I bring
to reside deep within
your chest, like the bones
of your ribcage
but they blanket my words,
reduce my efforts to cinders

like the day she left me
all alone,

always alone–


Depression is a demon best fought with heart.
neko-nae Jan 2017
the pulse of raging flame
sitting in wait           deep
within the core of light

the flicker of spark ignites,
like the screech of dead, cold metal
along your wooden floor
as I fight the need to scream
and break your vaporizer--

this slumbering dragon
sitting in my chest
with billowing wings of
emerald green and burnt-orange
like a whirlwind of autumn leaves twirling
crescent magic of destruction
pulling and pushing
this rage up and down
until the tendrils of flame simmer
and I stand on tip-toes to kiss
your soft lips, the smoke
escaping as exhaust and love, tender--
neko-nae Jan 2017
subtle sway, my dear
the way your hips
keep time under mine
as we wiggle-ripple
to the bear-growl
you breathe deep
in my ear--
neko-nae Jan 2017
the seashell glimmer
of seafoam and fir tree moss
sparkles out the corners
of your eyes
as you dimple sweetly
up at me--

I lose where I end
and you begin,
a lavish ocean of
passionate spray along the wind
of birds flying overhead
and delicate kisses mingled
amidst sheets--

i don't know
how i came to know you,
feel you so deeply a part
of me so quickly,

but I have to wonder
if the stars have
a plan in mind for us
to learn together,
beneath the radiant moon--

neko-nae Dec 2016
what’s this love
you write about,
this never-ending
bump and grind,
hips sway sultry beat-
box time as I make
sweet syrup melting
liquid brown like
those eyes,
behind me first, I pull
push, need, don’t
and I’m giving your
mouth wet moisture
drop drip passion
I never stop
moaning, writhing
a vision of
curvy flesh
and goosebumps, tender
the wind rustling just outside–

marvel makes good movies
but I write rhythm ***,
for words reveal
so much, so little
the perfect monotony
of heartbreak and passion
looming, so
I light up and imagine cosmic
galaxies above,
the vast comforts
of space and bedsheets,
for I’m but a simple
hunter of new things
and hidden smiles–

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