The Moon is like lovers -
some so full of themselves
you can't break your gaze
away, while others
are half-lovers -
here tonight, gone
tomorrow - and then
there are those -
the quarter-lovers
- you know, the kind
who shine and pass by -
slow in the short nights
- not stopping long
enough to even whisper
- goodbye, my love.

Mutante que habitas
en mi cuerpo
que te ocultas
y que bebes de mi sangre.

Huésped de mi carne
autor de mis males
que me encierras
en la cueva
para ponerme a escribir.

Deja de llorarle a la luna
que ya no esta
deja que el cometa se vaya
otro ya vendrá.

Huésped temporal
poeta de alas negras
que provoca la nostalgia
como fuente de creatividad

Huésped que te arrastras
como cruz al corazón
deja amarte
deja que limpie tus alas
por que tu luz
también canta
y canta con chispa
cura y no amarga.

Yo se que tus alas
eran blancas
yo se que esas heridas
no las dejas cicatrizar

Huésped temporal
Abrete al mundo
como nardo en junio
Abrete al mundo
para iluminarlo
acogerlo en tus brazos
y aférrate al sentimiento.

Hearty laughter and untamed voices,
Bright red lipsticks and brazen choices,
Bold heels studded with some virtues-some vices,
Tongues laden with sharp, unabashed spices
Go out and out, and be proud, women,
The time is right, to be loud, women!

Allow me my love to lift you up
Through the best and worst of times
With mountains beyond these foothills
Arm in arm we both will climb

Don't mind the daily pressures
That tend to come from every side
Or the weight of the situation
As you are heavy on my mind

At the turn of every tunnel
Though dim there is a light
Helps in keeping focused
In never losing sight

If you can count on anything
It's the true love of my might
No matter the weight of the rainy days
You are heavy on my mind

Life can be counted off in seconds
In its maddening rush of time
If along the way there are no lessons
Consider it a crime

Don't make light of the situation
Or of the chains that bind
You are the mix inside of the making
As you are heavy on my mind

An Inca Dove flies to and fro
Landing graceful in my yard
Grist for any poet, bard
Her cooing soft and low.

Warm gray body, flash of wing
Whatever does she do?
I see her as her task ensues
She does a constant thing.

Back and forth the small bird flies
Of this I can attest
She pulls grass for her small nest
Right before my eyes!

I've been sitting here for hours
Thinking on my dreams
Lazily, or so it seems
For that bird builds her tower!

She goes by instinct, like the ant
Who burrows in the soil
Ever constant with her toil
'Til she would sit and pant!

While I do nothing in my seat
She flies away, and then
She comes for grasses yet again
Until her nest's complete!

Would that all the warring nations
Sit down to agree
To make the people warring-free
With such dedication!

Emulate the gentle dove
She slaves to rear her young
She works away and softly sung

Her song of purest LOVE.


SøułSurvivør
(C) 4/18/2017

460

I know where Wells grow—Droughtless Wells—
Deep dug—for Summer days—
Where Mosses go no more away—
And Pebble—safely plays—

It’s made of Fathoms—and a Belt—
A Belt of jagged Stone—
Inlaid with Emerald—half way down—
And Diamonds—jumbled on—

It has no Bucket—Were I rich
A Bucket I would buy—
I’m often thirsty—but my lips
Are so high up—You see—

I read in an Old fashioned Book
That People “thirst no more”—
The Wells have Buckets to them there—
It must mean that—I’m sure—

Shall We remember Parching—then?
Those Waters sound so grand—
I think a little Well—like Mine—
Dearer to understand—