Vierra

Vierra Aug 2016

I sit here quietly enraged same like the calm front that has hit on the western range of my property. I am a story teller who has no stories and a ear filled with melody for the summer rains. The greens will need trimming and sculpting soon. The pigeons will arrive to the corners of the property to breed and propagate the flock. Sometimes it's full of **** and sometimes it's not. Mostly after the squall procedes over from the lake is the promanant time of the winter cleaning over that portion of the foothills.

Now here where I live, in the adequate and humble living quarters of mine, there is voices that travel on wind breezes that wander through my jealousies. They bring the news like airmail every so often. But mostly news of bills collectors spinning in their office chairs furiously at the amount of **** that is nessecary for this part time profession.

Sometimes during the night my eyes go bad and I often wonder when they will get suitable for work again. I've been slacking a bit on the work and more on the suitability of my mind for processes like building a fireplace. You know, the theory of it all.

Hmmm....

Just a small prose of a even smaller man.

#benign

Vierra Aug 2016

Untitled

These days I let the cold in. I creak at the joints because of it. It's a constant reminder that they can hear me passing through the house. I wear sweaters for comfort and these days are more important for the whole and less for the moment. I have a future to reminisce about. Birds speak of procedures and pecking orders via airmail. And we will work, endlessly, until our bones peak through our fingertips. This is the life we are meant for. Ahhh to live and die in HNL.
My journal is filled with constant memos and notes. It is filled with my life and it's the overflow valve that worries me. It is at these times, I withdraw and observe. There's usually nothing going on. But sometimes....

HNL international Airport

Vierra Aug 2016

Graveyard Wraiths

Let my body be brought to the wraiths of itself.
Let my body die slow by each breath after a million tiny burns.

Yet why do I hear birds singin in the heavens? Their gentle chirps and squeaks will bring the heavens to display and it is always at midnight when they do this. Always a constant song of the day's romance and hunt and sources of water.

Let the rain fall on our bright yellow raincoats.
Let it the graves be dug and covered.
Let the husbands and wives and children be placed to bed.

We will work through the night with no breaks.
This is life and I live it very well.

Vierra Aug 2016

My 'She'

There is a woman in the distance. She is a vague silhouette but she is real. She is staring into the vast heavens, waiting.
I'll see you in the shallows she claims. Her long brown hair moves in the flurries of wind gusts.

She is real.

I can see her.

Which of your five senses will you give up or hold on to for her to notice you?

She is real.

She is not a mirage to be thrown away because of temperature. She demands respect, for she is a mystery still. Will you approach and engage her? Will you touch her in a way to tickle her fancy? What will you do?

She is real.

She is my hopes, she is my dreams, she is my reality and she is real.

She will always be a she.

For the she in me.

Vierra Jul 2016

Vierra

Sometimes my mind wanders and I find myself within a cool ocean breeze thinking of you.
With the sun rays darkening the sweat on my back, you are paramount.

Please return my thoughts here intact and with addional heartfilled gestures.

It will never be the same as it was before. Maybe better, maybe worse. Time will be my only sign. I can not reach you through smoke signals that are carried on wind gusts and white squalls. I cannot reach you through open oceans filled with life.

Please speak to me, oh voice from my past and let me know I am doing well in your eyes.

Eu sou filho de meu pai e, embora nós somos diferentes você nunca vai encontrar um homem melhor.

Para todo o sempre.

para o meu avô Português, Papa.

Vierra Apr 2016

Para siempre jamás

How important to you, guapa, is a word?
¿Se puede?

I have time to **** in between sun rise and sunset, between work and relaxation, between awake cycles and rem sleep. With the feel of isolation within a crowd, my heart cannot establish solitude properly. It's the chemistry that is wrong. Un poco despues, the midday sun will bring the mist to my heart. She, the mist, cools that fuego that burns dimly.

¿De donde eres, guapa? ¿Aqui o alli?

My mind is weary of the questions with no answers. All I see is rojo y todo lo que escucho es que lo siento.

Hasta la vista, guapa.
Para siempre jamás.

Vierra Mar 2016

The void and the wind

The winter winds carefully arrives with dreary wings, it's negative and pushing through the soft sunlight with relative ease.

My warmth is kept at a minimum at all times, for comfort, and my bones ache. They creak in the winter part of the revolution around the sun.

It will be a a eternity and a expired hour to when the warmth will take its turn. Then I will dip my toes in the cold, dark waters of a fresh water hole in a salt water ocean.

The earth will continue through the heavens as our dependency grows with each death of a star. They stick around for a millennia then alter shape to bring the balance full scale.

My life is not measured in the brightness of my comet tail, my life is measured by the depth of the cold, dark heavens. To see the colors of the tail, you must be in the vacancy of the heavens.