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"argentina" poems
Afghanistan needs hellopoetry Albania needs hellopoetry Algeria needs hellopoetry Andorra needs hellopoetry Angola needs hellopoetry Antigua and Barbuda needs hellopoetry Argentina needs hellopoetry Armenia needs hellopoetry Australia needs hellopoetry Austria needs hellopoetry Azerbaijan needs hellopoetry The Bahamas needs hellopoetry Bahrain needs hellopoetry Bangladesh needs hellopoetry Barbados needs hellopoetry Belarus needs hellopoetry Belgium needs hellopoetry Belize needs hellopoetry Benin needs hellopoetry Bhutan needs hellopoetry Bolivia needs hellopoetry Bosnia and Herzegovina needs hellopoetry Botswana needs hellopoetry Brazil needs hellopoetry Brunei needs hellopoetry Bulgaria needs hellopoetry Burkina Faso needs hellopoetry Burundi needs hellopoetry Cabo Verde needs hellopoetry Cambodia needs hellopoetry Cameroon needs hellopoetry Canada needs hellopoetry Central African Republic needs hellopoetry Chad needs hellopoetry Chile needs hellopoetry China needs hellopoetry Colombia needs hellopoetry Comoros needs hellopoetry Congo, Democratic Republic is in need of hellopoetry Congo, Republic is in need of hellopoetry   Costa Rica needs hellopoetry Côte d’Ivoire needs hellopoetry Croatia needs hellopoetry Cuba needs hellopoetry Cyprus needs hellopoetry Czech Republic needs hellopoetry Denmark needs hellopoetry   Djibouti needs hellopoetry Dominica needs hellopoetry Dominican Republic needs hellopoetry East Timor (Timor-Leste) needs hellopoetry Ecuador needs hellopoetry Egypt needs hellopoetry   El Salvador needs hellopoetry Equatorial Guinea needs hellopoetry Eritrea needs hellopoetry Estonia needs hellopoetry Eswatini needs hellopoetry Ethiopia needs hellopoetry Fiji needs hellopoetry Finland needs hellopoetry France needs hellopoetry Gabon needs hellopoetry The Gambia needs hellopoetry Georgia needs hellopoetry Germany needs hellopoetry Ghana needs hellopoetry Greece needs hellopoetry Grenada needs hellopoetry Guatemala needs hellopoetry Guinea needs hellopoetry Guinea-Bissau needs hellopoetry Guyana needs hellopoetry Haiti needs hellopoetry Honduras needs hellopoetry Hungary needs hellopoetry Iceland needs hellopoetry India needs hellopoetry Indonesia needs hellopoetry Iran needs hellopoetry Iraq needs hellopoetry Ireland needs hellopoetry Israel needs hellopoetry Italy needs hellopoetry Jamaica needs hellopoetry Japan needs hellopoetry Jordan needs hellopoetry Kazakhstan needs hellopoetry Kenya needs hellopoetry Kiribati needs hellopoetry Korea, North needs hellopoetry Korea, South needs hellopoetry Kosovo needs hellopoetry Kuwait needs hellopoetry Kyrgyzstan needs hellopoetry Laos needs hellopoetry Latvia needs hellopoetry Lebanon needs hellopoetry Lesotho needs hellopoetry Liberia needs hellopoetry Libya needs hellopoetry Liechtenstein needs hellopoetry Lithuania needs hellopoetry Luxembourg needs hellopoetry Madagascar needs hellopoetry Malawi needs hellopoetry Malaysia needs hellopoetry Maldives needs hellopoetry Mali needs hellopoetry Malta needs hellopoetry Marshall Islands needs hellopoetry Mauritania needs hellopoetry Mauritius needs hellopoetry Mexico needs hellopoetry Micronesia, Federated States is in need of hellopoetry Moldova needs hellopoetry Monaco needs hellopoetry Mongolia needs hellopoetry Montenegro needs hellopoetry Morocco needs hellopoetry Mozambique needs hellopoetry Myanmar (Burma) needs hellopoetry Namibia needs hellopoetry Nauru needs hellopoetry Nepal needs hellopoetry Netherlands needs hellopoetry New Zealand needs hellopoetry Nicaragua needs hellopoetry Niger needs hellopoetry Nigeria needs hellopoetry North Macedonia needs hellopoetry Norway needs hellopoetry Oman needs hellopoetry Pakistan needs hellopoetry Palau needs hellopoetry Panama needs hellopoetry Papua New Guinea needs hellopoetry Paraguay needs hellopoetry Peru needs hellopoetry Philippines needs hellopoetry Poland needs hellopoetry Portugal needs hellopoetry Qatar needs hellopoetry Romania needs hellopoetry Russia needs hellopoetry Rwanda needs hellopoetry Saint Kitts and Nevis needs hellopoetry Saint Lucia needs hellopoetry Saint Vincent and the Grenadines needs hellopoetry Samoa needs hellopoetry San Marino needs hellopoetry Sao Tome and Principe needs hellopoetry Saudi Arabia needs hellopoetry Senegal needs hellopoetry Serbia needs hellopoetry Seychelles needs hellopoetry Sierra Leone needs hellopoetry Singapore needs hellopoetry Slovakia needs hellopoetry Slovenia needs hellopoetry Solomon Islands needs hellopoetry Somalia needs hellopoetry South Africa needs hellopoetry Spain needs hellopoetry Sri Lanka needs hellopoetry Sudan needs hellopoetry Sudan, South needs hellopoetry Suriname needs hellopoetry Sweden needs hellopoetry Switzerland needs hellopoetry Syria needs hellopoetry Taiwan needs hellopoetry Tajikistan needs hellopoetry Tanzania needs hellopoetry Thailand needs hellopoetry Togo needs hellopoetry Tonga needs hellopoetry Trinidad and Tobago needs hellopoetry Tunisia needs hellopoetry Turkey needs hellopoetry Turkmenistan needs hellopoetry Tuvalu needs hellopoetry Uganda needs hellopoetry Ukraine needs hellopoetry United Arab Emirates needs hellopoetry United Kingdom needs hellopoetry United States needs hellopoetry Uruguay needs hellopoetry Uzbekistan needs hellopoetry Vanuatu needs hellopoetry Vatican City needs hellopoetry Venezuela needs hellopoetry Vietnam needs hellopoetry Yemen needs hellopoetry Zambia needs hellopoetry Zimbabwe needs hellopoetry
0
Dec 21, 2019
Dec 21, 2019 at 11:08 AM UTC
maxneumann
The World NEEDS HelloPoetry (Please Make A Contribution.)
Afghanistan needs hellopoetry Albania needs hellopoetry Algeria needs hellopoetry Andorra needs hellopoetry Angola needs hellopoetry Antigua and Barbuda needs hellopoetry Argentina needs hellopoetry Armenia needs hellopoetry Australia needs hellopoetry Austria needs hellopoetry Azerbaijan needs hellopoetry The Bahamas needs hellopoetry Bahrain needs hellopoetry Bangladesh needs hellopoetry Barbados needs hellopoetry Belarus needs hellopoetry Belgium needs hellopoetry Belize needs hellopoetry Benin needs hellopoetry Bhutan needs hellopoetry Bolivia needs hellopoetry Bosnia and Herzegovina needs hellopoetry Botswana needs hellopoetry Brazil needs hellopoetry Brunei needs hellopoetry Bulgaria needs hellopoetry Burkina Faso needs hellopoetry Burundi needs hellopoetry Cabo Verde needs hellopoetry Cambodia needs hellopoetry Cameroon needs hellopoetry Canada needs hellopoetry Central African Republic needs hellopoetry Chad needs hellopoetry Chile needs hellopoetry China needs hellopoetry Colombia needs hellopoetry Comoros needs hellopoetry Congo, Democratic Republic is in need of hellopoetry Congo, Republic is in need of hellopoetry   Costa Rica needs hellopoetry Côte d’Ivoire needs hellopoetry Croatia needs hellopoetry Cuba needs hellopoetry Cyprus needs hellopoetry Czech Republic needs hellopoetry Denmark needs hellopoetry   Djibouti needs hellopoetry Dominica needs hellopoetry Dominican Republic needs hellopoetry East Timor (Timor-Leste) needs hellopoetry Ecuador needs hellopoetry Egypt needs hellopoetry   El Salvador needs hellopoetry Equatorial Guinea needs hellopoetry Eritrea needs hellopoetry Estonia needs hellopoetry Eswatini needs hellopoetry Ethiopia needs hellopoetry Fiji needs hellopoetry Finland needs hellopoetry France needs hellopoetry Gabon needs hellopoetry The Gambia needs hellopoetry Georgia needs hellopoetry Germany needs hellopoetry Ghana needs hellopoetry Greece needs hellopoetry Grenada needs hellopoetry Guatemala needs hellopoetry Guinea needs hellopoetry Guinea-Bissau needs hellopoetry Guyana needs hellopoetry Haiti needs hellopoetry Honduras needs hellopoetry Hungary needs hellopoetry Iceland needs hellopoetry India needs hellopoetry Indonesia needs hellopoetry Iran needs hellopoetry Iraq needs hellopoetry Ireland needs hellopoetry Israel needs hellopoetry Italy needs hellopoetry Jamaica needs hellopoetry Japan needs hellopoetry Jordan needs hellopoetry Kazakhstan needs hellopoetry Kenya needs hellopoetry Kiribati needs hellopoetry Korea, North needs hellopoetry Korea, South needs hellopoetry Kosovo needs hellopoetry Kuwait needs hellopoetry Kyrgyzstan needs hellopoetry Laos needs hellopoetry Latvia needs hellopoetry Lebanon needs hellopoetry Lesotho needs hellopoetry Liberia needs hellopoetry Libya needs hellopoetry Liechtenstein needs hellopoetry Lithuania needs hellopoetry Luxembourg needs hellopoetry Madagascar needs hellopoetry Malawi needs hellopoetry Malaysia needs hellopoetry Maldives needs hellopoetry Mali needs hellopoetry Malta needs hellopoetry Marshall Islands needs hellopoetry Mauritania needs hellopoetry Mauritius needs hellopoetry Mexico needs hellopoetry Micronesia, Federated States is in need of hellopoetry Moldova needs hellopoetry Monaco needs hellopoetry Mongolia needs hellopoetry Montenegro needs hellopoetry Morocco needs hellopoetry Mozambique needs hellopoetry Myanmar (Burma) needs hellopoetry Namibia needs hellopoetry Nauru needs hellopoetry Nepal needs hellopoetry Netherlands needs hellopoetry New Zealand needs hellopoetry Nicaragua needs hellopoetry Niger needs hellopoetry Nigeria needs hellopoetry North Macedonia needs hellopoetry Norway needs hellopoetry Oman needs hellopoetry Pakistan needs hellopoetry Palau needs hellopoetry Panama needs hellopoetry Papua New Guinea needs hellopoetry Paraguay needs hellopoetry Peru needs hellopoetry Philippines needs hellopoetry Poland needs hellopoetry Portugal needs hellopoetry Qatar needs hellopoetry Romania needs hellopoetry Russia needs hellopoetry Rwanda needs hellopoetry Saint Kitts and Nevis needs hellopoetry Saint Lucia needs hellopoetry Saint Vincent and the Grenadines needs hellopoetry Samoa needs hellopoetry San Marino needs hellopoetry Sao Tome and Principe needs hellopoetry Saudi Arabia needs hellopoetry Senegal needs hellopoetry Serbia needs hellopoetry Seychelles needs hellopoetry Sierra Leone needs hellopoetry Singapore needs hellopoetry Slovakia needs hellopoetry Slovenia needs hellopoetry Solomon Islands needs hellopoetry Somalia needs hellopoetry South Africa needs hellopoetry Spain needs hellopoetry Sri Lanka needs hellopoetry Sudan needs hellopoetry Sudan, South needs hellopoetry Suriname needs hellopoetry Sweden needs hellopoetry Switzerland needs hellopoetry Syria needs hellopoetry Taiwan needs hellopoetry Tajikistan needs hellopoetry Tanzania needs hellopoetry Thailand needs hellopoetry Togo needs hellopoetry Tonga needs hellopoetry Trinidad and Tobago needs hellopoetry Tunisia needs hellopoetry Turkey needs hellopoetry Turkmenistan needs hellopoetry Tuvalu needs hellopoetry Uganda needs hellopoetry Ukraine needs hellopoetry United Arab Emirates needs hellopoetry United Kingdom needs hellopoetry United States needs hellopoetry Uruguay needs hellopoetry Uzbekistan needs hellopoetry Vanuatu needs hellopoetry Vatican City needs hellopoetry Venezuela needs hellopoetry Vietnam needs hellopoetry Yemen needs hellopoetry Zambia needs hellopoetry Zimbabwe needs hellopoetry
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196
Birds have their homes. This bird made this world, Its own home. When other birds struggled To make friends beyond their homes, This bird made followers and comrades, Transformed them The perseverent leaders of a challenging mission It put its foot on Argentina and Set its victorious fight in Cuba. Availed losses in Congo Voiced and breathed every millisecond Struggled recklessly for a mission, Freedom, peace & prosperity of all its fellow birds Beyond borders. The most superior of the superior birds With an infinite and complex strings of cunningness Put an end to this bird in Bolivia. At the end, the bird failed Fell a prey for other selfish birds. As a root that fell and Buried itself in the soil with an infinite power. To give hope and shelter, To all those who come under it, For the near future and coming generations The bird died! But its mission ignited the phoenix flames In its bird comrades. Got them to fight for Every drop of Injustice, Imperialism and hatred That came racing towards them As an inescapable bullet Their hearts raised in spirit When every drop of its thought Hit them more fierce than The world’s most powerful atomic bomb. The bird died. But its ideals for the mission Rekindled the fires in their heart. Being born an ordinary bird, Fighting for the most demanded & toughest mission, Its thought and principles Set new leaders to fight the unattainable mission Now, looking the most possible Within an attaining distance The bird lived its life, An ordinary and the most challenging one. But transformed a phoenix, When it left the world. And created more of Daring Phoenix warriors; Attain a world filled with peace and happiness.
0
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 9:14 AM UTC
L16081995
Phoenix for the humanity
Birds have their homes. This bird made this world, Its own home. When other birds struggled To make friends beyond their homes, This bird made followers and comrades, Transformed them The perseverent leaders of a challenging mission It put its foot on Argentina and Set its victorious fight in Cuba. Availed losses in Congo Voiced and breathed every millisecond Struggled recklessly for a mission, Freedom, peace & prosperity of all its fellow birds Beyond borders. The most superior of the superior birds With an infinite and complex strings of cunningness Put an end to this bird in Bolivia. At the end, the bird failed Fell a prey for other selfish birds. As a root that fell and Buried itself in the soil with an infinite power. To give hope and shelter, To all those who come under it, For the near future and coming generations The bird died! But its mission ignited the phoenix flames In its bird comrades. Got them to fight for Every drop of Injustice, Imperialism and hatred That came racing towards them As an inescapable bullet Their hearts raised in spirit When every drop of its thought Hit them more fierce than The world’s most powerful atomic bomb. The bird died. But its ideals for the mission Rekindled the fires in their heart. Being born an ordinary bird, Fighting for the most demanded & toughest mission, Its thought and principles Set new leaders to fight the unattainable mission Now, looking the most possible Within an attaining distance The bird lived its life, An ordinary and the most challenging one. But transformed a phoenix, When it left the world. And created more of Daring Phoenix warriors; Attain a world filled with peace and happiness.
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52
Nov 2016 - The Fall Line ~ *all the lines of man-made yellows, so tempting threatening...inviting, the subway platform, the street curb, the highway divide the double parallel equal sign that has no solution, remaining hopelessly empty, defining the watery soluble inequality of null* ~~ The Fall Line first heard the phrase months ago in Argentina, standing before the c-shaped Iguazu Falls the fall line where the crystalline basement rock erodes away the oncoming soft sedimentary, there, where, a waterfall is nature-gifted so intuitive, so obvious, what else to call the water's owned edge, line of demarcation, where we grow captivated, mesmerized, knee weak, traumatized and tantalized knew that instant when spoken, The Fall Line, saw inarguable symmetry to so many lives, would be a someday poem selective service phrases stored and someday up recalled, a thousand, maybe more, waiting for the confluence of time and place, to be a mother letting my fluid sac burst, giving birth to a concoction symphonic, the emotions waterfalling, cascading, the precision, vision seconds, when words pour, gush, surge, spill, stream, flow, issue, spurt ~~~ silently crafted in the weeks and months prior, the unconscious drowning in ache and pain of suffocating drudge sludge of everyday living *all the lines of man made yellows, so tempting threatening...inviting the subway platform, the street curb, the highway divide the double parallel equal sign that has no solution remaining empty, defining the inequality of null* the vision infection of the majestic fall line, so accessible in an instance of overwhelm, cornea implanted, the sounding call of sweet blissful whatever one more additional addiction unshakeable, jumping from fall line to fall line, it's the game I am played, but the controller is not in my possess **for the joy stick that drives my actions, toys with me, the human fool jumping from fall line to fall line, unsure of what he desires,** salvation or saving 11/26/16
0
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 9:41 PM UTC
lmnsinner
Nov 2016 - The Fall Line
Nov 2016 - The Fall Line ~ *all the lines of man-made yellows, so tempting threatening...inviting, the subway platform, the street curb, the highway divide the double parallel equal sign that has no solution, remaining hopelessly empty, defining the watery soluble inequality of null* ~~ The Fall Line first heard the phrase months ago in Argentina, standing before the c-shaped Iguazu Falls the fall line where the crystalline basement rock erodes away the oncoming soft sedimentary, there, where, a waterfall is nature-gifted so intuitive, so obvious, what else to call the water's owned edge, line of demarcation, where we grow captivated, mesmerized, knee weak, traumatized and tantalized knew that instant when spoken, The Fall Line, saw inarguable symmetry to so many lives, would be a someday poem selective service phrases stored and someday up recalled, a thousand, maybe more, waiting for the confluence of time and place, to be a mother letting my fluid sac burst, giving birth to a concoction symphonic, the emotions waterfalling, cascading, the precision, vision seconds, when words pour, gush, surge, spill, stream, flow, issue, spurt ~~~ silently crafted in the weeks and months prior, the unconscious drowning in ache and pain of suffocating drudge sludge of everyday living *all the lines of man made yellows, so tempting threatening...inviting the subway platform, the street curb, the highway divide the double parallel equal sign that has no solution remaining empty, defining the inequality of null* the vision infection of the majestic fall line, so accessible in an instance of overwhelm, cornea implanted, the sounding call of sweet blissful whatever one more additional addiction unshakeable, jumping from fall line to fall line, it's the game I am played, but the controller is not in my possess **for the joy stick that drives my actions, toys with me, the human fool jumping from fall line to fall line, unsure of what he desires,** salvation or saving 11/26/16
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67
Mi cuate         Mi socio                  Mi hermano Aparcero         Camarado                  Compañero Mi pata         M´hijito                  Paisano... He aquí mis vecinos. He aquí mis hermanos. Las mismas caras latinoamericanas de cualquier punto de America Latina: Indoblanquinegros Blanquinegrindios Y negrindoblancos Rubias bembonas Indios barbudos Y negros lacios Todos se quejan: -¡Ah, si en mi país no hubiese tanta política...! -¡Ah, si en mi país no hubiera gente paleolítica...! -¡Ah, si en mi país no hubiese militarismo, ni oligarquía ni chauvinismo ni burocracia ni hipocresía ni clerecía ni antropofagia... -¡Ah, si en mi país... Alguien pregunta de dónde soy (Yo no respondo lo siguiente): Nací cerca del Cuzco admiro a Puebla me inspira el ron de las Antillas canto con voz argentina creo en Santa Rosa de Lima y en los orishás de Bahía. Yo no coloreé mi Continente ni pinté verde a Brasil amarillo Perú roja Bolivia. Yo no tracé líneas territoriales separando al hermano del hermano. Poso la frente sobre Río Grande me afirmo pétreo sobre el Cabo de Hornos hundo mi brazo izquierdo en el Pacífico y sumerjo mi diestra en el Atlántico. Por las costas de oriente y occidente doscientas millas entro a cada Océano sumerjo mano y mano y así me aferro a nuestro Continente en un abrazo Latinoamericano.
0
7.2k
Nicomedes Santa Cruz
América latina
Mi cuate         Mi socio                  Mi hermano Aparcero         Camarado                  Compañero Mi pata         M´hijito                  Paisano... He aquí mis vecinos. He aquí mis hermanos. Las mismas caras latinoamericanas de cualquier punto de America Latina: Indoblanquinegros Blanquinegrindios Y negrindoblancos Rubias bembonas Indios barbudos Y negros lacios Todos se quejan: -¡Ah, si en mi país no hubiese tanta política...! -¡Ah, si en mi país no hubiera gente paleolítica...! -¡Ah, si en mi país no hubiese militarismo, ni oligarquía ni chauvinismo ni burocracia ni hipocresía ni clerecía ni antropofagia... -¡Ah, si en mi país... Alguien pregunta de dónde soy (Yo no respondo lo siguiente): Nací cerca del Cuzco admiro a Puebla me inspira el ron de las Antillas canto con voz argentina creo en Santa Rosa de Lima y en los orishás de Bahía. Yo no coloreé mi Continente ni pinté verde a Brasil amarillo Perú roja Bolivia. Yo no tracé líneas territoriales separando al hermano del hermano. Poso la frente sobre Río Grande me afirmo pétreo sobre el Cabo de Hornos hundo mi brazo izquierdo en el Pacífico y sumerjo mi diestra en el Atlántico. Por las costas de oriente y occidente doscientas millas entro a cada Océano sumerjo mano y mano y así me aferro a nuestro Continente en un abrazo Latinoamericano.
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57
I woke up too early. It was still dark out. I tried to read some Hunter S. Thompson, but it made me thirsty, not a drop in the place. I wish I were in Puerto Rico. A few nights ago my girlfriend and I got into it. She bit me and scratched my face. We were drunk on wine from Argentina. The coffee I’m drinking doesn’t taste right. I wish I were in Puerto Rico. In the wee hours of the morning I decided to shave my head. It took four razors, but I finally got the job done. I looked in the mirror, and a stranger peered back at me; a head like Gandhi and a face like Marciano. I wish I were in Puerto Rico. Yesterday my girlfriend and I went on a shoplifting spree. I stole coffee, a couple of books, a hat, denture glue, and a **** ring. She’s a much better thief than me. She took razors, two tapestries, laundry soap and trash bags, makeup, shampoo and coffee that doesn’t taste funny. As the sun gently kisses the horizon and begins to bathe Iowa City in golden light, I wish I were in Puerto Rico. Tomorrow morning I have to be in court. A month ago I stole some wine and got caught. My day of reckoning has almost arrived. I should just get a fine that I will never pay, but with these things, one never knows. The judge could be hung over or constipated or worse yet, he could have read my poetry. I really wish I were in Puerto Rico.
0
Mar 2, 2023
Mar 2, 2023 at 7:14 AM UTC
thomas-w-case
I Wish I were in Puerto Rico
I woke up too early. It was still dark out. I tried to read some Hunter S. Thompson, but it made me thirsty, not a drop in the place. I wish I were in Puerto Rico. A few nights ago my girlfriend and I got into it. She bit me and scratched my face. We were drunk on wine from Argentina. The coffee I’m drinking doesn’t taste right. I wish I were in Puerto Rico. In the wee hours of the morning I decided to shave my head. It took four razors, but I finally got the job done. I looked in the mirror, and a stranger peered back at me; a head like Gandhi and a face like Marciano. I wish I were in Puerto Rico. Yesterday my girlfriend and I went on a shoplifting spree. I stole coffee, a couple of books, a hat, denture glue, and a **** ring. She’s a much better thief than me. She took razors, two tapestries, laundry soap and trash bags, makeup, shampoo and coffee that doesn’t taste funny. As the sun gently kisses the horizon and begins to bathe Iowa City in golden light, I wish I were in Puerto Rico. Tomorrow morning I have to be in court. A month ago I stole some wine and got caught. My day of reckoning has almost arrived. I should just get a fine that I will never pay, but with these things, one never knows. The judge could be hung over or constipated or worse yet, he could have read my poetry. I really wish I were in Puerto Rico.
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73
Motion makes me homesick, home makes me motion-sick. I've seen some **** you wouldn't believe in the past month of my young life I'm happy. Makes me want more. I want Guatemala I want Nepal I want the States by trains and motorcycles. I want to make something tall enough to shake hands with god and strong enough to last to the ends of the earth Or longer. I want to give the world back all I've taken from it and all the damage I've done. And then I want to do more. I want to start a revolution, live on a farm, paint a mural, play a symphony, shake hands with the Dalai Lama, write a book, and be home in time for dinner. I want to fold a thousand and one oragami cranes and set them free from space and while they float down to Mauritania and Portugal, to Argentina and Cambodia I want to wish for a reset button. Not to use right away, but just in case **** gets out of hand. So we've got a backup plan. I want to sit in my old age looking down that darkened tunnel and see my own birth pass before my eyes. I want to embrace infinity without soreness or shortcomings, without excuses or refusals I want to watch the universe collapse back in on itself and be part of everything at once. I want more than I can handle. I guess that means I'm young.
0
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 1:28 AM UTC
j-c-lucas
Young
Motion makes me homesick, home makes me motion-sick. I've seen some **** you wouldn't believe in the past month of my young life I'm happy. Makes me want more. I want Guatemala I want Nepal I want the States by trains and motorcycles. I want to make something tall enough to shake hands with god and strong enough to last to the ends of the earth Or longer. I want to give the world back all I've taken from it and all the damage I've done. And then I want to do more. I want to start a revolution, live on a farm, paint a mural, play a symphony, shake hands with the Dalai Lama, write a book, and be home in time for dinner. I want to fold a thousand and one oragami cranes and set them free from space and while they float down to Mauritania and Portugal, to Argentina and Cambodia I want to wish for a reset button. Not to use right away, but just in case **** gets out of hand. So we've got a backup plan. I want to sit in my old age looking down that darkened tunnel and see my own birth pass before my eyes. I want to embrace infinity without soreness or shortcomings, without excuses or refusals I want to watch the universe collapse back in on itself and be part of everything at once. I want more than I can handle. I guess that means I'm young.
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28
1909, on top of the dragon. Marigolds whipping a tepid fug in this small room of stringy daylight. That place where we fell in love. Where I dropped a hot cup of tea on my pants And we ate sushi on the beach. I love the beach. I am not ready for the ice festival or your new boyfriend. He smells like bad disco and old people. This piano concerto that I play before bed, before awakening, I have your black dresser drawer in my bedroom, It glistens of our days of Jasmine and Roses. My mind blurs stories of you, her, and the other girl. Rad violin songs, a friend from Argentina has introduced me to Mystify me, I cannot hear straight or stand still. I have acquired A gift for shivering. Still I can feel your talons raking up my spine. Two fingers! Where? Why? How did you do that thing with your mouth? I count upwards from you and in my peaking hours of misfortune, I Never come back down to earth's giant centrality of duel existence. My gut expands into my chest, my nervous system and anxiety is All of you, a lot of her, and none of the other girl. I make half inch black markings on the wall, this curse of feeling and not forgetting That never goes away.
0
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 5:45 AM UTC
martin-narrod
1909
1909, on top of the dragon. Marigolds whipping a tepid fug in this small room of stringy daylight. That place where we fell in love. Where I dropped a hot cup of tea on my pants And we ate sushi on the beach. I love the beach. I am not ready for the ice festival or your new boyfriend. He smells like bad disco and old people. This piano concerto that I play before bed, before awakening, I have your black dresser drawer in my bedroom, It glistens of our days of Jasmine and Roses. My mind blurs stories of you, her, and the other girl. Rad violin songs, a friend from Argentina has introduced me to Mystify me, I cannot hear straight or stand still. I have acquired A gift for shivering. Still I can feel your talons raking up my spine. Two fingers! Where? Why? How did you do that thing with your mouth? I count upwards from you and in my peaking hours of misfortune, I Never come back down to earth's giant centrality of duel existence. My gut expands into my chest, my nervous system and anxiety is All of you, a lot of her, and none of the other girl. I make half inch black markings on the wall, this curse of feeling and not forgetting That never goes away.
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20
You pick every word I say With rapt attention. So I tell you about tangerine skies In Vermont, how I shape them. I tell you my dad invented Cuban cigars In Argentina. You heard about the prawns, The ***** and the lilies. A story only I could tell. I could tell it in fluent Yoruba. You watch me sleep like I don't have a care in this world Snorting away while chasing dragonflies and seahorses In my oblivion. You watch me walk in the shadows My gait like gridless frames of a restless gate blown open by the wind. (If I was the night, I would be bright.) Finally you see my hands well adapted to cutlasses and owes, Irrespective experienced with oriental oils and manicures. 'One day I will be king', I thought I said. But you heard it from my mind. You heard it alone. Yesterday we owed this to ourselves. Tomorrow we will be lovers Today let's be friends.
0
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 5:24 AM UTC
seye
From Friends To Lovers
You pick every word I say With rapt attention. So I tell you about tangerine skies In Vermont, how I shape them. I tell you my dad invented Cuban cigars In Argentina. You heard about the prawns, The ***** and the lilies. A story only I could tell. I could tell it in fluent Yoruba. You watch me sleep like I don't have a care in this world Snorting away while chasing dragonflies and seahorses In my oblivion. You watch me walk in the shadows My gait like gridless frames of a restless gate blown open by the wind. (If I was the night, I would be bright.) Finally you see my hands well adapted to cutlasses and owes, Irrespective experienced with oriental oils and manicures. 'One day I will be king', I thought I said. But you heard it from my mind. You heard it alone. Yesterday we owed this to ourselves. Tomorrow we will be lovers Today let's be friends.
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25
¿Por qué, por qué tiene que ser así? Esto no es correcto, no para mí. No quiero que me digan que pruebe el “Café de Costa Rica”, los “Bombones de Colombia”, las “Arepas de Venezuela”, las “Carnes de Argentina", las “Pastas italianas”, los “Tacos mexicanos”, la “Tortilla española”, la “Comida china” o la “Pizza con el ingrediente especial de Italia”. No quiero que me digan “Esto está hecho en China” ni “¡Wao! Esto no está hecho en China, está hecho en Taiwan”. No quiero que me digan “Mira este documental de África”, “Que hermosa se ve esa foto de la Torre Eiffel” o “Que alto debe estar ese edificio de New York”. No quiero que me cuenten cómo les fue en su viaje a Europa, su jornada en California o sus problemas mientras estuvieron en Canada. No quiero que me relaten las historias aprendidas durante su tiempo en Egipto o los bailes ensayados mientras estaban en Brasil. No quiero que hablen de su críticas respecto a la cutura de India, de Guyana o de Cuba. No quiero que me describan lo exquisita que estuvo la comida en Perú, en Australia o en República Dominicana. No quiero que me muestren la música de Jamaica o la de Rusia. No quiero que me digan  o me enseñen nada, nada más. Quiero yo poder probar los alimentos en su nacionalidad. Quiero sentir el aroma del café en las mañanas durante unas vacaciones en Costa Rica y probar ese toque especial que hace que la pizza en Italia sea diferente a la que acostumbramos a ordenar. Quiero ver cómo hacen los artefactos, estar en China y luego en Taiwan, tener esa experiencia de crear algo. Quiero visitar África y tomar mi propio documental, treparme en ese gigante edificio y apreciar la hermosa vista. Quiero ser yo la que cuente mi experiencia en las calles de Europa, California o Canada. Quiero aprender historias sobre Egipto y sus magníficas esculturas, incluso quiero aprender a darzar como lo hacen en Brasil y cada movimiento perfeccionar. Quiero dar las críticas sobre mis pensamientos hacia dichas culturas, pero con respeto. Quiero describir los suculentos platos y hacer que las personas se los imaginen, de tal manera que hasta en sus paladares puedan sentirlos. Quiero  escuchar la música de Jamaica y la de Rusia y si es en vivo, aún mejor, así podré meditarla e interpretarla. Puede sonar un poco alocado y para muchos sin sentido, pero para mí es más que un simple pensamiento o cualquier capricho, son sueños y metas que a diario me propongo. Para ello hay que trabajar duro, pero desde mi niñez me enseñaron que “el que quiere puede, solo hay que perseverar para triunfar”. Sé que algún día lo voy a alcanzar y todos se sorprenderán, cuando con orgullo les relate sobre lo que un día fue “un simple  deseo internacional ”.
0
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 12:24 PM UTC
anicolets
Deseo internacional
¿Por qué, por qué tiene que ser así? Esto no es correcto, no para mí. No quiero que me digan que pruebe el “Café de Costa Rica”, los “Bombones de Colombia”, las “Arepas de Venezuela”, las “Carnes de Argentina", las “Pastas italianas”, los “Tacos mexicanos”, la “Tortilla española”, la “Comida china” o la “Pizza con el ingrediente especial de Italia”. No quiero que me digan “Esto está hecho en China” ni “¡Wao! Esto no está hecho en China, está hecho en Taiwan”. No quiero que me digan “Mira este documental de África”, “Que hermosa se ve esa foto de la Torre Eiffel” o “Que alto debe estar ese edificio de New York”. No quiero que me cuenten cómo les fue en su viaje a Europa, su jornada en California o sus problemas mientras estuvieron en Canada. No quiero que me relaten las historias aprendidas durante su tiempo en Egipto o los bailes ensayados mientras estaban en Brasil. No quiero que hablen de su críticas respecto a la cutura de India, de Guyana o de Cuba. No quiero que me describan lo exquisita que estuvo la comida en Perú, en Australia o en República Dominicana. No quiero que me muestren la música de Jamaica o la de Rusia. No quiero que me digan  o me enseñen nada, nada más. Quiero yo poder probar los alimentos en su nacionalidad. Quiero sentir el aroma del café en las mañanas durante unas vacaciones en Costa Rica y probar ese toque especial que hace que la pizza en Italia sea diferente a la que acostumbramos a ordenar. Quiero ver cómo hacen los artefactos, estar en China y luego en Taiwan, tener esa experiencia de crear algo. Quiero visitar África y tomar mi propio documental, treparme en ese gigante edificio y apreciar la hermosa vista. Quiero ser yo la que cuente mi experiencia en las calles de Europa, California o Canada. Quiero aprender historias sobre Egipto y sus magníficas esculturas, incluso quiero aprender a darzar como lo hacen en Brasil y cada movimiento perfeccionar. Quiero dar las críticas sobre mis pensamientos hacia dichas culturas, pero con respeto. Quiero describir los suculentos platos y hacer que las personas se los imaginen, de tal manera que hasta en sus paladares puedan sentirlos. Quiero  escuchar la música de Jamaica y la de Rusia y si es en vivo, aún mejor, así podré meditarla e interpretarla. Puede sonar un poco alocado y para muchos sin sentido, pero para mí es más que un simple pensamiento o cualquier capricho, son sueños y metas que a diario me propongo. Para ello hay que trabajar duro, pero desde mi niñez me enseñaron que “el que quiere puede, solo hay que perseverar para triunfar”. Sé que algún día lo voy a alcanzar y todos se sorprenderán, cuando con orgullo les relate sobre lo que un día fue “un simple  deseo internacional ”.
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2
You once said I read too much Le Carré or maybe Guevara, which could be true but I’m really just a hillbilly at heart with dreams of going to Chile with you on a fast boat running guns, but no más because you, you can dream forever without ever remembering who I was lying in your bed somewhere in Argentina reading Borges, wearing that black beret you brought with you from Bolivia, sweet Olivia, daydreaming of nights with Che.
0
Feb 11, 2019
Feb 11, 2019 at 10:22 PM UTC
r-2
Daydreaming of nights
You once said I read too much Le Carré or maybe Guevara, which could be true but I’m really just a hillbilly at heart with dreams of going to Chile with you on a fast boat running guns, but no más because you, you can dream forever without ever remembering who I was lying in your bed somewhere in Argentina reading Borges, wearing that black beret you brought with you from Bolivia, sweet Olivia, daydreaming of nights with Che.
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11
Yesterday she was nowhere to be found In the earth or under the earth. Suddenly she is all here - a bright soon Of a tomorrow in earnest and potluck joy, embers and pyres, iris and the merriment of ochre. A star groomed by outer space - spilling wet ash And fissured out by the tailored saw of the wood. Now something is stirring in the smolder. We call it a girl. Still wowed. She has no idea where she is. Her eyes, chalcedony stones, explore ripening doomsday and an ivory moon rock. Is this the world? It confuses her. It is a great numbness. She pulls herself together, rousing to the new weight of things And to that maternal figure nuzzling her, and to her down burrow. She rests From the first infinite shock of light, the empty laze Of the curious and their curious questions - What has happened? What am I? Her ears keep on inquiring, blissfully. But her legs are impatient, Mending from so long nothingnesses Her tiny hands are restless with ideas, they start to try a few out, Swaying this way and that, Grasping for balance, learning fast - And she's suddenly upright And stretching - a giant hand Strokes her from top to toe Perfecting her outline, as she tightens The knot of herself. Now she comes to - Bold, beautiful - Argentina Over the weird world. Her nose crimson and magnetic, draws her, consciously sounding, A petite yaff, aimed towards her mother. And the world is warm And gentle and softens her daze. Touch by touch Everything fits her together. Soon she'll almost be a woman. She wants to be a Woman, Pretending each day more and more Woman Till she's the perfect Woman. The immortal Woman Will surge through her, weightless, unbound, a twirling flame Beneath silver gusts, It will coil her eyeballs and her heels In a single outlaw fright - like the awe Between mortar and firework. And curve her neck, like a crocodile emerging from the placid pond Among lilies, And fling the new moons over her shimmery banner, All the full moons and the dark moons. Booming, ineffable delight.
0
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 4:59 AM UTC
martin-narrod
Nueva Beba
Yesterday she was nowhere to be found In the earth or under the earth. Suddenly she is all here - a bright soon Of a tomorrow in earnest and potluck joy, embers and pyres, iris and the merriment of ochre. A star groomed by outer space - spilling wet ash And fissured out by the tailored saw of the wood. Now something is stirring in the smolder. We call it a girl. Still wowed. She has no idea where she is. Her eyes, chalcedony stones, explore ripening doomsday and an ivory moon rock. Is this the world? It confuses her. It is a great numbness. She pulls herself together, rousing to the new weight of things And to that maternal figure nuzzling her, and to her down burrow. She rests From the first infinite shock of light, the empty laze Of the curious and their curious questions - What has happened? What am I? Her ears keep on inquiring, blissfully. But her legs are impatient, Mending from so long nothingnesses Her tiny hands are restless with ideas, they start to try a few out, Swaying this way and that, Grasping for balance, learning fast - And she's suddenly upright And stretching - a giant hand Strokes her from top to toe Perfecting her outline, as she tightens The knot of herself. Now she comes to - Bold, beautiful - Argentina Over the weird world. Her nose crimson and magnetic, draws her, consciously sounding, A petite yaff, aimed towards her mother. And the world is warm And gentle and softens her daze. Touch by touch Everything fits her together. Soon she'll almost be a woman. She wants to be a Woman, Pretending each day more and more Woman Till she's the perfect Woman. The immortal Woman Will surge through her, weightless, unbound, a twirling flame Beneath silver gusts, It will coil her eyeballs and her heels In a single outlaw fright - like the awe Between mortar and firework. And curve her neck, like a crocodile emerging from the placid pond Among lilies, And fling the new moons over her shimmery banner, All the full moons and the dark moons. Booming, ineffable delight.
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51
You could desperate hear me start weeping Ruckus started to crying to crack tangerine holds one still upright auburn as an immortal's loneliness fogged or condemned stays a Sahara burnt hot tambourine a hangover led Arabian a broken record some shattered the bathroom bar. I wonder for my brother's dowry on beds too kempt to be called beds and doorframes and lamps set never high enough to hit again, to stand to kneel to lock to lash to hold to my brother's body now felt to me like the female sold fragile to the greater cities with a vote, he clearly left his Argentina behind no matter how she paled, ended struck. No longer a child or sister to pass as to take guests in alone to stand our married couple's cries an unmuteable radio can't go back to playrooms for imparallel dignities' sake that made all the noise at night worth it to deal with I, don't want to play the rook if no horse of yours' beside. Now once the scarcity of your voice, if even morbid, is to be greeted by me alone, Adam and Eve we have unable to see, just for the empty halls of your decision just for me to hit, your turned leaf hidden agenda of relief, I recognise my faiths of the old of your endless mornings supposedly killed by snoring and your vividness to my thoughts a foreign concept, to note you resurrected out of mind and out of sight the congruence picks me out and slaps me that our cocoon and safe designed for you was nothing short of a coma web in your eyes to begin with instead. ... I look out to my brother's dowry to hold stubborn, fainted in my nook the head of my brother's body to sit on his old air this house keeps like a sari gem he will never long for again.
0
Dec 14, 2020
Dec 14, 2020 at 10:10 AM UTC
DanRo
Jasper for Broken Sands
You could desperate hear me start weeping Ruckus started to crying to crack tangerine holds one still upright auburn as an immortal's loneliness fogged or condemned stays a Sahara burnt hot tambourine a hangover led Arabian a broken record some shattered the bathroom bar. I wonder for my brother's dowry on beds too kempt to be called beds and doorframes and lamps set never high enough to hit again, to stand to kneel to lock to lash to hold to my brother's body now felt to me like the female sold fragile to the greater cities with a vote, he clearly left his Argentina behind no matter how she paled, ended struck. No longer a child or sister to pass as to take guests in alone to stand our married couple's cries an unmuteable radio can't go back to playrooms for imparallel dignities' sake that made all the noise at night worth it to deal with I, don't want to play the rook if no horse of yours' beside. Now once the scarcity of your voice, if even morbid, is to be greeted by me alone, Adam and Eve we have unable to see, just for the empty halls of your decision just for me to hit, your turned leaf hidden agenda of relief, I recognise my faiths of the old of your endless mornings supposedly killed by snoring and your vividness to my thoughts a foreign concept, to note you resurrected out of mind and out of sight the congruence picks me out and slaps me that our cocoon and safe designed for you was nothing short of a coma web in your eyes to begin with instead. ... I look out to my brother's dowry to hold stubborn, fainted in my nook the head of my brother's body to sit on his old air this house keeps like a sari gem he will never long for again.
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43
don’t ever tell me that you love me, I am afraid I will run away like                 the donkey you said your papa had when he was a boy                 on the farm he lived on somewhere in                 southern Argentina when he was 17 like you. it was his pride and beauty.
0
Aug 10, 2010
Aug 10, 2010 at 7:04 AM UTC
kelly-zhang
Your Papa's donkey
don’t ever tell me that you love me, I am afraid I will run away like                 the donkey you said your papa had when he was a boy                 on the farm he lived on somewhere in                 southern Argentina when he was 17 like you. it was his pride and beauty.
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8
Después de que la noche al fin duerme las incoherencias imprudente del día tú, te acercas susurrando a mis oídos : te deseo tanto!- Sé que te mueres de ganas de poseerme lo noto en tus ojos en el pulso delicioso de tu cuello en el roce de tus sudorosas manos maestras cuando acarician mis caderas insolentes de continuos estallidos. Mía es tu carne amor, lo fue antes, lo es ahora Soy la única que conoce tu cuerpo de memoria la única que lo navega entera sin zozobrar nunca la única que sabes que no dejarás que naufrague en confusos oleajes Adoro cuando me bebes entera y entre mi falda juguetea tu aliento. Tú me sacias con tu experiencia eres mi delicioso bohemio atrevido amante de mis pezones que despiertan cuando suave los muerdes. Ven amor, ya sabes que tu piel es mi locura Ven que mi sangre hierve al ver tu pene hinchado y apurado ven cariño y clava tu lanza ardiente entre mis piernas que ya están abiertos y humedos los capullos de mi flor. No sabes como venero tu cuerpo navegante gimiendo y gozando cuando te cabalgo. Amor, es en tus ojos donde puedo ver como te pierdes del mundo entero como te pierdes acabado en mì. Y te gozo lento te hechizo te blasfemo y te conjuro antes de que mi boca comience el descenso. Hoy tu marea está de fiesta danzando apetitoso sobre mi lengua. Que bello honor es recibir tus gotas de diamante perla sobre mì. AZUL STRAUSS MARKUART TITULO :Gotas de Diamante Perla Poema: Texto completo.] Autora :Azul Strauss M 18 de Mayo del 2015 BUENOS AIRES.ARGENTINA ©Copyright –Derecho de Autor Reservado _ Expediente nº EGXU-ZLQN-2W3E-96U2/1102180341429 Dirección Nacional de Derecho de Autor, República Argentina Protegido por OMPI y el Tratado internacional de Suiza sobre derechos de autores
0
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 12:44 AM UTC
azul-strauss-markuart
GOTAS DE DIAMANTE PERLA
Después de que la noche al fin duerme las incoherencias imprudente del día tú, te acercas susurrando a mis oídos : te deseo tanto!- Sé que te mueres de ganas de poseerme lo noto en tus ojos en el pulso delicioso de tu cuello en el roce de tus sudorosas manos maestras cuando acarician mis caderas insolentes de continuos estallidos. Mía es tu carne amor, lo fue antes, lo es ahora Soy la única que conoce tu cuerpo de memoria la única que lo navega entera sin zozobrar nunca la única que sabes que no dejarás que naufrague en confusos oleajes Adoro cuando me bebes entera y entre mi falda juguetea tu aliento. Tú me sacias con tu experiencia eres mi delicioso bohemio atrevido amante de mis pezones que despiertan cuando suave los muerdes. Ven amor, ya sabes que tu piel es mi locura Ven que mi sangre hierve al ver tu pene hinchado y apurado ven cariño y clava tu lanza ardiente entre mis piernas que ya están abiertos y humedos los capullos de mi flor. No sabes como venero tu cuerpo navegante gimiendo y gozando cuando te cabalgo. Amor, es en tus ojos donde puedo ver como te pierdes del mundo entero como te pierdes acabado en mì. Y te gozo lento te hechizo te blasfemo y te conjuro antes de que mi boca comience el descenso. Hoy tu marea está de fiesta danzando apetitoso sobre mi lengua. Que bello honor es recibir tus gotas de diamante perla sobre mì. AZUL STRAUSS MARKUART TITULO :Gotas de Diamante Perla Poema: Texto completo.] Autora :Azul Strauss M 18 de Mayo del 2015 BUENOS AIRES.ARGENTINA ©Copyright –Derecho de Autor Reservado _ Expediente nº EGXU-ZLQN-2W3E-96U2/1102180341429 Dirección Nacional de Derecho de Autor, República Argentina Protegido por OMPI y el Tratado internacional de Suiza sobre derechos de autores
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49
Most of the southern portion Of Argentina I stand alone Waiting In Buenos Aires For the elevation of my love Entirely free of her stones A statue shapely face With granite and crystalline rock Windy plateaus Breezing along the Rio Colorado Memories remain deep While my heart ponders I've so much blood in war To a woman Lady Eva Is her name Rings out in whispers In my ear so ghostly Our youth was so boldly But beautiful Her departure Deposit streams of tears That aches many nights I screamed out in agony And found myself in shame Now, I'm left alone and lost To a time Of past history How can an unsuccessful love Prison a desire That is worsen Than a sharpen sword A buried faith I cannot bring back
0
Jun 28, 2010
Jun 28, 2010 at 7:43 AM UTC
diverseman2020
An Argentina Affair
Most of the southern portion Of Argentina I stand alone Waiting In Buenos Aires For the elevation of my love Entirely free of her stones A statue shapely face With granite and crystalline rock Windy plateaus Breezing along the Rio Colorado Memories remain deep While my heart ponders I've so much blood in war To a woman Lady Eva Is her name Rings out in whispers In my ear so ghostly Our youth was so boldly But beautiful Her departure Deposit streams of tears That aches many nights I screamed out in agony And found myself in shame Now, I'm left alone and lost To a time Of past history How can an unsuccessful love Prison a desire That is worsen Than a sharpen sword A buried faith I cannot bring back
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35
This ship has set sail With a crew of fifty good men And twenty heavily coated dogs Over half the crew will be dead By the time we reach our destination On this secret government expedition Journey to the bottom of the world To find the Southern Pole The wind blows us where no life lives But the bitter cold From North America Past the southern tip of Argentina Harbored at the Falkland Islands For our last taste of civilization Six months Or maybe it was a year or more at sea To the icy shores of another planet Encased in endless days of darkness The ship became marooned In frozen oceanic tundra For many winter nights We the crew chiseled, shoveled And pick-axed our way to break free Of our prison made from solid crystal air Finally unyielding land ahead An unmovable iceberg We dock and unload Steady our sea legs to skis and sleds The dogs take off across this untraveled land Pulling us in tow Faster against the frigid wind Than our own frostbitten limbs would allow Ninety degrees south latitude lies somewhere ahead Blanketed in fresh snowfall and ice storms Supplies and moral run low as this weary travel continues on Shaded in zero visibility we set camp for the night Harbored against the soulless chill In a frozen crevice of ice mountain Our health deteriorated and the dogs drained Polar sleep sets in The arctic wind chills us to the bone And my cold eyes close
0
Sep 24, 2011
Sep 24, 2011 at 7:28 AM UTC
TonguesOfOthers
Antarctica
This ship has set sail With a crew of fifty good men And twenty heavily coated dogs Over half the crew will be dead By the time we reach our destination On this secret government expedition Journey to the bottom of the world To find the Southern Pole The wind blows us where no life lives But the bitter cold From North America Past the southern tip of Argentina Harbored at the Falkland Islands For our last taste of civilization Six months Or maybe it was a year or more at sea To the icy shores of another planet Encased in endless days of darkness The ship became marooned In frozen oceanic tundra For many winter nights We the crew chiseled, shoveled And pick-axed our way to break free Of our prison made from solid crystal air Finally unyielding land ahead An unmovable iceberg We dock and unload Steady our sea legs to skis and sleds The dogs take off across this untraveled land Pulling us in tow Faster against the frigid wind Than our own frostbitten limbs would allow Ninety degrees south latitude lies somewhere ahead Blanketed in fresh snowfall and ice storms Supplies and moral run low as this weary travel continues on Shaded in zero visibility we set camp for the night Harbored against the soulless chill In a frozen crevice of ice mountain Our health deteriorated and the dogs drained Polar sleep sets in The arctic wind chills us to the bone And my cold eyes close
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42
I cry for you Argentina hectic planet’s southern corner land of passion, crazy arena aforetime our bonds were stronger. No longer yours, you never mine our lives belonged together once I used to taste your scarlet wine, your gorgeous girls, your charming dance. The friends from ages, forgotten stories so much privation, my heart is sore my aging parents, the elder brothers your call is clear I shall wait no more. Exultant hugs, reunion is great my parent’s sanctuary regaining life but there is an end, a settled date cruel farewell that sticks its knife. I’ve seen those humid agates before I've heard how silence can drown the wail hair-raising feeling on every pore they'll stand upright, I will be frail. Oh, childhood playground! my old-time shelter long time impeded of children laughing no words no tears, this way is better my love, my kids, my home are waiting.
0
Jan 4, 2019
Jan 4, 2019 at 1:29 AM UTC
gringotoba
I cry for you Argentina
I cry for you Argentina hectic planet’s southern corner land of passion, crazy arena aforetime our bonds were stronger. No longer yours, you never mine our lives belonged together once I used to taste your scarlet wine, your gorgeous girls, your charming dance. The friends from ages, forgotten stories so much privation, my heart is sore my aging parents, the elder brothers your call is clear I shall wait no more. Exultant hugs, reunion is great my parent’s sanctuary regaining life but there is an end, a settled date cruel farewell that sticks its knife. I’ve seen those humid agates before I've heard how silence can drown the wail hair-raising feeling on every pore they'll stand upright, I will be frail. Oh, childhood playground! my old-time shelter long time impeded of children laughing no words no tears, this way is better my love, my kids, my home are waiting.
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24
I think you got it wrong You say Argentina we say not You say Malvenas we say Falkland Isles You say stole in 1830 how that makes me smile For in 1830 you where Portuguese Not Argentine You had no republic till 1860s time So from whom did you steal the country you live in ? Your history tainted and arguments thin. Your country is in tatters so why not have a war! Hang on the Junta tried that before!! You will look great on TV as you rally the cry ON TO THE FALKLANDS SO MORE SONS CAN DIE!! The battle is over now govern your own The Falklands are British so please stay at home.
0
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 9:55 AM UTC
MichealWolf
Oh Mrs Kirchner
I think you got it wrong You say Argentina we say not You say Malvenas we say Falkland Isles You say stole in 1830 how that makes me smile For in 1830 you where Portuguese Not Argentine You had no republic till 1860s time So from whom did you steal the country you live in ? Your history tainted and arguments thin. Your country is in tatters so why not have a war! Hang on the Junta tried that before!! You will look great on TV as you rally the cry ON TO THE FALKLANDS SO MORE SONS CAN DIE!! The battle is over now govern your own The Falklands are British so please stay at home.
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14
The television screen illuminates the mahogany walls of His Holiness’ office so different and distant from Marta’s casa in Iguazu, Argentina, her handwriting in Spanish, pleading the Holy Father from cheap paper, to return and attend to his people. On the screen, he sees the Garganta del Diablo exploding in what the headline calls ‘Biblical-style’ deluge. But He knows that the devil’s throat spills out a more subtle evil than flooding: a secret hatred, disjointed humanity, greed and gluttony and outpour of passion of futbol rather than prayer. My child, he writes, these falls bless the earth-- only God causes the floodgates to open and only together do we feel holy presence in the river’s spray. He licks his finger, turns over the page, and decides he needs not write more, besides Que Dios bendiga a tí y a Argentina. As the television flashes scenes of his pueblo y futbol.
0
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 2:29 PM UTC
e
Biblical-style deluge at Iguazu Falls
The television screen illuminates the mahogany walls of His Holiness’ office so different and distant from Marta’s casa in Iguazu, Argentina, her handwriting in Spanish, pleading the Holy Father from cheap paper, to return and attend to his people. On the screen, he sees the Garganta del Diablo exploding in what the headline calls ‘Biblical-style’ deluge. But He knows that the devil’s throat spills out a more subtle evil than flooding: a secret hatred, disjointed humanity, greed and gluttony and outpour of passion of futbol rather than prayer. My child, he writes, these falls bless the earth-- only God causes the floodgates to open and only together do we feel holy presence in the river’s spray. He licks his finger, turns over the page, and decides he needs not write more, besides Que Dios bendiga a tí y a Argentina. As the television flashes scenes of his pueblo y futbol.
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25
God has always come Back a woman. Long before there was a Jesus, Eve stood in a Garden And tried to correct Her brother's sin; She was Lilith then. She packed her bags, And strolled off  to the mountains to be with whomever she So chose; She left God and Adam to Figure it out: The lie the would tell; The creature they would Blame; The clothes. Yes, God has come Back multiple times, And in multiple screaming, Female  forms.. She came back as All the Dahomey Women, The Amazons, Salem Witches, Big Mommas Abuelas And midwives. God has. Had an endless Universe of lives. She even came back a a little Jewish girl; Stowed away in an attic During the Holocaust. In India she came as Phulan.  In Africa She came as Winnie, In Argentina, Chadron. While men may name their legends, myths and fables, just as Adam did. God has.never.had Names and titles In mind;   Every time a girl takes a breath she is reborn, she is there Carrying revolutions In her silences and eternity in her hair. She will come back A fire next time.
0
May 24, 2019
May 24, 2019 at 11:01 AM UTC
je-osun
The Truth About God
God has always come Back a woman. Long before there was a Jesus, Eve stood in a Garden And tried to correct Her brother's sin; She was Lilith then. She packed her bags, And strolled off  to the mountains to be with whomever she So chose; She left God and Adam to Figure it out: The lie the would tell; The creature they would Blame; The clothes. Yes, God has come Back multiple times, And in multiple screaming, Female  forms.. She came back as All the Dahomey Women, The Amazons, Salem Witches, Big Mommas Abuelas And midwives. God has. Had an endless Universe of lives. She even came back a a little Jewish girl; Stowed away in an attic During the Holocaust. In India she came as Phulan.  In Africa She came as Winnie, In Argentina, Chadron. While men may name their legends, myths and fables, just as Adam did. God has.never.had Names and titles In mind;   Every time a girl takes a breath she is reborn, she is there Carrying revolutions In her silences and eternity in her hair. She will come back A fire next time.
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55
The Voyage The big seagull sat on the bow of my rowing boat on my way to Argentina and Rosita, which I never met she had married guitar player- had unfriendly eyes ready to peck my eyes out. I regretted my heroism. I wanted to go to Argentina because of its pampas Beautiful horses and also to be famous for the voyage I was picked up by a merchant ship it was actually going the wrong way docked in Antwerp Free beer for the, would be the hero. I got a job on an old steamer bound for Argentina. Buenos Aires, A City with so many beautiful women it took a long before I got my stead looking for the tree of wisdom. I found it burning in the night the Gauchos were feeling cold and set fire to the tree. What matters is the journey which is a fine sentence to cover for absolute failure.
0
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 5:29 AM UTC
jan-oskar-hansen
voyage to Argentina
The Voyage The big seagull sat on the bow of my rowing boat on my way to Argentina and Rosita, which I never met she had married guitar player- had unfriendly eyes ready to peck my eyes out. I regretted my heroism. I wanted to go to Argentina because of its pampas Beautiful horses and also to be famous for the voyage I was picked up by a merchant ship it was actually going the wrong way docked in Antwerp Free beer for the, would be the hero. I got a job on an old steamer bound for Argentina. Buenos Aires, A City with so many beautiful women it took a long before I got my stead looking for the tree of wisdom. I found it burning in the night the Gauchos were feeling cold and set fire to the tree. What matters is the journey which is a fine sentence to cover for absolute failure.
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if i were in Paris i would march for you hold up a banner made from scraps of your favorite shirts if i were in Greece i would carve your face into a column of the parthenon with "God" written legibly across your lips (for He is love, and i love kissing you) if i were in China i would cover myself in paper mache disguise myself as a Terrecotta soldier, move up to commanding officer and lead the whole army to guard your resting place (because you are my emperor) if i were in Israel i would build a bomb shelter and safe from the heat of those who hate us, our bodies would discover fire if i were in Argentina i would lay claim on you the way the country claims LAS ISLAS MALVINAS and vows to never forget if i were in the United States i would miss you the way that Obama misses his intelligence briefings we would sit on our smartphones and text haikus back and forth as we sat back to back with each other darling? i love you to the comet Europe landed on and back.
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Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 12:38 AM UTC
kate-lyn
atlas
if i were in Paris i would march for you hold up a banner made from scraps of your favorite shirts if i were in Greece i would carve your face into a column of the parthenon with "God" written legibly across your lips (for He is love, and i love kissing you) if i were in China i would cover myself in paper mache disguise myself as a Terrecotta soldier, move up to commanding officer and lead the whole army to guard your resting place (because you are my emperor) if i were in Israel i would build a bomb shelter and safe from the heat of those who hate us, our bodies would discover fire if i were in Argentina i would lay claim on you the way the country claims LAS ISLAS MALVINAS and vows to never forget if i were in the United States i would miss you the way that Obama misses his intelligence briefings we would sit on our smartphones and text haikus back and forth as we sat back to back with each other darling? i love you to the comet Europe landed on and back.
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La princesa está triste... ¿Qué tendrá la princesa? Los suspiros se escapan de su boca de fresa, que ha perdido la risa, que ha perdido el color. La princesa está pálida en su silla de oro, está mudo el teclado de su clave sonoro, y en un vaso, olvidada, se desmaya una flor.El jardín puebla el triunfo de los pavos reales. Parlanchina, la dueña dice cosas banales, y vestido de rojo piruetea el bufón. La princesa no ríe, la princesa no siente; la princesa persigue por el cielo de Oriente la libélula vaga de una vaga ilusión.¿Piensa, acaso, en el príncipe de Golconda o de China, o en el que ha detenido su carroza argentina para ver de sus ojos la dulzura de luz? ¿O en el rey de las islas de las rosas fragantes, o en el que es soberano de los claros diamantes, o en el dueño orgulloso de las perlas de Ormuz?¡Ay!, la pobre princesa de la boca de rosa quiere ser golondrina, quiere ser mariposa, tener alas ligeras, bajo el cielo volar; ir al sol por la escala luminosa de un rayo, saludar a los lirios con los versos de mayo o perderse en el viento sobre el trueno del mar.Ya no quiere el palacio, ni la rueca de plata, ni el halcón encantado, ni el bufón escarlata, ni los cisnes unánimes en el lago de azur. Y están tristes las flores por la flor de la corte, los jazmines de Oriente, los nelumbos del Norte, de Occidente las dalias y las rosas del Sur.¡Pobrecita princesa  de los ojos azules! Está presa en sus oros, está presa en sus tules, en la jaula de mármol del palacio real; el palacio soberbio que vigilan los guardas, que custodian cien negros con sus cien alabardas, un lebrel que no duerme y un dragón colosal.¡Oh, quién fuera hipsipila que dejó la crisálida! (La princesa está triste, la princesa está pálida) ¡Oh visión adorada de oro, rosa y marfil! ¡Quién volara a la tierra donde un príncipe existe, -la princesa está pálida, la princesa está triste-, más brillante que el alba, más hermoso que abril!-«Calla, calla, princesa -dice el hada madrina-; en caballo, con alas, hacia acá se encamina, en el cinto la espada y en la mano el azor, el feliz caballero que te adora sin verte, y que llega de lejos, vencedor de la Muerte, a encenderte los labios con un beso de amor».
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1.7k
Rubén Darío
Sonatina
La princesa está triste... ¿Qué tendrá la princesa? Los suspiros se escapan de su boca de fresa, que ha perdido la risa, que ha perdido el color. La princesa está pálida en su silla de oro, está mudo el teclado de su clave sonoro, y en un vaso, olvidada, se desmaya una flor.El jardín puebla el triunfo de los pavos reales. Parlanchina, la dueña dice cosas banales, y vestido de rojo piruetea el bufón. La princesa no ríe, la princesa no siente; la princesa persigue por el cielo de Oriente la libélula vaga de una vaga ilusión.¿Piensa, acaso, en el príncipe de Golconda o de China, o en el que ha detenido su carroza argentina para ver de sus ojos la dulzura de luz? ¿O en el rey de las islas de las rosas fragantes, o en el que es soberano de los claros diamantes, o en el dueño orgulloso de las perlas de Ormuz?¡Ay!, la pobre princesa de la boca de rosa quiere ser golondrina, quiere ser mariposa, tener alas ligeras, bajo el cielo volar; ir al sol por la escala luminosa de un rayo, saludar a los lirios con los versos de mayo o perderse en el viento sobre el trueno del mar.Ya no quiere el palacio, ni la rueca de plata, ni el halcón encantado, ni el bufón escarlata, ni los cisnes unánimes en el lago de azur. Y están tristes las flores por la flor de la corte, los jazmines de Oriente, los nelumbos del Norte, de Occidente las dalias y las rosas del Sur.¡Pobrecita princesa  de los ojos azules! Está presa en sus oros, está presa en sus tules, en la jaula de mármol del palacio real; el palacio soberbio que vigilan los guardas, que custodian cien negros con sus cien alabardas, un lebrel que no duerme y un dragón colosal.¡Oh, quién fuera hipsipila que dejó la crisálida! (La princesa está triste, la princesa está pálida) ¡Oh visión adorada de oro, rosa y marfil! ¡Quién volara a la tierra donde un príncipe existe, -la princesa está pálida, la princesa está triste-, más brillante que el alba, más hermoso que abril!-«Calla, calla, princesa -dice el hada madrina-; en caballo, con alas, hacia acá se encamina, en el cinto la espada y en la mano el azor, el feliz caballero que te adora sin verte, y que llega de lejos, vencedor de la Muerte, a encenderte los labios con un beso de amor».
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