"carmen" poems
What happened to the beautiful boisterous screaming queens of the 80's full of Gloria Gaynor dancing on bars & pianos & teasing & strutting & grabbing life by the *****
Every time I go to the Op Shop & see a pair of size 11 patent leather red pumps I think of you & put them on & walk around the shop just to remind me of the fabulous times.
Are you making lounges in the shape of Cadillacs or corsets or sculpting **** - tail glasses delicately gold leafed - centre table?
Back up x 30 in the Botanical Gardens at Mardi Gras & remember the good times, the sad times, the Carmen Miranda, feather boer, wig, **** & lipstick times my friends........
smooth jazz grand piano
.......
Dec 30, 2017
Dec 30, 2017 at 4:58 AM UTC
an anthracite & brown mass undulating seagulls' lost cries
& the summertime fishermen are gone
& you no longer wear that red dress, Carmen
sifting through ***** Sea foam
for periwinkles & pecten raveneli*
no longer barefoot on the Beach
& a child no longer asks for ice cream
the trees, rabid in their colors,
age creeps in with the increasing litter
& the stars shine coldly now
& the wind is picking up
the drifting remains of love
& packing them away
until Christmas
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 12:26 PM UTC
I am often under the impression that old fashioned street lamps
The ones with eight sided glass and black ornate poles
Are strategically placed by the city planning commissioner's office
To let me know the wardrobe is just a few dozen feet away
And it will take me away from this Narnia
If I just open the door
My phobia of opening doors gets worse every time I think I've finally found it
Only to walk right into the girls bathroom after lunch
On five alarm chili day at the cosmetology school in Little Korea Town
I don't like watering the plants
It makes me wonder why mother nature fell asleep on the job
But the plants are always telling me the rain can't get them inside my living room
So I started the fire that the insurance won't pay for
And the chemicals in the emergency sprinkler system killed the plants anyways
It also killed the fish
But the insurance adjuster wore gloves
So he's still alive
I would make a pretty ****** politician
I get upset at people who don't make sense
Though sometimes I don't make sense
I also have a bad habit of doing the wrong things for the right reasons
I have found Waldo three times
He says hi
Carmen Sandiego is in San Diego
Which makes that trip to Cairo a really bad piece of detective work
On a related note Al Gore is Captain Planet
And every time I hear a bug zapper
I think it is the bat from Fern Gully
But it is not
It's a bunch of dead moths in a box
Monkeys in a barrel
That's how my mind does things
Every time someone say "it is"
When "it's" would be acceptable
I remember The Land Before Time
"This is fun, it is, it is"
You are welcome
Jul 3, 2012
Jul 3, 2012 at 2:54 AM UTC
red tile roof ...
whitewash balcony in romanesque cemicircle ,
fridge full 'f
1 litro bottles Alhambra cerveza --
clawfoot tub, coldwater (couture)
$1000/week:
(i could live on that)
lucky strike spirals in spanish summer,
bare feet on the railing upturned to sun beaming on pearly albayzin of granada.
afternoon mojitos with a new woman ev'ry week. (reading magazines)
spend
75 drunk nights ( reading , smoking , swilling gin )
&
typewriter whirring out pages (underwood airbus laissez-faire)
flamenco on a record player back in the house
one of those spanish girls slipping off a white dress (which falls like a soft breath of cloud down to the ground and sits there
still as death)
as she gets into the jacuzzi.
&
spend
75 high days throwing change into fountains, hand
up skirt of my carmen-du-jour.
climb drydust hills with guinness tallcans in plastic borsa
drinking dark beauties as golden orb hung in clouds keeps on grinning heatwaves.
(feelin' like maybe perhaps possibly i be free)
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 3:44 PM UTC
we took the long way
to Hadley and MacFadden, goin' about twenty-five in twenty-six ways...
twelve sheets to the wind at a cosmic chili banquet. we wove through the tambourines and headlights -
cruising through the pinch in the grid, on the Eastside. where Margret hustles feathers from very still pigeons, and Mosley, that little runt Mosley conquered Connie Haskel's Willow Tree in the backyard.
we were coming up on something special in our Hometown
but we were low on gas, and had just bought Beer.
this scenario was on repeat. night after night in the sultry debauch of a languid stroll in a couch rocket.
glaring at the skirts on Perkins and 5th, that eat seaweed and cough drops.
they're so hot you just wanna drive a better car.
we used to park -
at Todd's Mom's and walk to the Slaughtered Hog and order a rack O' ribs and drink moonshine, smokin' that **** and sitting next to ****** jockeys in jogging suits and headbands that say " i sweat profusely, when I want too. "
And Carmen What'sHerName? used to get our table 'cause i figured out the location of her section.
she would smile and bring pecan pie
and flash those eyes that said " i'm off in an hour " . we sang to Muzak - and
left our To-Go Boxes at the table; stumbling through the lot
fumbling for the keys to the TARDIS.
and thinking about Carmen.
May 3, 2013
May 3, 2013 at 7:44 PM UTC
Your poetry holds picnics in the places
where some would say that words should never go;
there's strange delight in passing through those spaces
where nouns are tame and verbs are safe to know
to kingdoms where you colour past the lines,
where adjectives and adverbs long to tread—
the other side of “do not enter” signs
where rulers cannot reach the words you said.
Yet nothing's for the sake of mere transgression:
your words below, your metaphors above,
with every part of speech in your possession
together make a verbal kind of love;
conceiving thought anew, and giving birth
to cast and recreate the very earth.
May 24, 2010
May 24, 2010 at 11:24 AM UTC
Carmen's legs
are pixilated cerulean.
Rubbing beasts
that itch at untouchable
bruises beneath her skin.
Her computer is on.
She rests crossed legs
on its desk.
There's something sticky about her skin.
Carmen's date is calling,
her speakers make a sound
like **** plopping in a toilet.
The webcam blinks
like Sauron's eye.
Carmen has never had
any of the cards
in her hands.
Not a whiff of a queen of hearts
or a jack
of all trades.
It seems she's been slipping for awhile now,
in her black room, colored
by the glow of some
techni-cyclops'
cavernous mouth,
crimson, heart-shaped teeth,
and scythe tongue.
She has never known the war machine
of love,
or the war machine of self-determinism.
Now she does,
her compudate buzzes on-screen.
Tiny sprouted pixels
jump into a constantly
buzzing whole.
He's got a bored face,
and Carmen knows this is the look
of the generation.
Carmen lifts her legs from the desk.
Puts her hands on her lap.
Licks her lips.
She wants to know
what lowered human beings
do when they are restless.
She is seeking something
moreso
philosophical
than
******
"Bored, much?"
Carmen asks sardonically.
He took it literally.
He jumped at attention.
"Oh, no,
now that I've seen you."
"How do these things work?"
"Well, I guess we talk to each other,
and if you like me
then we go from there."
And to Carmen this was reticence,
this was blasphemy.
She had the cards in her hands,
finally.
Carmen's legs are pixilated high cerulean.
Cerulean the color of
a tiger ocean,
****** cakes,
slushies,
a sun-fucked sky,
a corpse. Skin against a computer screen.
Jun 28, 2012
Jun 28, 2012 at 12:26 AM UTC
Sunday 40,88 82 82 80 82 Between South Africa, Brazil and Macedonia 600-100-300 300 John Wilson, 300 + 40.82 Congress, eight letters, George Washington. Brazilian art gallery More than 1,300 years later, German, African and Chinese ****** arrive in South Africa, Mexico, Brazil, 60.6006 million 40600300600 (20) ******* divorcees, 8,8,8,8, Brazil, Brazil Brazil, 600 600 600, 600, 82 300, 300, 300 Brazil, 40.82 - another "teacher" in France France is full of ****** from Brazil 600-100 - Six dogs and ****** are full of the fruity aromas of Carmen Campbell, a woman who lives with prostitutes; Prostitutes have existed for 300,700 years (according to Tom Wilson) 300 8 George W. Ashington, USA Euro, Brazil, Brazil, Gabon, Morocco, Ra Ramalin, Harlem, 0.82, Latin America, Africa, Macedonia, South Africa, 40.82, Yobe Africa, Morocco, 40-82 years. MacDonald's, May 2, South Africa, Curse, United Kingdom, Russians, whores' ****** and G'ilimão de Mécoques 2011 6,000,000 days in South Africa, China, South Africa, Go-Go UK / EU. Yuku Uyu and 600, 600, 600, 600, 600 Google ****** Yeh, one Sunday, George Washington attended the coronation of George W. Murray 40.82 600-100-300 300 300 Tom Wilson has Good News for Ephraim in South Africa, ****** from Africa And South Africa bloom in the dust of South Africa. 82300300 has a place of landing for Brooklyn ****** Washington ****** and ****** from East New York in South Africa with 600 600 000 300 (8) 600 doctors, South Africa Google with more than 600 people. 5-300000 600,600,000,600,600 600,000 John Wilson, George Washington, 200,000 in 50000 - 60000600402 in the morning 6006,0066 3006 63 00000 100 600 600 600 600 ****** are here. 600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,
600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,00,600,660,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,
600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,600,60,6 ******* canned report 600600600 40, 82, Brazil, South African and possibly poisonous, 300B - ******* for Tom Wilson, Rudolf, Morocco 600-100-300300 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 6 600 6 600 6 600 6 600 6 600 6 600 6 600 6 600 6 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 600 1300 Brazilian Producers Paul Paulson, Wilson 2: 40.82, South Africa, South Africa and Brazil 600 600 600 United States' 'Hamster' Washington 100 6006006 Miami, Florida 300,600 82.3003 million more in Brazil, South Africa, Mexico and Russia; Tom Hamilton 40.82 to Morocco and Brazil, South Africa; Freedom in Ohio as a frontier wife, Macedonia, Brazil; United States, Spain, Brazil 20.8 Aborigines, Moroccan, Brooklyn and Harlem ****** 0.82, Decoration: Often, a professional, in fact, is a pre-recorded decision. Others see teenagers, while others see "magic." Doyle is the most vicious woman, of the bride for $15 per night to support her classmate, the "ex" ********** who is still a ********** The figures show that prostitutes are from the local community, that they are disgusting ****** and a woman who has been trafficked for less than a month can reduce stress she receives through using a ********** **** ******* your *** is your money! Your ******* donkeys, and donkeys are your money.
Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 10:58 AM UTC
All that will remain is bones and rotting meat
Toss it in a cheap wicker box for worms to eat
Topped just with wild flowers and no cement
Plant a weeping willow instead of a monument
It can do the weeping, please don't you cry
There is a chance that I'll be busy when I die
For if I am wrong and there is life after this
I have plans with whom I'll dine and reminisce
I'll be dining with Oscar Wilde and Caravaggio
Cocktails and conversation with Kant and Plato
Then with Bellini, Verdi and Rossini I'll take a Show
An interval tipple and discourse with Rousseau
An after party with Bakunin and Proudhon
Whisky and blues with Howlin Wolf til I'm gone
I shall breakfast the next day with Tz'u Hsi, Homer and Malcolm X
And take morning coffee with Gandhi and Marc Bolan from T.Rex
At noon a spicy ****** Mary with Mary Queen of Scots,
Freddie Mercury, Lou Reed, Picasso and lots of tequila shots
Lunch that day with Saladin, Karl and Groucho Marx
Then smoke a pipe with Newton whilst discussing quarks
Afternoon tea with Queen Victoria, Kipling and Colin Ward
Followed by a game of Tafl with a viking on a giant board
Dress for flamenco with Carmen Amaya (then dress the blisters)
Then pre-dinner drinks paid for by Geronimo and the Bronte sisters
So you see, if I'm wrong
And we actually move along
A fascinating after life awaits me
Yeah, when I'm gone from here
There'll be plenty gin and beer
Cucumber sandwich's and tea
If you wonder what I'm doing
Give your watch a quick viewing
Then just check this poem and you'll see
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 8:56 AM UTC
the sea is sighing like a woman
and I can hear its breath
of a hunted man
nearby yellow flowers
wild stones
salt drops stinging my arms
two seagulls dart out of my eyes
and fly side by side
speaking to each other over water
like human beings
in the absence of love
Carmen Firan
translated by Andrei Bantas
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 2:36 AM UTC
little little carmen
so immodest without a care
dancing with that red dress on
and singing awful songs
little little carmen
flitting back and forth
so girlish in the midst of boys
so manly among girls
little little carmen
you're so quick to fill your head
with nasty jokes and ***** thoughts
I wish you'd show a little shame
little little carmen
don't say a single word
they'll tell you you have issues
and to "keep those ****** legs closed"
little little carmen
you are the best-est of them all
I loved you for how crude you were
how you brought me ungodly thrills
little little carmen
tell me what it is you want
you are the best, yes I adore
my blood red, snow white *****
little little carmen
all wrapped up in her head
got them wrapped around her finger
but she had never felt more dread
little little carmen
you're so full of life and worldly light
I never knew why you reeked of death
while you made love to the devil every night
lovely lovely carmen
never spoke of light at the end of the tunnel
you were always hovering there
I'll throw your ashes into the air
lovely lovely carmen
I learned this dance from you
your ashes look like blackened snow
as sullied as you were
lovely lovely carmen
I've memorized your song
I'll sing this tune as loud as you
they whisper carmen never dies
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 6:35 AM UTC
Tree, Old Tree of the Triple Crook
And the rope of the Black Election,
'Tis the faith of the Fool that a race you rule
Can never achieve perfection:
So 'It's O, for the time of the new Sublime
And the better than human way,
When the Rat (poor beast) shall come to his own
And the Wolf shall have his day!'
For Tree, Old Tree of the Triple Beam
And the power of provocation,
You have cockered the Brute with your dreadful fruit
Till your fruit is mere stupration:
And 'It's how should we rise to be pure and wise,
And how can we choose but fall,
So long as the Hangman makes us dread,
And the Noose floats free for all?'
So Tree, Old Tree of the Triple Coign
And the trick there's no recalling,
They will haggle and hew till they hack you through
And at last they lay you sprawling:
When 'Hey! for the hour of the race in flower
And the long good-bye to sin!'
And for the lack the fires of Hell gone out
Of the fuel to keep them in!'
But Tree, Old Tree of the Triple Bough
And the ghastly Dreams that tend you,
Your growth began with the life of Man,
And only his death can end you.
They may tug in line at your hempen twine,
They may flourish with axe and saw;
But your taproot drinks of the Sacred Springs
In the living rock of Law.
And Tree, Old Tree of the Triple Fork,
When the spent sun reels and blunders
Down a welkin lit with the flare of the Pit
As it seethes in spate and thunders,
Stern on the glare of the tortured air
Your lines august shall gloom,
And your master-beam be the last thing whelmed
In the ruining roar of Doom.
1.5k
Carpe diem/A poem written in very odd Latin!!
Carpe Diem,
Angelus obscurus suni,
Quaque nocte, diglossios,
Pavor Nocturnus,metus,
Sominum,
Scribo carmen poeta,
Vita amnia fides,
Omni vincit omnia!
Well that was fine fun **
Full permission granted to those who wish to laugh!!
For,I believe I have written,
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Seize the day, (I know that's right),
I am the dark angel, gloomy,
Every night I don't sleep, because I have breathing difficulties!, fear,
leads to night terrors, daydreams,
writing poems,
Life and trust,
Love conquers all!
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Kind regards, Livvi,
Apologies for the somewhat odd content!!
Couldn't work out suitable phrases!!
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 7:20 AM UTC
I reflect with a projection,
when hearing
melodies of rhythm or
stronger
lower basses like guttural
voice chords, especially
in the dark or being on a waiting room
of a car ride,
whenever I want it or not
/
an endless dance or some
semi-tangible
image that twirls into
hot
red
rose
petals
even though
there’s no dress to whizz,
feet strong like Carmen Amaya’s
had no mercy for Iberian taverns’
dance floors of flamenco
/
watching that spectacle
always
from discarded collage views
/
of that accounting
and how no
voice is needed to direct
the melody a vector,
only let it be sung-thrung
through the heat rising
and orchestra listened to
completely, sharp motions in
the eyes of the crowd
or those who had ever considered
pondering on me like a philosophy...
Maybe such styles and asphyxiations
of rapid ragged jerkings of too sharp
notes in the air cutting
the atmosphere like a blunt knife
have got to me a long time ago,
stay ever more as visions to moves
audacious, and have been
chosen beforehand my vessel
without its decision to be turned
into something greater
in the collaboration with my own other dishes
to fit Passion.
Then - then - I always imagine - then
in all that how
any certain entity
would be looking at that,
taking it in from the outside
and what that painting of me
partly
will be made as
in their sculpted no flesh
eyes.
/
Thank you
Ladies, Gentlemen, Whoever Further
for attending
/
Nov 8, 2020
Nov 8, 2020 at 11:36 AM UTC
the therapists think he doesn't remember,
they think that it is a faded memory and that
derek doesn't know what he did
but he does
he does remember, he remembers holding her in his
arms, he remember intertwining her blood covered pale
hand with his own, he remembers looking down at her
and crying and wondering what did he do?
how could he do this?
he remembers screaming in agony as he heard her last
words, "i loved you so much"
he remembers wanting to stop his own
heart from beating and he would've, he would've he swore
to god that he would and he grabbed the knife and
he was so close, so close, so close to being
dead just like his love but then she came
she stopped him, just like she always stops him, he doesn't
want to be stopped this time though
but he is and she holds him to
her chest and she whispers sweet nothings as he cries
he hated her, he hated her so much this was all her fault
all of it was her fault; she was the one who told him to do it
she was the one who gave him the knife and said it
was either her or his love and he couldn't leave carmen;
carmen was always there for him and she always loved
him when everyone else didn't so he took the knife
and he killed the one girl who understood him, the one person
who he could've gladly spent the rest of his life
the therapists all think that derek doesn't remember,
but he does, he remembers it all; he remembers being
dragged to the hospital and forced into an asylum,
he remembers the word 'schizophrenia' being repeated
over and over again to his parents and he remembers
thinking that he was insane and that's why he had to leave home
he knows he isn't crazy though, he can't be because if he were
then carmen wouldn't love him and she does, she tells
him that she does everyday and she makes sure to say it
in present tense because she knows how he feels
about the word loved
(h.l.)
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 9:03 PM UTC
Incantations of a Madman
do I cast a spell with words of magic
is this just a mantra of proportional tragic
be it of Old English or maybe Germanic
sending ones self into a manic panic
are you one who is a giver or taker
trying to steal her smile you can't mistake her
be ye poet or simple candle maker
behind a mask truly a faker
Mesopotamian pow-wows and Gaelic chants
spiritual wisdom disguised as rants
from deep pockets of knee high pants
Cinderella slippers at a ballroom dance
wave your hand create a Carmen or prayer
conjure up visions of hell if you dare
whispered Yajna like you really care
the fire of Vishnu behind the glare
oh ye of troubled heart and mind
seek out the treasures left behind
feel the breath of tides that bind
bow your heads see what you find
Gomer LePoet....
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 1:23 PM UTC
Now that we are lungs of our own,
no longer governed by each other
or good-humored light,
angled to make us beautiful;
I leave, tightly grappled within,
as if still in genuflect
still spinning
inside our billowing confessions,
two bodies conquered by cool
curious, cunning damnation...
A friend,
in her venues of Valentines,
a countess of stones thrown
proffers me the hangman's colloquial
"You still feel him...?"
nodding, I recall
the contours & colors of love's collision
*"You just keep feeling it,
however much you wish it stop.
Feel it--feel it all,
there's no prompt drug
to make it go away..."*
She coddles my sloth of shoulders
with ginger wisdom of grandmothers.
Nodding, I give in
to the germinating futility...
I still remember him
blowing out the candles
at our small table
with our unfinished meal;
how we thatched anger-strangled hearts
with saffron sauces of exasperation...
each etching kiss
close to a divine cure,
each curve of our crude pose
close-captioned
for the appetite-impaired...
Each saline scurrying tear,
each lonely-wilderness of day,
I force a sort of Nut-cracker's strength
not to feel
that barrel-hollow loss
that gallery of Use-To-Be's
and my friend,
in her Carmen wisdom,
is surgeon savant
stitches me up,
I am less in swarms of his tangibility;
I breathe less of his fetch
flooding
I am slowly becoming
just a single prefix,
my own word and crutch
no matter how often I recall
the music of his touch
or all the colors
we felt so much...
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 8:51 PM UTC
Nakakabulayaw
ang umaalingawngaw
na sigaw
sa katahimikan nang malungkot na gabi
ng tatlong aninong susuray-suray
sa paglakad
habang binabagtas
ang madawag na bahagi ng gubat,
kung saan naglilisaw
ang masasamang loob
at hayop—
Lumabas ako ng bahay
at nakitang nagmamadali sa pagtakbo
ang isa sa mga anino
habang nagsisigaw ng "Pumarito kayo!"
kaya't agad din akong nagtakbo
at natutop na lamang ang sariling bibig
nang madatnan
ang malamig na bangkay
ng isang babaeng
walang alinlangang pinagsamantalahan.
Tirik ang matang
nakatingin sa kawalan katabi ng
Apr 22, 2019
Apr 22, 2019 at 12:20 AM UTC
"Darling, darling, doesn't have a problem
Lying to herself 'cause her liquor's top shelf
It's alarming honestly how charming she can be"-Lana Del Rey [Carmen]
Her hand on the Jack Daniels to escape the memories.
Undecipherable is her emotions
She looks you in the eyes, showing that she's not afraid
Not afraid, of the thoughts that haunt
the life she has to live
the expectations she has to fulfill
the beauty she has to uphold
but her melanin's juxtapose
They talk and talk
Her slurs on a thousand
She's charming and cute
you're in for a hoot
the Jack Daniels takes her into an abyss and brings her back like the touch of her spouse and ****** of their encounters: on the island, couch, in the bedroom.
Fading .. Relapsing in time. —Bejoux Soleil
#BSoleil
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 2:59 PM UTC
I grew up here...
Then moved to Sin City that sophomore year
afterwards a whole new world
Navy at 19 returning to the pier...
fresh meat they use to say
graduate of the great lakes boot heels
that's history - here now a days new to me -
reacquaint with youth and city
~~~~~~~
Beach city by the cool sea
not so easy city
not too busy, too ****** or greasy city,
to take your shirt off
to feel the breezy - city (i am)
curiously lost
exciteably exploring you
engorged
hard city
different from my boyhood
memory
not so scary-big - city
with beaches
a great place to grow-up
kind of city
open bike rides on my schwinn
safely happy
suburb city
she's maturity now successfully
downtown
sophisticated city
evolved from understanding
rainbow
city of girls who can be
as manly and boys are as
pretty, gritty
city
of individuality
(like a quirky
cousin, ***** brotha, neice
with Cali.-valley speak! - city)
there's so much i want to see,
learn and believe in
this city,
i am a long lost twin city
just a baby,
friendly city, ******* your full *****
city
care for me daily
wish me luck a lotto city
even in my muck and ****** bitties
unconditionally cradling me with love
this city...
californicating sea world and zoos
old town wanderlust
You're in my blood and Carmen
cool city
this city by the beach
This city
that I love...
Dec 24, 2015
Dec 24, 2015 at 1:19 AM UTC
¿Por qué siento mi corazón en llamas desde anoche? Hasta físicamente lo siento. Un ardor como cuando te cortas entre los dedos con una hoja de papel. Como cuando sientes que la piel se desgarra al caer.
He pensado más en la muerte estos días. Estando en el techo de Camilo, mientras salimos a ver la luna, no pude evitar pensar si la caída me mataría o solo me dejaría parapléjica. Son solo cinco pisos. En el metro he tenido los mismos pensamientos. Me asomo a ver si se acerca el tren y pienso en qué pasaría si finjo que me tropiezo, ¿qué pasaría si me dejo caer a las vías?
Otras veces solo quiero desaparecer. He pensado en irme sin decir nada. Sin ropa y sin avisar. El otro día fantaseaba con estar en mi lugar favorito de Playa del Carmen. Una banca que estaba en la primera planta de la salita de espera del muelle hace unos años. Cuando aún era una palapa y todo era de madera. Hace tanto que no voy. La última vez recuerdo que sólo la vi por fuera y está tan cambiada. Y me arrepentí de no haberme muerto allí, cuando aún me era mágico. E imaginé que tomaba muchas pastillas, me dirigía allí con un libro en la mano (García o Storni, cambiaba constantemente). Y me sentaba, leía un párrafo o dos. Sentía como mi cuerpo se adormecía. Dejaba el libro de lado y tomaba una última postal con los ojos de lo bello que es el mar. Cerraba los ojos. Desde que leí las distintas versiones de cómo murió Alfonsina, la del mar es mi favorita. Pero mi mayor miedo es morir ahogada, así que no fantaseo mucho sobre eso. Porque soy lo suficientemente cobarde como para no hacerme daño. Porque si muero quiero que sea rápido.
No lo haré ahora. Y no porque aún tenga pendientes. En realidad no los tengo. Sino porque aún me da miedo. Me da miedo qué sigue y aún creo en el castigo divino. Mi mayor miedo es el dolor que se debe sentir cuando uno muere. Como muchos suicidas han sido exitosos en sus ganas de morir, no pueden decirnos qué se siente. Ciertamente los muertos no hablan ni escriben historias. Me he preguntado si es como en las películas, si sientes que el alma se sale de tu cuerpo. Tengo la idea de que sí. Definitivamente creo en el alma, si no, no tendría miedo del castigo divino. Pero cuando mi alma se separe de mi cuerpo, presiento que sentiré vacío. Y odio sentir vacío.
Hay una mosca en mi habitación. Son tan sensibles esos insectos. Nunca he sabido si nos huelen o cómo detectan el olor de los animales muertos.
Quizá ya huelo a eso.
Nov 25, 2016
Nov 25, 2016 at 3:34 AM UTC
Your strength
and delicate resilience
showers us with hope,
love and deep thought.
As you fly high above,
the sound of your
mighty wings serves
as a reminder and
a healing…for your soul…
for ours…for those
beautiful, fragile ones
that shall endure
long after.
Your shining legacy
will live on, past any
of us, and
your strength shall
fly on eternity’s wings
into tomorrow, and
in the meantime,
our hearts fly
with you.
God bless you Carmen,
and all the ‘Carmens’
in the world!
-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights
*Written a few years ago, to be included with other
Poets words, dedicated to a victim of violence, **** and domestic abuse who was terribly burned and suffered immensely. This poem, and others, was collected in a poetry book for the victim: Carmen*
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 7:24 PM UTC
like a black-white current Queen; Queen,
Queen for several years for several days
to the left, the leaves, white and light are
maximum and a radio frequency reception 1;
Jesus Maria's dream to live in Colorado
as Carmen and the city grew, her gold and
she said to them: Because of the blood of
phosphorus, He took me a distance to
one of the trucks to go to the diseased women,
and choose a cloud sky while in a state
of free markets with some boys, Armenian;
Six men in evacuation Americans say annual
aggression; And savoring the air in freezing
sub-zero in black hair and beard, and fully
in communion
with all the ice water; English is an excellent
Igor, they will be the stars of the place of life,
or of Asia. | Three Greeks walking on the air;
and the glory, and the half of Babylon
a story has been a little brown; Time has
focused on home, Oh, Moses stands at the door
of the mirrors this year, and played as members
of the Performance playing as a lot of sites
that in addition to the patients to the disease
with the sound of the glass, Alchemy kids do,
even in favor 100%
of eliminating the cut In the pictures window
into the garden; The cold treatment of the brain
morning France is a friend of stone
push him in his arms a young girl in Russian
Follows the game's game I say white
like a black-white current Queen; Queen,
Queen for many years and several days
to the left, the leaves, white and light
are maximum and a radio frequency
reception 1; Jesus Maria's dream to live
in Colorado, Carmen and the city grew,
her gold and she said to them: Because
of the blood of phosphorus, He took me
away to one of the trucks
to go to the diseased women and choose
a cloudy sky; While in a state of free markets
will be some boys,
Armenian. Six men in evacuation
Americans say the annual aggression
And savor the air of free zero black hair and beard,
and fully in communion with all ice water;
the Englishman is an excellent Igor,
they will be the stars of the place of life, or of Asia,
Three Greeks walking on the air; and the glory,
and the half of Babylon a story has been
a little brown; Time has focused on home,
Oh, Moses stands at the door of the mirrors
this year, and played as members of the Performance
playing as a lot of sites that in addition
to the patients to the disease with the sound
of the glass, Alchemy kids do, even in favor of 100%
of eliminating the cut; In the pictures window
into the garden; The cold treatment of the brain
morning, France's friend of stone pushes him
into his arms;
a young girl in Russian follows the game's game;
I say the white white Queen is the current queen,
this year and for many years; Because the green
and white are the potential to leave the left,
the left and the radio frequency 1 and see
Jesus Maria's dream alive
Song in the United States;
Gold tells stories against them from the morning star,
which was taken far from hell, I just took my wife
and the sick woman; Cloud and as if the sky were to say
when in his free condition: Armenia and the release
of the men in the sixth, He was getting out of America;
Insurance, insurance, and no water streams
black and white film is written, Igor
In England; can not be bad stars in Asia,
There are people who are walking in the air
about Babylon, and glory
in the service of surveys to be, not to write a lady;
making a great power pack,
The glass is standing at the door
Taskers played on websites
if it fails, then glass; in glass,
so what the tastes of the
in the street of the kid I have promised:
and:white Queen is the current queen
year for many years; Because the green and white
are the potential to leave the left, the left
and the radio frequency 1 and see Jesus Maria's
dream alive Songs in the United States;
Gold tells stories against them from the morning
star, which was taken far from hell,
I just took my wife and sick woman up into the
Cloud and sky where to say when,
the son is freed without conditions: Armenia
and the release of the men of the Sixth
He was getting out of America
Health insurance, and no water streams
black and white film is written, Igor
In England; can not be bad stars in Asia,
There are people who are walking in the
air above Babylon that glory in the service
of surveys to be;
not to write a lady
takes a great power back; The glass is standing
at the door; Taskers playing on websites,
and if it fails, then glass is | glass,
so what is the taste of the woman
in the street, mother of the kid I have promised to...
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 9:12 PM UTC
No el mar, sino esta fuente junto al mar.
Y la ciudad, detrás. (Qué importa la ciudad.
La ciudad era tiempo: primero, Roma y sus murallas,
y sucesivamente, peces de barras rojas en el lomo,
rejerías y olivas, el poderío de las naves
de la Corona de Aragón.
Más tarde, un diálogo de humos).
La ciudad era un diálogo de aguas
-la fuente, el mar-; la vida, un diálogo de aguas,
una chiquillería desnudita y morena.
Y un griterío, un amontonamiento
en aquel aire cálido.
Y olor a hogueras, que no tienen tiempo.
Siempre a espaldas del tiempo.
Y nada más que ojos oscuros
para mirar, mirar, mirar...
Esto ocurría en lo que llaman,
los que no son de nuestra raza, pasado.
De noche me acercaba a las olas.
Las olas no ocultaban ruiseñores
como el agua del cántaro que yo apoyaba en la cadera.
De noche, entre las olas, de cara al tiempo congelado,
sonaba el mar a hojas de otoño, pisoteadas por los pájaros.
Ceñía mis tobillos de diamantes.
Allí era el reino del vaivén, del ritmo,
de lo eterno acunado. El mar tampoco,
como si fuera de mi raza, se encadenaba al tiempo.
Sonaba en mis oídos el ruiseñor del agua de la fuente,
oía los rumores del mundo.
Mi sangre era el mar mismo.
Me contagiaba de su movimiento.
Me enseñaban las olas a no morir jamás.
Lo sin tiempo es la muerte. Y aquello, el ritmo,
el tiempo vivo, pero detenido; algo que no conoce
ni principio ni fin, que no parte ni llega.
Era el mar y la fuente junto al mar.
Y entre los dos estaba yo.
Igual que ahora. Nuevamente unidos.
Cuántos racimos de años habrá exprimido el mar.
Por cuántos sitios -horas y lugares, qué sé yo-,
lo que dicen países, he llevado el centelleo de la espuma,
el oleaje de la llama...
Es posible que yo parezca diferente.
También quizás la fuente parezca diferente a los demás.
Yo no lo sé. Juntos estamos el mar, la fuente, yo.
Vinieron las autoridades,
artistas, periodistas, gentes que leen mi nombre en los periódicos.
Me dijeron que era mía la fuente
(cómo podían darme lo que era mío, mi vida, el mar, las nubes).
No pudieron matar mi vida, restituirme al tiempo,
cuando hablaban y hablaban del ayer, la gitana
de Somorrostro, y otra vez aquello del arte y de la gloria,
y más palabras sin sentido
que siguen pronunciando mientras me acerco hasta mi fuente,
y adorno mis muñecas con sus helados brazaletes,
y humedezco mis sienes, mezclo sus aguas con mis lágrimas.
Porque ahora pienso que he olvidado el cántaro,
y la tarde se queda sin ruiseñor que la ilumine,
y tengo miedo de volver sin agua,
y no sé dónde está el cántaro
y mi madre me va a reñir
porque a ver cómo vamos a guisar,
a lavar la ropita de los niños...
Y yo no sé qué le diré para que pueda comprenderlo.
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