"cento" poems
The possibility of free declamation anchored
And lucid, inescapable rhythms
Do have meaning. They're strong as rocks
In the deep-toned Aeolian mode
For the listener, who listens in the snow,
A Poet could not but be gay,
The Impotence to Tell –
Still makes a poem a surprise!
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 10:54 PM UTC
Una nuvola arriva e copre,
Un ombra davanti al sole
Dalle tenebre
Diffonde la luce
Ha le forme di un tocco angelico
Forse un dio, premuroso,
O un suo messaggero,
Che abbaglia gli indifferenti
Ti avrò pensata una, due volte,
O forse cento o forse mille
Ogni volta era pura magia
Con le tue braccia a me avvolte
Ti avrò pensata urlando,
Piangendo e mentre ero felice.
Allo specchio mi son detto,
Rifarei tutto quel che andiam sognando
Apr 23, 2023
Apr 23, 2023 at 8:14 PM UTC
Row words through the riverous air -
The poison in your papers
Pituitary glands in the sun -
Solar sweat
The ripping in your repetition;
The cracking in your cranium.
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 7:17 AM UTC
Tuas parcas impressões não me comovem
Irrito-me a cada interrupção gentil que tu fazes e
Devoro a mim mesmo em lúgubre fome,
A lamentar o que de bom poderia ter feito
Se e se
Mas
Às três da tarde
Apodreço numa cadeira áspera
Quase tão fétido quanto a fruta do vômito
Passada do ponto de colheita
Às cinco da tarde
Eu já sou molho estragado
Setenta por cento aglomerado literal de leucócitos degenerados
Pus integral
Ao cair do sol,
Sou um alface hidropônico
Pronto para ser vendido, lavado e comido por ti
Interruptor imbecil.
Voltar-me-ei ao mar
Ao esgoto
Num estado de paz surda
A solidão é um inspirar sufocado
Sufoca
Oxida as ideias
É tortura comodamente induzida
Se hoje fervilho, é sorte
Pura boa-aventurança;
Pois do profundo cócito
Fui e voltei
E cá estou
Inteiro
Longe dos dentes de Deus.
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 5:16 AM UTC
Roses spices and onions skins off
Richie ride me back home
there's nowhere to hide from your love.
~~~~~
I thought I could find a place not to think of you for one day, so I went to the kitchen for a soup there was nothing to eat but pasta sauce and there you were
in front of me up in the spices
I had to use in place of meat on bone for boiling a soup.
Heating up battled water added cento tomato and the sauce
all kinds of spices; parsely real sea salts garlic pepper a pinch of taco spice wild cilantro, a garlic squized and cloves
(no basil)
cayene pepper did the magic
lemon juice added the final punch for my Mexican soup;
added a few granes bazmati rice found, added a white onion slice and blessed as I felt
"I cried me a river for you" and
The White Cliffs of Dover
songs came to mind to console
me as I broke shrinking down
the stinking onion was me
and noone to share my soup
I turned stove top off to go
wipe face off and
entering the bedroom I tripped
knees on the red floor unconsolable crying.
Yes the room was filled with
roses wild and roses red!
and again you made my day.
I felt so blessed to have
held so many of your treasures
in arms to see my hands half full with roses
and half full with bittersweet spices beheld.
Upon my bed a heart was carved
inscribed in tiny little
red rose buds and purple hearts
in your words "I love you"
I craweled to reach the bed careful not to disturb the million roses nor bleed feet with their thurns as they layed artisticly everywhere room full of roses,
I wept there caressed by your roses spices and songs
hugged all night long.
by insomnia bug
Oh please my darling Old Richie "ride me back home."
there's nowhere to hide
from your love.
~~~~~~~~~
Karijinbba-03/2020.
Copy Rights
Mar 8, 2020
Mar 8, 2020 at 7:59 AM UTC
Emily Dickinson – Cento
Me from Myself – to banish –
I’m Nobody! Who are you?
There is a pain – so utter
Time never did assuage
The Soul has Bandaged moments
Of Course – I prayed
Because Escape – is done-
The soul has moments of Escape –
To justify the Dream –
I took my Power in my Hand -
Creator – Shall I – bloom?
I thought if I could only Live
Somewhere – in Silence –
I dwell in Possibility –
The Impotence to Tell –
Exhilaration – is within –
Me from Myself – to banish –
I’m Nobody! Who are You?
KRose
July 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 6:58 PM UTC
We who went into the 4 a.m. of the world
regretting nothing but an unfinished song.
We who were murdered in the darkest lanes
and at the corner of the street.
I was much further out than you thought,
starless and fatherless, a dark water -
rescue me from this ocean.
In this part of the story I am the one who
changes minute by minute.
Beauty is the sole business of poetry -
I go on loving you like water but
every night fire breaks out from windows in Üsküdar.
Apr 14, 2019
Apr 14, 2019 at 9:34 PM UTC
And I just wanna tell you,
You forgave and I won't forget.
Some day, you will go away from this.
So glide away on soapy heels,
And promise not to promise anymore.
You've gotta be kind to yourself.
Now my only chance to talk to you
Is through my prayers;
I only wanted to tell you I care.
But I am blind,
I cannot find the heart I gave to you.
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 7:59 PM UTC
L'ultima cicala stride
sulla scorza gialla dell'eucalipto
i bambini raccolgono pinòli
indispensabili per la galantina
un cane alano urla dall'inferriata
di una villa ormai disabitata
le ville furono costruite dai padri
ma i figli non le hanno volute
ci sarebbe spazio per centomila terremotati
di qui non si vede nemmeno la proda
se può chiamarsi cosí quell'ottanta per cento
ceduta in uso ai bagnini
e sarebbe eccessivo pretendervi
una pace alcionica
il mare è d'altronde infestato
mentre i rifiuti in totale
formano ondulate collinette plastiche
esaurite le siepi hanno avuto lo sfratto
i deliziosi figli della ruggine
gli scriccioli o reatini come spesso
li citano i poeti. E c'è anche qualche boccio
di magnolia l'etichetta di un pediatra
ma qui i bambini volano in bicicletta
e non hanno bisogno delle sue cure
Chi vuole respirare a grandi zaffate
la musa del nostro tempo la precarietà
può passare di qui senza affrettarsi
è il colpo secco quello che fa orrore
non già l'evanescenza il dolce afflato del nulla
Hic manebimus se vi piace non proprio
ottimamente ma il meglio sarebbe troppo simile
alla morte ( e questa piace solo ai giovani)
1.2k
We are standing in line outside of something
often rebuked, yet always back returning.
I heard laughter and forgotten consonants,
its unrelenting memories of happiness
but inward grows a soberness, an awe.
Poverty gnashing its teeth like a blind cat at their lives.
Oh mother, mother, where is happiness?
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 2:57 PM UTC
I went to the river last night
Dreamed of being a river and sleeping like a river
You searched for a **** who was like a river
Along the East River and the Bronx
Just as you feel when you look on the river and sky, so I felt,
River! that in silence windest
On its way to a rendezvous with some river
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 2:34 AM UTC
I've always enjoyed thinking about the reasoning of our existence
Man was made in God's image
Then came woman to comfort man
Which u did by the way. Thank you
If eve never ate the Apple, man would have been immortal
So most men blame women for not making us live forever
But she did anyway
It made God decide a place in the heavens for us
So in a way, even the first woman knew exactly what she was doing
She did an exceptional job
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 5:46 AM UTC
Cento of the Poetry of Gutter Punk
Could you…take me as I am?
Feel the tremble of the parchment
I close my eyes
In the shadows of the Spruce
They weep like the willows
Walk on by as you’ve done before
Into the darkness
As my madness wept in black tears
A bleeding soul, fractured light
I slice the silver from my blade
**** **** **** life
And this ******* masquerade
Could you…take me as I am?
Eyes closed wide to the focus
On the sight
In the witching of night
‘Neath the misted sky
Walk with me through the dancing shadows
Could you…take me as I am?
The woe was seeded deep,
Deep in poetry
I tasted your tears
As they dripped and mixed with mine
Could you…take me as I am?
Silent steps through forlorn sands
That even in darkness we can love again
Could you…take me as I am?
Shadows don’t leave, they stay
Never, can you touch what I have
See what I have seen
Could you…take me as I am?
Kelly Rose
© April 12, 2017
This is a collage of brilliant lines from poems of Gutter Punk, whose poetry always touches something deep within me.
Apr 12, 2017
Apr 12, 2017 at 11:21 PM UTC
"No, just stop. No, just stop. No, just stop."
How long did I live like that?
"I'm out of money."
"Most people would **** for that score."
This is for the other woman.
You enjoy breathing,
beauty and truth.
We do live in a place where the rain hits the windows.
I'll be there.
The future is on the next page.
It's so loud in there right now.
He looks ancient.
Getting what you want destroys you.
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 7:51 AM UTC
Ricordi quand'eri saggina,
coi penduli grani che il vento
scoteva, come una manina
di ***** il sonaglio d'argento?
Cadeva la brina; la pioggia
cadeva: passavano uccelli
gemendo: tu gracile e roggia
tinnivi coi cento ramelli.
Ed oggi non più come ieri
tu senti la pioggia e la brina,
ma sgrigioli come quand'eri
saggina.
Restavi negletta nei solchi
quand'ogni pannocchia fu colta:
te, colsero, quando i bifolchi
v'ararono ancora una volta.
Un vecchio ti prese, recise,
legò; ti privò della bella
semenza tua rossa; e ti mise
nell'angolo, ad essere ancella.
E in casa tu resti, in un canto,
negletta qui come laggiù;
ma niuno è di casa pur quanto
sei tu.
Se t'odia colui che la trama
distende negli alti solai,
l'arguta gallina pur t'ama,
cui porti la preda che fai.
E t'ama anche senza, ché ai costi
ti sbalza, ed i grani t'invola,
residui del tempo che fosti
saggina, nei campi già sola.
Ma più, gracilando t'aspetta
con ciò che in tua vasta rapina
le strascichi dalla già netta
cucina.
Tu lasci che t'odiino, lasci
che t'amino: muta, il tuo giorno,
nell'angolo, resti, coi fasci
di stecchi che attendono il forno.
Nell'angolo il giorno tu resti,
pensosa del canto del gallo;
se al ***** tu già non ti presti,
che viene, e ti vuole cavallo.
Riporti, con lui che ti frena,
le paglie ch'hai tolte, e ben più;
e gioia or n'ha esso; ma pena
poi tu.
Sei l'umile ancella; ma reggi
la casa: tu sgridi a buon'ora,
mentre impaziente passeggi,
gl'ignavi che dormono ancora.
E quanto tu muovi dal canto,
la rondine è ancora nel nido;
e quando comincia il suo canto,
già ode per casa il tuo strido.
E l'alba il suo cielo rischiara,
ma prima lo spruzza e imperlina,
così come tu la tua cara
casina.
Sei l'umile ancella, ma regni
su l'umile casa pulita.
Minacci, rimproveri; insegni
ch'è bella, se pura, la vita.
Insegni, con l'acre tua cura
rodendo la pietra e la creta,
che sempre, per essere pura,
si logora l'anima lieta.
Insegni, tu sacra ad un rogo
non tardo, non bello, che più
di ciò che tu mondi, ti logori
tu!
961
All morning, as I sit thinking of you,
the Monarchs are passing.
Yet the moth has trim, and feistiness, and not a drop
of self-pity.
The twenty-winged cloud of yellow butterflies
floats into the field.
The irregular postage stamp of death;
a black moth the size of my left
thumbnail is all I’ve trapped in the damask.
Certainly, we all felt
this vastly hollowed-out distress.
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 3:55 PM UTC
from what i have tasted of desire
twas a divine insanity
the sky is torn across
thy voice is on the rolling air
tis moonlight, summer moonlight
who feels compassion for our inner fires.’
sung asleep with lullabies
groping, guessing, yet progressing
all the sweet pulsing aches
i remember the history well: and enjoy fully the delights of love –
become so still you hear the blood flowing through your veins -
my wildest force, will you return?
you flicker, i cannot touch you
dont feel sorry for me
i will take the sun in my mouth
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 2:42 AM UTC
Language can be used to unify
representing our cultural groupings
of religion,
caste,
region
Language is power,
the power to name
It is the most potent instrument of culture
Language is sweet tongued
riddles in speech
beautifully balanced rhythm
in original language
A widespread...language game
A game with hidden rules:
indigenous structures and rhythms
referring by analogy to something else
with hidden meanings which must be searched for
Take our language away and
We have fallen apart
A foreign tongue will send tremors of fear into every heart
“Oh Lord, save Thy people”
The great Evil has come:
Language of the small and elite
the petty-bourgeoisie readership
It has established a kind of presence
It has created its own momentum.
It doesn’t go anywhere.
There’s nothing you can do with it to make it sing.
It’s heavy. It’s wooden.
A strategy of language manipulation
The darkness drops again
Translation is a battleground,
mere anarchy loosened upon the world
The neutralizing alternative
interlanguage,
mimicking
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun
Take our language and our center cannot hold
Things fall apart.
Or construct the lens through which understanding takes place:
What is it in your dialect?
The result is incredible.
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 8:01 PM UTC
The fundamental things apply
Or that proud Aragon bent low his head,
is Achilles possible side by
side with powder and lead?
Dec 23, 2015
Dec 23, 2015 at 11:53 PM UTC
"Unlock my heart with a sonnet-key?"1
The Rose Is Obsolete,
But,2 her perfect feet,3
A poem should not mean / But be4
An axe to break the frozen sea
within us.5
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 4:38 PM UTC
It makes my flesh crawl to hear you
Yesterday, you know.
He should’ve been at the funeral
Friends and relatives of the missing gathered
Like a flame made weak by lies.
The good news was pounced upon and passed on
It couldn’t be a coincidence
The man's head had been sawed open
You didn’t close the door.
You let them in.
You killed him.
Nov 23, 2018
Nov 23, 2018 at 11:27 PM UTC
My baby is a headfuck
Is someone getting the best of you?
I tried so hard and got so far
And now the end is near
Turn around bright eyes
It’s time to say goodbye
I want to break free
It’s my life, it’s now or never
Take me, anywhere, far away, from here
Made a wrong turn once or twice
I’m hanging by a moment
There’s still tomorrow, hold on, hold on
With a rebel yell
Like a champagne supernova in the sky
It’s time to try defying gravity
And you can tell everybody
I’m moving on up
And you’re gonna hear me roar
I’m free as a bird
I believe in a thing called love
And I’m feeling good
Apr 27, 2019
Apr 27, 2019 at 5:38 PM UTC