"cine" poems
Blueberry lemon juice
Gangly goose
Cruel brew moon
Roam
Soft lovely Mary
Sailor Taylor
Your lord, sinking sored
Vagon Ford
Virginia east coast roast
Most test
Chest, mess
Darling Dublin
Idaho, Ioawa
Cine noir
Lullaby
Mistic bee
Free my blue at the noon
Moaning soon
And the ring mostly seen
Chase my word
Siren fog
Heaven myths
Lick a lip
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 10:44 PM UTC
**Bought poetry magazine;
It's in English...
I do not know if my inability to understand the poems comes from not fully understanding the language, or because I am a not-well-read-ass.**
*He comprado una revista de poemas;
Está en inglés...
No sé si mi incapacidad por entender los poemas proviene de no comprender completamente el idioma o porque soy un asnito que no ha leído lo suficiente en su vida.*
I thought Café Americano would translate into American Coffee or just Coffee, but it does not, it is still Café Americano (but I have to order it with a snotty accent to be understood).
Pensé que Café Americano se traduciría a American Coffee o sólo a café, pero no, sigue llamándose Café Americano (sólo que tengo debo pedirlo con un acento mamoncito para que me entiendan).
**Now, secondary characters in my dreams speak English.
They say naughty word;
But in this language I am not disturb,
Thanks to the my access to american and british media, I am numb.**
*Ahora, los personajes secundarios de mis sueños hablan inglés.
Dicen palabritas sucias;
Pero en este idioma no me perturbo,
Gracias a mis años de ver porquerías en el cine, la T.V. e internet, estoy acostumbrada.*
Taco Bell's Spicy Chicken Enchilada Platter
No puedo evitar desearlo cada que lo veo anunciado, y siento que es traición a mi patria.
lol
ji ji ji
LOL
JA JA JA
1 dollar
15.10 pesos.
Wow
Puta madre.
One pomegranate, $2.50
Una granada, $37.75
No pomegranates for me, thank you
Puta madre.
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 11:49 AM UTC
The White Shirt
(To Vinayakan, cine actor)
I set out to buy a white shirt.
The man in the shop took out two-three white shirts together and put them down before me.
It’s Rs.1050/- This shirt fits you well.
For this one?
Rs.800/- It’s good, too.
That one?
Rs.450/- All are smashing!
Aren’t there anything costing less? In the range of 150--200?
An odd expression on his face.
Is there?
There is, but…
An odd kind of laughter on his face…
Where is that white shirt?
It’s not here. It’s there. Near that flower shop. In that corner.
There’s some problem with his smile.
What?
Sir, its what the dead wear!
Aha
Because it’s cheaper, those who wear that
Will die before their death?
Will those who were the more expensive white shirts, live even if they are dead?
Will the dead come alive, if they were more and more expensive shirts?
The dead white shirt
And the non-dead white shirt
Hung before me.
Finally, I bought a black shirt.
What’s it’s price?
No. I don’t like to tell you.
Kuzhur Wilson
Translated by: A.J. Thomas.
Apr 21, 2018
Apr 21, 2018 at 10:02 PM UTC
The other day I was raided
And arrested
With my visitor
And sent to the prison
By the police
I am a *****
Today she was also raided
But she was interviewed live
By all the TV channels
She was a cine actress
She and I do the same thing
In the dark
She is getting popularized
I am being demoralized
I am a *****
She is a star
Dec 29, 2010
Dec 29, 2010 at 10:21 PM UTC
I have committed a crime,
The cine that I have made
when my eyes saw you for the first time.
The first time was like a star has strucked me.
Zeus's bot has no impact like you have had in me.
It's like sleeping became a recipe for all my fantasies with you.
A dream with you I had many times,
Then I wake up bathed in sweat
And seeing you werent next to me.
A dream i had with you,
Ment dreaming with my eyes open,
Am I dead or alive?
Made you a main character that I can not chase in real life.
BY ERS
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 7:28 AM UTC
VII
This is my end
surely this is
the end of it all
all I know is here
and though I am
young this is the end
of life as I know it
now and soon I will
see my home no more
for this is my end
here where I shelter
from all I cannot
think beyond this ending
surely the end of all
I know is here
and will be gone
(after a cine still from 1930 of a St Kllda woman)
XVIIIa
house above the hut
of shadows holds itself
against the relentless wind
on so open a shore
islands and inlets beyond
reasonable number stand
before its policies
its promontory land
Up on the third floor
light fills every corner
expelling its shadows
to the hut held
within its sight
XVIIIb
slowly the darkness
reveals less than
a shadow thrown
against a plastered wall
inside silenced from the wind
an image grows as the eyes
succumb to less than light
used to looking Suggestion
and the memory of outside
supply the rest
(two poems connected by Chris Drury’s Hut of Shadows on North Uist)
XIX
following footsteps
crisp in the sand
hour-fresh from tide-fall
now the shadows form
in the weight of press
the imprint mark
different with every
fall of limb and claw
the 3-pronged bird-foot
the sandaled human
step singular one
before another after
another until perspective
conceals and merges
into distant sand
**
silence suddenly
the ringed plovers
hold their breath
then chorus
a chirping as they wade
together in their own
reflections
the water like glass
at their feet
mirroring
movement that light
hop for a few steps onto
a slight but sturdy island
tweet then terweet
inflected upwards
a questioning call
terweet?
XX1
the taste of salt sea
in the mouth
the touch of water
thick sea-water
on the legs between toes
the sharp cold plunge
immersion envelopment
sunlight throws a cascade
of bright steps across the sea
gradually merging into a band of light
ablaze on the horizon
at the base of distant Monarchs
a silhouette of massed rock
rises from the sea crowned
by static clouds decorating the sky
gentle white ermine-soft
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 3:40 AM UTC
Îmi pare rău.
Îmi pare rău că te -am reușit .
Toată viața mea
Am cerut să aparțină
Și nu am
Până când a venit de-a lungul .
Mi-ai dat adăpost
Și sa oprit durerea .
Ai chiar a ieșit din drumul spre dragoste * * de mine.
Dar, după un timp,
Am dat seama
Asta a fost tot o minciună
Deci, * * ea știa *** te-ai simțit .
** A ** ei a fost .
O fată te-a iubit .
Și nu mă refer.
Adică * o *
fata
Cine nu este de mine .
P.s. Different language-Romanian
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 5:24 PM UTC
our thoughts are cradled like an unexperienced parent.
our willingness to be in each others work.
to watch is to live. to live is to watch.
films speak more on how we see our worth to
others...
maybe it's the other way around.
the campus is giving 90s teen drama.
motion pictures is why we are
here.
i am the star.
no, is she. or is he. wait, it's
all of us...
it's the thought counts. it's the frames that
count. it's the thoughts that dictate the rate.
the obligation expands as some of the angels cry over
us. protecting the rest.
some scream like the students in 'cleaners'.
does the comedy make us think? or cry instead in the
seats of
cine lawan --
Me, [insert your name here], a filmmaker. we all win
an award or two. some of us do.
we still keep creating.
my thoughts hold me in a loose trance. dancing with
me in the heat -- walking
with me the rain.
the white lady - i mean ghost- must have stopped recording since
we can here our voices again.
is the world even gonna end? says a fragile student
two rows in front of me. their back facing her
front.
it's giving blue and hidden in the dark. illuminated
by the works of art.
cinema. it's films. movies.
that a big reason i'm alive.
it's a reason to continue
even if there is not a quick
fix to life.
films give us life. or is it
the other way
around?
as the filmmakers desends into madness -
i mean their seats,
they soak the experimental footage,
red dirt sprinkled everywhere in
a ditch--
one weeps and the other takes a shot
for a share later.
everything happens because we filmed it.
thought it. cast it. documented. recorded.
edited.
distributed.
a feedback loop.
we think we know how the plot will unfold.
i see the colors from the projections even
as i look ahead. Still. Here.
I am still here as
my thoughts-
Mar 15, 2025
Mar 15, 2025 at 10:21 PM UTC
Conoci a {M}i angel en un Verano lleno de amor [061818*],
Sin saber que llegaria tan pronto un {A}dios [070918],
Muchas aventu{R}as tuve a su lado,
empezando con la feria bajo la luna llena del verano [062318],
En el {T}elefono platicabamos hasta el amanecer,
en esas dos semanas, mi Corazon lleno de placer [062418-070818],
Mirando "Los {I}ncreibles" con mi hermanito en el cine,
tu mirada se distraia de la pelicula al reirme [062818]
Una tarde en Chuck-e-Cheese co{N}ociste a mis papas,
sentia cuanto me querias pues lo hiciste por volontad [070518]
Me pego un depression no entedia el motivo,
lloraba sin Consuelo mi Corazon sentia un vacio [070618-070818]
Lunes en la noche espere que me llamaras,
me dormi triste y en un llanto, nunca pense que se te olvidara…
te mande mi ultimo mensaje tu mensaje de buenas noches,
al recordar este moment, siento como el Corazon se me rompe [070918]
Martes en la tarde recibi la peor llamada,
Mi Amorcito Corazon se habia convierto en mi Angel de la Guardia [071018]
Sabes ese refran que dice "no sabes lo que tienes hasta que se te va"
Es mas que comprobado que es una triste realidad!
Hoy, Manana, y Siempre en mi vive tu recuerdo,
Te amo para siempre Handsomes espero anciosa nuestro encuentro!
Mar 10, 2020
Mar 10, 2020 at 1:49 PM UTC
Ms. Cine Margaret Alston, my Cousin who has an open mind
But it was her Mother, Ms. Stephanie Cox-Alston adding Wisdom combined
Ms. Cine who went on to achieve a Masters in Public Administration
It was her consistent class presentations being illustrations
Hard as they were, Ms. Alston stayed the course
It was her Mother’s encouragement and plenty of inspiration
But it was the everyday of God taking the wheel in driving Ms. Cine into a commodity of theory, Concept, Adaptability, Analytical and understanding
However, higher and greater education is knowledge with another milestone of Ms. Alston becoming an Honor student and achieving beyond her own expectations
But it was Long Island University Downtown Brooklyn Campus getting all the indications
Graduates all together waiting for their name to be called
LIU being my philosophy, “You are now successful to become true business scholars and achievers all will see, and as you depart through the final exit doors, it will be LIU and education you all did pursue
You are our products and our method of education your investment at LIU
A time you had some doubt
But you applied effort and we prepared you in the technique in how you will achieve
It doesn’t matter in the area of concentration
We instilled the discipline of what graduate education is all about
So hold your head high with pride and dignity and, say LIU loud
I graduated and I am proud
Throw your graduation hat up in the air
Walk on Graduates and our blessings in your future endeavors for you to preserver.
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 7:12 PM UTC
Se cern arginții boltei, prin sita de safir,
Totul viu, ferice, crunt au să-l răpună.
Și să-i facă rece, nesfârșit alb cimitir,
Norii cei negri, oștirile lui Vânt s-adună.
Regina Morții, cu dalba-i mantie, călare,
Suflarea-i de sloi, a tăcerii pânză țeasă.
Luncile cu joc și râset, pierdute-n uitare,
Blestemul vieții de apoi, alb pustiu lasă.
În codrul de plumb, un lup se tânguie amar,
Cine ne-a luat a primăverii poftă de viață,
Al verii dulce poem, al belșugului har?
Se odihnesc toate, sub pătura de gheață.
Mar 24, 2025
Mar 24, 2025 at 2:28 PM UTC
Te extraño.
Te extraño muchísimo.
Te extraño desde el día en que dejaste de quererme, que no necesariamente fue cuando me terminaste.
Te extraño más en las noches, cuando voy a bajar a cenar; a veces sola, a veces con mis papás. Te extraño a ti, a las cervezas que te tomabas, a las películas que veíamos, al espacio del sofá que ocupabas, a las cotufas que quemaba y a las que te quedaban ricas. Extraño los días que nos quedábamos dormidos después de comer y los que no también.
Extraño escucharte; escucharte cuando hablabas de todo y cuando hablabas de nada. Escucharte escribiendo, aunque no dijeras ni una palabra.
Extraño que me asustes, que me fastidies, que me suenes los dedos, la frente.
Extraño que me avises, extraño abrirte la puerta, extraño molestarme porque siempre te ibas temprano y porque nunca me avisabas.
Ahora, cómo me hace falta que te quedes aunque sea hasta las 8:30 acá para que me des el poquito de cariño y atención que me dabas.
Siempre me sentí importante contigo, aunque capaz dentro de tus tantas cosas nunca fui una prioridad. Aprendí a valorar el poquito tiempo que me regalabas y los momenticos chiquitos que me robaba durante el día.
A veces también extraño sentirme culpable por ocuparte tanto, porque sé que siempre tenías algo más importante que hacer.
Después de escribir tan poquito creo que te extraño más.
Extraño al --- de España. Extraño tus recuerdos. Extraño tus helados sorpresa, los primeros chocolates que me trajiste una noche y las últimas galletas que me bajaste del Ávila sin ganas. Extraño invitarte al cine aunque no te gustara. Extraño tus abrazos, creo que es lo que más extraño.
Empecé a extrañarte el día en que empecé a pensar cuándo y cómo tenía que decirte que te quería. Cuando tenía que pensarlo dos veces antes de besarte, abrazarte, escribirte, preguntarte. Desde entonces te extraño tanto, y cada vez más.
Jul 3, 2018
Jul 3, 2018 at 7:45 PM UTC
It was early Christmas Eve Day
There was light snow on the ground
And lightly, if you listened
You could hear the slightest sound
It wasn't from a choir
Nor, a speaker on the street
But, a voice, tired and raspy
That would not admit defeat
Normally, at Christmas
The street would be alive
With last minute visits
Before Santa would arrive
Gianni held a party
For the vendors out this way
But, this year, there'd be nothing
There was no party today
Behind his place, The Bluesman
Had moved inside from the cold
He'd moved to the old Church basement
Where his stories were still told
He'd head outside and sing some
His "med-cine" in his jug
Behind the Church he'd set up,
On a wood chair, with a rug
The Bluesman sang to no one
His voice crisp, but not as strong
The elements were tough now
But, they would not take his song
The pastor, always present
Standing, watching by the door
He loved hearing the Bluesman
But, he loved the people more
Some Sundays, not all though
The Bluesman would begin
The service for the pastor
Then the choir joined in
He'd sneak off to the basement
Or outside, with his guitar
The Bluesman, felt his music
Was his lightning in the jar
This morning, though not Sunday
He was singing to the few
Lost souls, and some locals
Who had nothing else to do
The church doors were wide open
Every candle had been lit
It wasn't cold inside there,
But, maybe, just a little bit
He sang some Christmas carols
Some old blues, and Lennon too
He stopped and took a swallow
That was the choirs cue
They'd come in from the alley
The pastor had them in behind
The Bluesman, kept on singing
He was lost inside his mind
The church was filling up though
The voices carried on the wind
To those who always came here
And those who never sinned
There were masks of every colour
In every second row
The pastor kept folks distanced
For this little make shift show
The Bluesman sang a few more
Then he spoke unto the crowd
"Keep those you love inside your heart"
Though it wasn't very loud
He walked on past the pastor
By the choir, to the stair
And like Clement Moore's old Santa
In a blink, he wasn't there
Things this year were different
Not like parties in the past
Held up at old Gianni's
No one knew how long they'd last
There was no star to sing to
It was early in the day
But, we'd got our Christmas present
We'd got to hear the Bluesman play
Maybe next year, would be better
Back to normal, as before
But, who knows, just what will happen
What the muses have in store
So, take the Christmas message
"Keep those you love inside your heart"
God bless you all this Christmas
Another year is set to start
Dec 15, 2020
Dec 15, 2020 at 3:52 PM UTC
Salir de verte significa una reflexión
Como aquella luego de una buena película de ficción
Salgo del cine
Ensimismado
Con el radio apagado
Y pensamientos volando.
Trato de atraparlos al volante
En esa película sí terminamos juntos.
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 9:10 PM UTC
El viento que entra en la cocina sacude el cartelón con el rostro de alguna actriz del cine mudo. Mary Pickford tal vez. Es bella, sus ojos brillan
suavemente y con la boca construyen una semisonrisa tiernísima, callada
También nosotros, aquí, somos actores mudos. Tenemos brillos suaves, ternuras sucias de sangre seca como niños, mucho silencio alrededor.
La platea prefiere el film sonoro. ¿Quién hizo esta película? De este lado de la pantalla, el nuestro, se oyen muertos soltando vida de a poquito como un crujir de sueños, los torturados gritan,
crepita gente en la prisión, bajo el estruendo de las botas militares la injusticia es un rugido infernal. Del otro lado, parece que ven pasar fantasmas pálidos y ningún piano los anuncia.
Te amo, Mary Pickford, sé que ahora me amás. Entra el viento y sacude nuestros amores de papel.
454
sap sap deibi coli pik decía david cassidy a los pies
de su melancolía en primavera ¡oh!
esa melancolía sonaba como siete cañones grandes de la
primera guerra mundial
cuando él la agitaba o bailaba con su hermoso costado
pero ahora callar
david cassidy sube por las calles del pueblo
y es como si hubiera un oleaje seco frío
más ***** que la cólera que ardió
con todo eso ¿qué hacer? ¿eh, presidentes?
se le evaporaron jugos entrañas humedades a david cassidy
dejándole huesos tirantes
crepitaciones cuando roza el otoño
¿alguno sabe realmente qué hacer?
david cassidy pisa rosas muertas ha mucho
y levanta un olor a podrido frágil
como la tía francesa que escapó al amanecer
qué pies señor algún día
david cassidy se encontrará varado en Cochrane Street o en la
esquina del cine
y no habrá más remedio que regarlo y cuidarlo del sol
david cassidy seguirá convirtiéndose en rosas
distraídas que los niños arrancarán
será un bello final una bella continuación mejor dicho
en vez de andar vagando por tanta tierra agua fuego y otoño
como todo lo que se tuesta asa quema o chamusca
y los que lo envidiaron se morirán de rabia o rabiosos
no irán a pájaros ni a peces ni nada
mientras que david cassidy
cantará todo lo que tenga que cantar
425
se sienta a la mesa y escribe
«con este poema no tomarás el poder» dice
«con estos versos no harás la Revolución» dice
«ni con miles de versos harás la Revolución» dice
y más: esos versos no han de servirle para
que peones maestros hacheros vivan mejor
coman mejor o él mismo coma viva mejor
ni para enamorar a una le servirán
no ganará plata con ellos
no entrará al cine gratis con ellos
no le **** ropa por ellos
no conseguirá tabaco o vino por ellos
ni papagayos ni bufandas ni barcos
ni toros ni paraguas conseguirá por ellos
si por ellos fuera la lluvia lo mojará
no alcanzará perdón o gracia por ellos
«con este poema no tomarás el poder» dice
«con estos versos no harás la Revolución» dice
«ni con miles de versos harás la Revolución» dice
se sienta a la mesa y escribe
423
Are you mine?
No, you're not
I lost you quite a while ago
Am I yours?
No, I'm not
You lost me quite a while ago
May 12, 2018
May 12, 2018 at 2:03 PM UTC
En este espacio cada uno es capaz
de zurcir sus vislumbres y tinieblas
árboles me rodean con sus patas de elefante
tengo un gong en las sienes memoriosas
en un banco como éste cubierto de ramitas
mi adolescencia aprendió a dostoievsky
y gracias a fernández moreno en chascomús
pensó el equivalente de anch'io son'pittore
tozudo como la cadencia de un molino
latigazo del aire desairado
sé del barro prolijo los segmentos
de cielo
las hojas muertas y el gemido o la brisa
no es un refugio pero da amparo
oasis ecológico con vista a la jornada
sin la miseria huésped en los lindes
pero con frisos de jactancia y humo
siempre me anima su propuesta de verdes
y la disfruto como si fuera un insomnio
de esos que transitan por los amores de la piel
proclive a tantas otras ceremonias
también me conforta su condición de isla
eco querellante del simulacro organizado
por fortuna libre de viejas simetrías
ya que sus canteros fingen otra retórica
lujo del pobre entre los opulentos galaxia de jubilados y niñeras
y seminaristas autoflagelados
que salen a respirar con los gorriones
siempre acudo a vos en peregrinación
plaza san martín de los pastitos elegantes
y de las muchachas que aprenden a besar
con los ojos cerrados como en el cine
427
Los mendigos anónimos
vienen del cine mudo
posan en blanco y *****
en la mano extendida
en el platillo estéril
en la gorra tumbada
en el viejo estribillo
en el tango que narra
de chanfle la miseria
está toda la historia
esa que no sabemos
los mendigos anónimos
antes tenían nombres
y memoria y subtítulos
313
de nepedepsit
m-am topit de nenumărate ori deasupra conceptului de a fi
de nepedepsit.
în greutate și durere, în extaz și plăcere
de nepedepsit indiferent.
imunitate și scutire.
când mă ating, când mă vreau, când iau foc și las scrum in urma mea
sunt de nepedepsit.
când mă arunc, când mă ridic, când mă sărut de
noapte bună blând
în mirosul ăsta ascuțit, de neuitat, de nepedepsit
când împletesc invidie în păr și mângâiere
nu mai știu cine sunt, cine ești
știu doar că sunt de nepedepsit.
sunt de nepedepsit.
ereditar, primordial, frumusețea de a fi turnat, clădit, construit și uitat de nepedepsit.
Jan 4, 2023
Jan 4, 2023 at 3:45 PM UTC