"constellated" poems
Me gustas cuando callas porque estas como ausente,
y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te toca.
Parece que los ojos se te hubieran volado
y parece que un beso te cerrara la boca.
Como todas las cosas estan llenas de mi alma
emerges de las cosas, llena del alma mia.
Mariposa de sueno, te pareces a mi alma,
y te pareces a la palabra melancolia.
Me gustas cuando callas y estas como distante.
Y estas como quejandote, mariposa en arrullo.
Y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te alcanza:
dejame que me calle con el silencio tuyo.
Dejame que te hable tambien con tu silencio
claro como una lampara, simple como un anillo.
Eres como la noche, callada y constelada.
Tu silencio es de estrella, tan lejano y sencillo.
Me gustas cuando callas porque estas como ausente.
Distante y dolorosa como si hubieras muerto.
Una palabra entonces, una sonrisa bastan.
Y estoy alegre, alegre de que no sea cierto.
I like you when you are quiet because it is as though you are absent,
and you hear me from far away, and my voice does not touch you.
It looks as though your eyes had flown away
and it looks as if a kiss had sealed your mouth.
Like all things are full of my soul
You emerge from the things, full of my soul.
Dream butterfly, you look like my soul,
and you look like a melancoly word.
I like you when you are quiet and it is as though you are distant.
It is as though you are complaining, butterfly in lullaby.
And you hear me from far away, and my voice does not reach you:
let me fall quiet with your own silence.
Let me also speak to you with your silence
Clear like a lamp, simple like a ring.
You are like the night, quiet and constellated.
Your silence is of a star, so far away and solitary.
I like you when you are quiet because it is as though you are absent.
Distant and painful as if you had died.
A word then, a smile is enough.
And I am happy, happy that it is not true.
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 9:05 AM UTC
I dreamed that, as I wandered by the way,
Bare Winter suddenly was changed to Spring,
And gentle odours led my steps astray,
Mixed with a sound of waters murmuring
Along a shelving bank of turf, which lay
Under a copse, and hardly dared to fling
Its green arms round the ***** of the stream,
But kissed it and then fled, as thou mightest in dream.
There grew pied wind-flowers and violets,
Daisies, those pearled Arcturi of the earth,
The constellated flower that never sets;
Faint oxlips; tender bluebells, at whose birth
The sod scarce heaved; and that tall flower that wets—
Like a child, half in tenderness and mirth—
Its mother’s face with Heaven’s collected tears,
When the low wind, its playmate’s voice, it hears.
And in the warm hedge grew lush eglantine,
Green cowbind and the moonlight-coloured may,
And cherry-blossoms, and white cups, whose wine
Was the bright dew, yet drained not by the day;
And wild roses, and ivy serpentine,
With its dark buds and leaves, wandering astray;
And flowers azure, black, and streaked with gold,
Fairer than any wakened eyes behold.
And nearer to the river’s trembling edge
There grew broad flag-flowers, purple pranked with white,
And starry river buds among the sedge,
And floating water-lilies, broad and bright,
Which lit the oak that overhung the hedge
With moonlight beams of their own watery light;
And bulrushes, and reeds of such deep green
As soothed the dazzled eye with sober sheen.
Methought that of these visionary flowers
I made a nosegay, bound in such a way
That the same hues, which in their natural bowers
Were mingled or opposed, the like array
Kept these imprisoned children of the Hours
Within my hand,—and then, elate and gay,
I hastened to the spot whence I had come,
That I might there present it!—Oh! to whom?
3.3k
did you, even now, hope
to shut your eyes to so huge a crime,
my treacherous one, to think you could
stilly withdraw from my kingdom?
did our love not once hold you?
our ardent vows? or even I, Dido,
preparing to succumb barbaric death?
how could you, callous you!,
take wing to prepare your fleet in winter
—i’m sure to run aground—
when Boreas thrashes against the heavens?
but, if you weren’t pursuing unfamiliar soil
or incited to father a distant nation,
if ancient Ilium sturdily grimed through the war,
would you keep piercing the
wave-washed oceans in your armada?
why do you elude me; is it
because i have acceded irreality?
am i worthless, now?—i implore you!
by these tears, and your troth,
by our wedding vows, and this oath
before ***** we began:
if i deserve anything good from you,
or if you think, i was good enough
for you; pity this household
decaying before us! it was once yours, too.
and if my prayers are still yours,
gut them from my mind!
for now the Libyans and Numidians
hate me! dear Tyre is virulent!
as my honour and once-righteous
stature has vanished, just as i was
about to touch my constellated infamy.
for what destiny, my foreign one,
do you set me aside; ever-knowing
my imminent death?
seeing that only your name endures
from this union, why do i bother to keep living?
am i waiting for my brother, Pygmalion,
to destroy my Carthage’s walls, or a
Gætulian Iarbus to make me his concubine?
if only you gave me a son,
a little Æneas to play in my courts,
a boy to remind me of you;
only then, perhaps,
would i not be so utterly
violated, and
consumed.
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 1:06 PM UTC
The shadow moves above my eyes.
I'm blindfolded from sight, handcuffed from touch. The warm feeling of these lips upon my skin - ******* nibbling, biting from this excessive ****** lust and the crude tongue, playing a lecherous percussion of the forbidden dance on my ***** and ******** all this a tantalizing damnation, then this weapon I've been wanting, needing, craving is punched into me, pulling back and forth from horny-lovers lane. It lingers, simmers, agonizingly feeding my sexually crazed desires. I feel as if I'm crawling, brushing, climaxing my ***** and all that is around me. I let out a slow, mournful growl as I'm drawn to a constellated galaxy of ******** rush. Then I release myself through the milky-way returning to Earth, back in the beige-walled room. The blindfold is now off: free to sight, free to touch. I take a deep breath, look down upon my *** - I want to see him, the Mozart of my ****** pleasure; but instead I find her sitting there ******* her finger,wearing nothing but a smirk.
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 6:03 AM UTC
Pastel sighs
Dreaming of Bambi thighs
and intertwined lovers
under tea stained covers
Star filled wishes
of sweetened kisses
with ink mapped plans
on constellated hands
Pastel sighs
all alone in broken cries
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 7:43 PM UTC
I do not see the hills around,
Nor mark the tints the copses wear;
I do not note the grassy ground
And constellated daisies there.
I hear not the contralto note
Of cuckoos hid on either hand,
The whirr that shakes the nighthawk’s throat
When eve’s brown awning hoods the land.
Some say each songster, tree and mead—
All eloquent of love divine—
Receives their constant careful heed:
Such keen appraisement is not mine.
The tones around me that I hear,
The aspects, meanings, shapes I see,
Are those far back ones missed when near,
And now perceived too late by me!
2.1k
In a lavatory a pink transvestite
Applies ruby and rouge
To my cosmetic mask
Hoping for a wished encounter
A fiction overcomes us
Conveys us as strangers
Into an unknown territory
Leaves us there
The two of us, stranded
Our location inaccessible
As intuitive yet unpredictable
Thoughts cluster
In constellated
Images around
The rehearsed persona
Of myself
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 6:03 PM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, funny how a book can be translated by everyone's Mercury differently--edited;}
on a beauty so mystical on a plastered smile an essence so beam
yet not everlasting not in a bare nor a second tormenting blurt
such stars she begged them Gods for she tormented in a skeptic hurt
she trails her menaces to **** in a drip
of a bordeaux in a wine in a mindless sip
yearning erased letters from people from faces
a charm of a devil monster selfished her feels down her laces
a bound to the intimate
flushed upon the ultimate
of the hate of the ends
an evermore of upcoming pained centuries
moments the gods abide to hide to conceal
from human memory to blank and come across a past life to steal
then to the unconscious to plant on dreams and make souls heal
speechless left
one on the fictional
two on the cure in the weeks my delusional
believed seven constellated freckles pure by the character been held
mooned self-expressionism in sick mind delves I label mine
forever fallen saint on the line
--------ravenfeels
Apr 19, 2021
Apr 19, 2021 at 3:49 PM UTC
I wish to comb the now distant Eden
Adopting Penelope's marble poise
To find her marvelling Polaris' freedom
Not questioning her heart, unlike my words.
Vaulted abaft* her marmoreal* shoulders
Chiliad* tales won, your silhouette
Decorticating* off African suns.
Oil lamp explorer, icy caves your lamp
Cannot warm; There are paths to cross with will,
Verdant* bridges constellated* with time.
Yet you, Inexhaustible human heart,
Beat with love. You gravedigger of the sky,
Estranged Love, brave forevermore the Afar,
Beyond the doubts of your enduring Heart.
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 10:57 AM UTC
Notes, musical keys, rythmic changes-
A modification of the Word
Which purifies her soulfulness
And expresses clarities in the fog,
The hint of Dickinson in her words,
The scent of reality in her reflection,
The words become a path:
One wet summer I heard your words,
The vibrant sky breaths
And the sun became as embers
Of poetic sacrifice,
Through reading your poem
I became as a double being,
Movement began
A sudden dispersion of birds
Followed by the Humm of water
On stone,
Murmurs of infinite moments
Painting them all like some
Poet Saint,
The words became a lineage
To the unfathomable depths of you,
In the helix of hours
The beat of the sea and the stilled
Shimmers of light on water can be found
In the edification of her poetry;
Master strokes,
Like a naked liberation
Of a diamond body beyond
A turquoise sunset,
A co concubine of words
That form constellated meanings
Among the pnumbra,
Reminiscent of the March of hours
In which the words come
And a fixed glitter in her eyes form,
The form of woman,
A form of dizziness
Like a dance of wind and water,
I read between the words,
Vicki,
Vicki,
I imagine a lamp in the middle
Of the night,
A pen and a womans scorching
Words as God had spoken
The First Word,
Like a moon in heat in midday's
Grasp, she counters every word
Of expression
Like a cell for my tortured soul,
She became my solitary star,
I wander in her hours,
Hungry for more words,
A memory inventing itself,
Masterfully,
She makes the sky walk the land.
Jan 10, 2017
Jan 10, 2017 at 3:19 PM UTC
a new vocabulary is driven
as the authentication of genius
one that convinces a migration
toward imagined conjugations
of constellated false inflections
mirrored words on camera
dematerializing radical mutations
interspersed with graffiti and poster sounds
words, sentences in cadence
framed vowels, recordings of consonants
a punctuated acceleration of the visualized
the scanned and the incalculable hallucinatory
holographics of a language in which
communication is not spoken directly
but becomes the audible interpretation
of a microwave
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 4:07 PM UTC
The
butterflies that fluttered
in your heart after our eyes met,
Have bloomed into carnations
Full of stars constellated
With passion between
your thighs.
I
can feel the heat
of your unseen
As it begins to rise
As the sun on the horizon
until your sensuous reaches zenith
and I witness
Your flower petals kaleidoscope and unfurl
As you release sweet nectar that pearls,
with aromatic efflorescence,
Onto the the surface
Of my stamen
Sep 17, 2019
Sep 17, 2019 at 6:14 PM UTC
Your presence passes me
like a slow-moving satellite
revolving around
my head, slurred
into mesh—so gravitated.
Love is a shade which
covers me close
to your body, in sync
like the movements of the planets,
pivoting harmonious in the
deep, dark mystery
of your sheltered embrace,
and the universe seems
to settle around me
calm and constellated.
Your eyes, a deep depiction
in the mind, so starry, I
see nothing more
but stars.
Bright as the brilliance
of the fire of my affection
at the core of my soul, lit
with passion, intense
as a thousand suns, a
million moonlit galaxies,
is my love which seems
to have no end.
Your presence passes me,
a slow-moving satellite
revolving around
like a moon to Jupiter,
boy, I feel that pull.
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 4:59 PM UTC
So you are
A phosphorescent relic,
A relic that spins together
Nights and mornings alone-
Spinning in the mind like
Perfect spiral in a landscape that
Overflows with your magnetic sphere.
And the orbit
Comes and goes,
From my eyes to a tear,
From a tear to the sky with blue
Waves of current that wallows
Where you were.
Hear me,
Fallen star of my night,
The whirlpool of your hair
In solar winds,
Deafening winds,
Heavy winds,
When your blue sun brings a storm
Whirling in magnetic memories
Hypnotic and joyous.
Speak, speak Pulsar,
When the earth recites your name,
Pulsar, cry for me,
With your esteemed Aura like a lost
Nebula
At the crest of the world,
Searching without finding.
This is the hour,
Because your dead star
Still burns and makes light,
And it still shines
And someone,
Someone like me must see it.
Pulsation in my ethereal being,
I believed in dark stars
But don't believe in reading those
I see,
Pulsar you were hope in the light,
And now a radioactive desire
Of my past.
Oh but we tore the night apart,
We constellated passions
And danced upon the penumbra
In the galactic sea.
Begin again,
We can sail away on the moon,
Turn the world into a playground,
Begin again Pulsar
Within an orchestral sky.
However you were gone,
A blue giant in a tiny galaxy,
And I was only a firefly,
No, not a firefly,
An ember of a fire that burned
Out a million miles away.
Ressurection of your light,
Wage the gravity towards me,
And I say Pulsar,
I remember when we were in the same sky.
You are the infinite memory,
Your lies smell of Heaven and nothing
Else,
And you are a reflection on the horizon
Of the sea,
The glimmer of my yesterday.
The sky will open
And the sea shimmers,
The moon moans,
Pulsar, sweet memory ,
Magnetosphere of my pain.
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 8:41 PM UTC
*Holding her hand , walking on the streets.
Realizing the life in those skipped heartbeats.
Exuding the attar, she dulled my senses.
Tremulous tattered talks due to spooking menaces.
Then she talked in her asthenic voice.
And suddenly everything was just background noise.
All I could do was , stare in her eyes.
And I glimpsed into her soul beyond visible lies.
She was the configuration of pain and hope.
Inside, she was in a scrimmage and clinging with a mope.
Zealously & tenacious , inside , she was a fighter.
I hankered to describe her beauty in my words, as a writer.
But to describe such aesthetical effigy I constellated nothing, not even a single word.
I was stupefyingly stuck , like a fallen wingless bird*.
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 6:00 PM UTC
this is the story, of the sun and moon
who revolved around each other, day and noon
no idea what they meant to the other
never fitting perfectly together
one night, the moon fell in love with the sun
so bright, they outshine the stars as they spun
they pirouetted through cosmos and space
coalescing as one as they embraced
As the moon constellated with the sun
it was enough to make the whole world stunned
for one moment, the shadow was adorned
but enough, for the eclipse to reborn
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 12:33 AM UTC
your soul is like the night sky
so deep, constellated
silent, yet with a beautiful sountrack
emotional vibrations
that echoes in my eyes
the flattered eyes that reflects your soul
so calm and so inviting
just like the night sky
a falling star...
I'm just a falling star
in the navy blue sky of your soul
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 5:00 PM UTC
Separation Anxiety.
To court this phenom, we must first observe
Its grandiose stature, to which we will unnerve
For as permanent as the night sky may be,
Only its constellated decorations do we see.
And each single time we interrupt the night,
We initiate stellar parallax, and to our sight,
We see the shift of our feeling strangle
And find the cords of our heart untangle
To twists and and turns in heaven’s shrine
And a comet shall fall in my hands
Its all mine.
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 1:56 AM UTC
Okay, **** you!
I'm sorry I'm too shy to do anything in real life,
too insecure to ask my love out,
to be in love with something so physical
Sorry I am not an arrogant self-centered ******* like you are,
that I am not confident and cocky.
Maybe I don't want people to look at me,
and judge, that I only want people to see my soul,
my personality.
But is that such a crime?
Hey, and what if everyone here is a stereotype, overplayed, overdone and fake? Looking for someone and something real is hard...
**** you for calling me sweetheart, beautiful, then turning around and laughing with a friend about how I'm such a mess, talking to people in the internet on some random poetry website and for falling in love with someone's personality and soul, not just their looks, not like you who only wants a girl for her big *** and big ***** not to mention skinny *** waist and curves.
Well I'm ******* sorry (nope not really) that I like internet people,
with no judgements
like the ones you have written across your lips and constellated in your eyes.
Just do me a favor? I hope one day you will fall for a girl
with just a bit of soul, someone not a ***** for once,
and I hope she breaks your heart,
and that you will see what it's like to be with someone with a bit of spine and brain.
[walks away from him with one finger in the air]
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 4:36 PM UTC
tea leaves and a bowl of mints, you're craving a time that left you years ago, now you're seeing yellow every time you blink, but life's not a filter on dreams and if you keep eating pomegranates without salt it could be a problem, your fingertips are already purple from holding too much ice so what will happen to your insides? sparks eventually die out, fires do too, but sometimes they don't, they just take longer to forget and you can't cut flames and smoke with chainsaws like you try to do with your feelings so remember to hold your smile in place and climb every fence it takes for you to slowly learn your red painted constellated lessons
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 12:42 PM UTC
Alone, they are invisible
but constellated, meaningful;
Brighter than one can imagine,
and greater than life can exist.
The further we stay, the closer they are
but the closer we come, the further they get-
Doomed to shine alone,
and forever be seen when dead.
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 1:20 PM UTC
Thereupon the graveyard hill
The moonlight, the **** arrest me still
The forms that clasp my hands and will
Stood there as I stared into the dark.
Frightful, there, as I wasted merely
Watch Sol retreat, my beloved dearly
Left me to the crest of moon, so dreary
Whilst came the eve and her baleful art.
What emerged there I could not tell
Some ghastly mist wash’d ‘pon the knell
I knew I stood where haunts do dwell
And awaited my life, me, to thusly part.
In the dark of mind, of eyes
The visions growled with bitter despise
They laughed and mocked my bitter cries
Which rang in the frost’d dark.
From shifting tombs I heard a blast
And saw there distant the teeth that gnash
But stayed so far as my vision cast
And retreated from time to their glassy plots.
Left there was no hellish waste
But dazzling auroras in its place
So the earth mirror’d constellated grace
Here on ground, or aether was I not.
The sleepy moon produced a harp
And bid the winds to sing their part
To lift me from, to effulging stars
While forms spectate in intended spots.
The chiming bells and blissful psalms
Were to me some transcendent alms
And left their glitter in my eyes’ palms
Which refused the word, remained as thought.
Therein I saw my wrongs turned right
That evil in the dark is born of the light
And infernal black is at first white
That what I’ve feared was sun-taught.
I ran, then, from the graveyard hill
Whilst ‘cross the valley the dawn did spill
Crassly, the sun, the shades’ home fill
Leaving me blind just as at the start.
Set, did I, my pen to make
The beauties witnesses, tho’ too late
The ebon innocuous still to this date
I lost them, lost them as I stare into the light as tho’ the dark.
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 11:09 PM UTC
Poetry,
Suspended moments between
My truth and
The truth lived.
A stillness in motion,
A path of action like history,
Only the truth is to be it,
To walk it and ressurect it
In the words.
I am in my body
Knowing myself outside
In a sea of pages.
My poetry scatters,
The ghosts remain:
Poetry is a shared fury,
A shared oblivion,
My sorrowful song
Hidden deep in my Mother's womb
The unspoken part of my birth,
Retracing the lineage
Between seeing and believing,
Writing the constellated persons,
A torrent of memory,
A melody of love,
I close my eyes
And the words of my blood,
Footsteps of my words,
My pen covered in a quarter moon
Translucent like a fountain of night,
Poem that travels through me,
Scatters into the ink,
Words spoken
Reverberating quietly into eternal
Whispers.
Jul 28, 2016
Jul 28, 2016 at 12:52 PM UTC
It begins here,
Undecipherable death.
The dying of the light
With tearful glazed eyes.
Here the soul is at a pause
Waiting to be set free,
A hurried rush to Awaken.
- the body fights to last breaths
Drowning in the world
Drinking life's waters,
The soul swims free.
Far ahead,
A darkness in the light...
And the soul has eyes that see
All things all at once in the lives
Lived underrated and unfulfilled.
-the body wants to live
The shadow grows deep
As sky black becomes a fertile
Ground upon which the soul
Glides watching a piece of everything.
Upon the immensely empty darkness
The light surrounds it,
Suddenly the soul realizes the abyss
Is within, calling itself humanity.
- the flesh craves life
Like a forest of insomnia
Suddenly awakened by a fire,
The soul sees all its lives lived.
The life is dried up,
The river has no source
And the living waters are dried:
Vanish soul,
Awaken in the corridor of wombs,
Be born again and fill
The bottomless being,
The pregnant life
Of a tired soul awaiting the depths
Of understanding, confusingly conflicting.
- the body wants to feel
This is the bottom
Where souls meet and find
That the darkness resides inside them,
A silence befalls all-
Become the ocean that fills itself,,
Contemplate the premature death
Of stars that we constellated to
Our hopes and dreams,
Piece together the eclipse of understanding
That had escaped you until
Now,
The spiral concludes,
Immortal soul that cannot find
The light,
Children of the Master,
Return and fill the void,
You will hear in every life
That you have filled one cup
At a time,
And when you realize that your
Ordinary was extraordinary
Then the void is filled
And we return to our celestial navigation.
-the body wants to live
Nov 8, 2016
Nov 8, 2016 at 4:07 PM UTC