"cristo" poems
Para sa Gobyerno:
Walang halaga ng pintura
Ang kayang takpan
Ng kalagayan ng inang bayan.
Walang halaga ng tamis ng mga pangako mo ang kayang
Magpakalimot ng mga
Kalapastanganan na ginawa mo sa kaniya.
Para ka lang isang puta,
Na Nag nagsabi akoy iyong mahal,
Pero pag gising sa umaga
Wala ka na.
Iniwan mo lang akong
Umaasa na tayo'y
Magkakaroon ng magandang kinabukasan.
Pero wala.
Akoy' niloko mo lang,
At pinagpalit sa iyong kabit,
Ang pera.
Ikay' walang ginawa
Kung hindi gahasain
Ang walang laban na
Bansa.
Siya ay Ibinugaw mo sa iyong mga kaibigan,
Kapalit ang kakaonting piraso ng pilak para makamit ang
Panandaliang kapayapaan.
Siya ay hinalikan mo sa pisngi,
Sabay tinraydor ng tulad ng nangyari kay Cristo.
Parang awa mo na.
Umayos ka na.
Para sa kabataan:
Ilang
Rizal, Bonifacio, Luna,
Ang kelangan isakripisyo
Para lang
Magising ka
Sa masakit na katotohanan?
Ilang rebolusyon pa ang kelangan
Mangyari
Para ikay tumayo
Sa iyong trono
At gumawa ng pagbabago
Ilang buhay pa ba
Ang kailangan ialay
Upang ikay
Maistorbo sa
Pagdudot ng iyong telepono.
Parati mo nalang sinasabi,
Na wala ng pag-asa,
At kahit anong gawin natin,
Hinding hindi na kailan mag babago ang lugar na to'
Ikaw pa ang may ganang mag reklamo,
Tungkol sa mga perwisyo
Na naidudulot sayo,
Ng mga opisyal,
Na nakaluklok sa puwesto.
Maawa ka naman sa kaniya,
Nanglilimos siya ng pag mamahal
sa sarili niyang
lupa.
Kaya may tanong ako sayo,
Sa inyo.
Ayaw mo ang nakikita mo?
Edi, baguhin mo.
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 3:00 AM UTC
Bilang mga pilipino
Nakaugalian na nating
Bumili ng bagay bagay ng
Pa tingi-tingi,
Tulad ng
Sigarilyo,
Kendi,
Shampoo
And marami pang iba.
Bakit nga ba natin ginagawa ito?
Ito ba'y dahil
Tayo'y nag titipid,
kaya tayo'y dumudukot lang
ng pa-pirapiraso,
O baka naman,
Ayaw lang natin
Na may mga bagay na nasasayang
Pero kahit ano pang
Aspeto ito,
Nadala na natin ito
Hanggang sa paglaki.
Nasanay na tayong
Umasta ng patingi-tingi
Pati sa pakiki-salamuha
Natin sa kapwa
Tingi-tingi na din,
Tingi-tinging mga ngiti,
tingi-tinging mga halik,
Tingi-tinging mga kwento,
Pero ang pinaka masaklap
Sa lahat ng ito ay,
Tingi-tinging debosyon
Sa panginoon.
Na dinudukot lang natin
ang mga pirasong,
Tugma sa
Sa ating mga problema
Ang mga piraso,
Na nagpapasarap
Sa atin piling,
Hindi natin ito kailanman
Hinahayaang turuan tayo,
At itama sa ating mga
Pagkakamali.
Tulad ng mga bersiculo
Ng biblia
Tinabas-tabas natin ang mga
Kasuluksulukan
Na banal sa libro.
Binulsa lang
Natin ang pagmamahal ni Cristo,
Dudukutin lang
Pag kailangan.
Kapag tayoy nalulumbay,
Sabik na sabik
Sa mga bisig
Ng iba.
Si ay ating
Kinakalimutan
Sa panahon
Ng kaligayahan.
Tinatawag
Lang siya
Kapag tayo'y may
Kailangan.
Na sa oras ng kagipitan,
Sinisigaw ang kaniyang
Ngalan.
Sana matandaan natin
Na tayo'y
Binili ng buo,
Gamit ang buhay
Na hindi binigay ng
Tingi-tingi
Pero binigay ng buong buo.
Hindi lang isang
Patak ng dugo,
Pero buong pagkatao,
Ibinuhos para lang sayo.
Kaya,
Tigilan na
Nating ang patingi-tinging asal,
Tigilan nalang
Natin ang pagpapakipot
Sa taong
Nagmamayari satin.
Tayo'y hindi tingi, tayo'y buo.
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 12:47 PM UTC
all aluminum alloy ammo
bane bat brakes badly basters back bones
come call cthulhu Cristo cuz
dead ********** dominate de download
even elven eternal endowments
fail frivolously flaming for fair fraudulence
grant good goggles give grandiose gratuity
how hella homeboys have how he has
If I ignore I implicate its implore
jack jacks jacks
kay killla kooks krack
LAPD locks la lackeys
maybe mom made mad monoxide
no, no natural nix NOx neutralizes
oh over overt opp only overlay orphic
please protest politely panic pretenses perpetuity
quiet quivers quiet queens
remember rage reaps reciprocity
so sour sits supplanters sat
to tell them to tare trail *** tat?
universal unhappiness underlays under us
victory validates victors vanity
why warble when winners wont waste worry wanting
x-axis x-rays Xerophagy Xanax Xanthorroea
you yodel yonder yet yahweh's yells Yarrish
zero zag zealots zoos
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 4:40 AM UTC
Camping in the Blue Ridge Mountains
was the greatest day of my life
It was my birthday
I brought a suitcase
and my favorite dame
and hiked 2 miles UP^^^^^^^^
laughing all the way
UP ^^^^^in the Ozarks
Medics were shooting steroids in my ****
BUT, never been more in love
with a man who injects grief in my veins
Dwelling in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains
sensed his vibe
Yes, Jesus I feel you here
held en el Rio Grande con mis mejor amigos
drooling in the hot springs
Taos has called our names
********* the rocky sand that is below me
I find a coin from New Zealand,
in turn, losing my evil eye earring
an offering to spirit's stream
a pair of desert lizards
we desire to get frisky and be alone
we shine silver glitter under a moonlit glow
witches cackle and curanderos
hide behind coyote cries and cacti
looking to each other with faces expressing,
"What should do we do?"
I guess allow them to do their thing
humans need ceremonies too
Feb 11, 2019
Feb 11, 2019 at 1:36 AM UTC
/ innocent until prōven guilty,
contra guilty until
prōven innocent...
ah!
so the minority report?
guilty, while innocent,
based upon a premonition?
hindsight with a zodiac
type of interpretation...
innocent until prōven guilty
has no superiority
in practice over the continental
guilty until prōven innocent...
no... because the principle invokes
presuppositions,
of suppositions...
treating the two as propositions -
or rather... "verbs" inacted...
innocent until prōven guilty -
then no understanding of freedom,
at least guilty until prōven innocent
allows understanding
restraint, however unfair,
with 18 years lost...
and then the tears of relief!
Tomasz Komenda...
an "espionage" case of staging
empathy...
en masse...
an innocent man walks away
from falsely imposed justice measures...
a redemption...
a count de monte cristo
allowance...
but in reverse?
the evil man walks free...
succumbing to old age,
and dementia, a pontius pilate pardon...
there is no redemption aspect
of the saxon course of applying jurisprudence...
the... innocent, until prōven guilty,
contra: guilty until prōven innocent
schizophrenia?
the latter overshadows
the former...
because we're not babies...
at least with the latter:
there's a redemption exegesis -
but with the former?
bitter-sweet tears within
the confines, of an example akin
to jimmy savile...
guilty until prōven innocent
has much more authentic emotional
content, with a redemption narrative...
innocent until prōven guilty
has? not much,
just a grave,
and the stunted emotional expression,
what ought to be flowers
within the heart,
instead: fungus, growing in the dark...
and thus... translating
to other hearts:
let's allow this chemo-phobia
chemo-philia experiment
be left intact in its the momentum...
honestly... the study of law -
is probably the ********* game
in the allowance of games of
adulthood... one tier above gambling.
p.s.
because you know there's proof:
and that the past-participle
thrown into a future, does require
an omega rather than an omicron...
not an oh, but an ooh...
hence? reign from above,
on the omicron, with a macron (ō).
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 12:34 PM UTC
*"So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee."*
Shall I compare thee...
...to the Iguazú Falls River, where legend serves that a serpent; Boi, demanded a sacrifice each year of a young female, and the day two lovers; Tarobá and his beautiful maid Naipí, took to escape, and in revenge of such an act, Boi exuded such anger that he parted the river, thus forming the Iguazú Falls, splitting the river and condemning to two lovers to the falls.
or
...to Cristo Redentor; Christ the Redeemer, the Art Deco statue, protecting and looking over the city of Rio de Janeiro, to whom in all its glory cannot escape the force of nature, struck by lightning, causing damage irreplaceable.
or
…to The Hanging Gardens of Babylon, hundreds of metres into the sky, a place that to this day is unknown, myth being that King Nebuchadnezzar recreated the homeland of his precious wife Amyitis, who was deeply depressed and homesick, allowing her to find comfort and happiness.
or
…the Taj Mahal, of Pradesh, constructed using marble by the emperor Shah Jahan, in loving memory of his third wife; Mumtaz Mahal, the jewel of Muslim art, a calligraphy written Great Gate reading; "O Soul, thou art at rest. Return to the Lord at peace with Him, and He at peace with you.
or
…the Temple of Artemis; Istambul, on sacred land in honour of the Greek goddess Artemis, the most apotheosized of Greek deities, the supposed daughter of Zeus and Leto, the temple also known as Diana, one of the goddesses who vouched never to marry; alongside Minerva and Vesta.
or
… the Mausoleum at Halicarnassus, of the Persian Empire, whereby Mausolus ornamented four sculptures created in relief for his wife (and also his sister); Artemisia II of Caria, generating an above ground tomb that would become to be listed as one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World.
But of all,
I compare thee to the Goddess of Love, Beauty and Sexuality; Aphrodite
arising from the sea, floating ashore on a shell;
Venus rising from the sea,
a lover of many,
later depicted as a painting of the Birth of Venus,
by the sufferer of unrequited love; Botticelli,
using his muse Simonetta Vespucci as a model.
© Sia Jane
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC
*if only I knew how to love...
for my Victoria
winces-grimaces, that these words even leave my fingertips,
reminiscences, a chrome bookmark tab full of decades of near misses,
instances, subway sideway stolen daily glances of she who would be the only, the one, but one day failed to appear, left to dream peer,
and/or
decades long of romanced lasses, flying spectacular super crashes, when my heart-blanched, lanced, and the lawyers danced, poems shriveled as dried ink crack'd and words rusted shut,
cut by so many p'raps, and ugly motives, beautiful covered up, disguised as synapses of sin and insincerity, and I,
the sad man,
both the sinner and the sinned against,
totalities, of shoulda-woulda-asked/kissed-her-gallantly,
activities, when kisses were doorways to trap door rooms
and an over decorated monte cristo prison cell
ah well
the 'and yet,' the 'but for,' a single finger, sealing silenced lips,
passions mourned and irrevocable sensations, frittered, fractured,
all that I calmly called love was sprigs and broken branches,
cut flowers destined to shrivel,
not of what I believed in, something akin to a tree rooted, an oaken strong unbreakable love
of this certain, all approximations, all failed incantations,
for surely, if but only one escaped, could have been saved,
and if truthful love it was,
I would have known it,
for would I have dared to let slip away?
Jul 14, 2017
Jul 14, 2017 at 6:05 PM UTC
You’re basic,
a lengthy silhouette
miming the human experience.
Staying up late
to blind yourself,
blinking to the sounds of sleepiness
heart beating to Skinny Love.
What ifs,
pre-recorded scenarios
imagining that first hug.
Contemplate that bottle of pills by the sink
that new film that you want to see,
condensation in the lid of the teapot.
You’re candid,
unsure if all scabs heal
trying to remember when you didn't have a writing callus,
when you slept through the night,
when purple was the only colour you didn't use.
Purify infectious matter,
***** green-blue wine glasses overflowing.
Tinfoil vases and orchid flowers,
melting boxes of 64 assorted crayons.
You’re laconic,
often dying to create,
like the verbose and the wordy
sighing simply to translate.
Missouri gift exchanges,
loose blue jeans ******
stacks of classics.
Tales of the Jazz Age wrinkling
to a slow 50s song.
You’re a try hard
dying to knit,
only true fear is disappointment
burning in the lime light.
6000 voluntary hours
linking syllables to daisy chains,
dropping pesos to foreigners,
hands sandwiched inside
the front cover and the first page
of The Count of Monte Cristo.
You’re basic,
down for maintenance,
compressing the weight of the atmosphere.
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 11:35 PM UTC
Southwestern Dis-United States of Memory
Piñon smoke and sagebrush, voice of New Mexico night driving into an Arizona dawn rising over dreaming pueblos, low-ridden plazas, kivas and ruined cities’ rubble traced and highlighted by sunlight, Anglo angling into Aztec toward Zuni over arid zones… A to Z to El Dorado; a voice covers the high hills with a dusting of snow—every word hangs in the notes of the song: music to fall apart to, breakdown to, hurling the soul into the bottomless well of psychotic nostalgia: música de cavanga, falling into the depths. Melody pushing to the threshold of a bar and leaving you there with cash in your pocket and no ride home. The warmth inside beckons—you step across as the song fills, swells, intoxicates, then excavates the wall of the dam until it collapses. The fatal mistake: you read too much into the lyrics of shallow love songs. The deathwish beast of despair arises, the flooded plains dazzle your eyes, the Indian girl smiles on the rim of the grand canyon, the tattooed cholo pulls a knife in the trailer park, the dark waters under the bridge murmur and surge with regret; el río de Las Animas, Durango CO, Aztec calligraphy on the wall: Las Cruces, NM; Clifton, Morenci, Globe, AZ: stepped pyramids of copper tailings, gang-warred walls in fallen barrios covered in Chicano hieroglyphics, the ruined huts of shepherds and cowboys, pit-house dwellings’ flaked arrowheads and pottery fragments scattered forever in the coyote laugh of desert dusk. Crepuscular colors on the names of mountain ranges: Santa Catalina, Sangre de Cristo, Sandia, each one a separate sunset delirium—then you ride through the night to the city of palm trees and the orange-lined boulevards of Heaven.
The singer herself grew old but her YouTubes live forever.
Feb 23, 2017
Feb 23, 2017 at 9:37 PM UTC
Forjada en la "Fábrica de Armas y Municiones",
la ciudad
muerde con sus almenas
un pedazo de cielo,
mientras el Tajo,
alfanje que se funde en un molde de piedra,
atraviesa los puentes y la Vega,
pintada por algún primitivo castellano
de esos que conservaron
una influencia flamenca.
Ya al subir en dirección a la ciudad,
apriétase en las llaves
la empuñadura de una espada,
en tanto que un vientecillo
nos va enmoheciendo el espinazo
para insuflarnos el empaque
que los aduaneros exigen al entrar.
¡Silencio!
¡Silencio que nos extravía las pupilas
y nos diafaniza la nariz!
¡Silencio!
Perros que se pasean de golilla
con los ojos pintados por el Greco.
Posadas donde se hospedan todavía
los protagonistas del "Lazarillo" y del "Buscón".
Puertas que gruñen y se cierran
con las llaves que se le extraviaron a San Pedro.
¡Para cruzar sobre las, murallas y el Alcázar
las nubes ensillan con arneses y paramentos medioevales!
Hidalgos que se alimentan de piedras y de orgullo,
tienen la carne idéntica a la cera de los exvotos
y un tufo a herrumbre y a ratón.
Hidalgos que se detienen para escupir
con la jactancia con que sus abuelos
tiraban su escarcela a los leprosos.
Los pies ensangrentados por los guijarros,
se gulusmea en las cocinas
un olorcillo a inquisición,
y cuando las sombras se descuelgan de los tejados,
se oye la gesta
que las paredes nos cuentan al pasar,
a cuyo influjo una pelambre
nos va cubriendo las tetillas.
¡Noches en que los pasos suenan
como malas palabras!
¡Noches, con gélido aliento de fantasma,
en que las piedras que circundan la población
celebran aquelarres goyescos!
¡Juro,
por el mismísimo Cristo de la Vega,
que a pesar del cansancio que nos purifica
y nos despoja de toda vanidad,
a veces, al atravesar una calleja,
uno se cree Don Juan!
2.3k
Buscaba Madalena pecadora
un hombre, y Dios halló sus pies, y en ellos
perdón, que más la fe que los cabellos
ata sus pies, sus ojos enamora.
De su muerte a su vida se mejora,
efecto en Cristo de sus ojos bellos,
sigue su luz, y al occidente dellos
canta en los cielos y en peñascos llora.
«Si amabas, dijo Cristo, soy tan blando
que con amor a quien amó conquisto,
si amabas, Madalena, vive amando».
Discreta amante, que el peligro visto
súbitamente trasladó llorando
los amores del mundo a los [de] Cristo.
1.9k
Vindima que sempre vem
Que regalo é ver estas lindas uvas que serão destinadas a ser pisadas por tantos pés generosos deste povo duriense que nas encostas trabuca com suor no rosto. Depois de tantas canseiras chega a hora da colheita para todos começarem em festa um processo que acabará nos melhores vinhos de Portugal e do mundo.
Para haver vindima temos de ter videiras bafejadas pelo sol, acolhidas pelo xisto e amadas pelo homem duriense que não se cansa de as amar e bajular. Este meu Douro é sem sombra de dúvida local privilegiado para a produção deste néctar abençoado por Deus.
A videira que Jesus tantas vezes enumerou me faz perceber o universo, a sua diversidade e porque não mesmo a vida depois da morte. Como simples podador o homem corta as vides na esperança de uma boa colheita. Que encanto ver durante seu ciclo o despertar constante de tantos sonhos adormecidos.
A videira delicia, rejuvenesce, cresce embalada pelo vento em socalcos e patamares e os rios são seus fiéis companheiros e a seu lado tantas árvores dão as azeitonas da paz e serviram de aconchego no Horto das Oliveiras para Jesus Cristo amar os homens e segredar a Deus seu Pai. Temos orgulho em nossos muros de pedreiros que esculpiram seu próprio fado, eles mudaram os olhares de um Douro mal-amado…
Victor Marques
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 2:11 PM UTC
Lugar cativo
Onde me deito cativante
E abro a gargante e choro.
Nao darei mais o Tempo
Nem reconciliarei menos o perdao.
Somos os dias contados pelos dedos
E quanto menos tenho menos quero ter.
Frio com febre estou
Doente dos ossos, raspando-os
Ate ao po se extinguirem
e absorvo-os pela narina mais próxima
Directo ao cérebro que me permiti vender
Indirecto ao coração que morto 'e aos poucos.
Faca de dois gumes afiada na pedra
E enrolada no peito cada dia mais,
Milimetro a Milimetro
Para que a dor seja minuciosamente
Mental.
Fatal.
E da paisagem verdejante
Onde passeio as pernas pesadas
Do chumbo das balas perdidas,
Com que te matei,
Absorvo o bicho por entre o jardim
E a natureza para mim nao 'e mais
Que o conteúdo do bolo que cozinhei
Para esquecê-lo.
Cativo ligar
Que permaneço cativa
Húmido que me constipa os dentes
Como a agua gelada com que tomo banho
E nem assim acordo.
Não sei se esta Dor caberá
nas milhares de palavras que defecarei
Ate este dia tardar
E a minha vida por fim, acabar.
Não 'e de minha dor que escrevo,
'e a tua que me percorre este sangue anémico.
Consideras-te feliz que nem um porco
Que na lama chafurda a couraça.
E eu com esta dor de costas do peso
De trazer o Mundo nos bolsos
E por cada morte que deus padece
Um sopro no coração me oferece.
Dor, dor, dor, dor, dor, dor
Qual Jesus Cristo, o redentor.
Jul 7, 2012
Jul 7, 2012 at 9:01 PM UTC
Blanco
Que de noche te metes como sabana en mi cama,
Draping between my legs,
Collapsing on my skin,
Falling over my soul as guilt:
Colonial guilt.
Tus ojos azules como los del jesucristo de mi abuela,
La vieja escuela,
La escuela antigua,
Me pierdo inocente en tu manigua,
Y me desvelas.
(Que carajo diria mi abuela?)
You held on as one holds on to hope,
Como los clavos del cristo de los blancos,
Callado y con cuidado,
With the overwhelming silence of a temple:
Worship, worship, worship!
Tu sueno colonial desamparado
Sleeping next to me
Y entre mis brazos
Igual como la yerba en los pantanos.
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 7:04 PM UTC
Cantan los niños
En la noche quieta:
¡Arroyo claro,
Fuente serena!
¿Qué tiene tu divino
Corazón en fiesta?Un doblar de campanas,
Perdidas en la niebla.
Ya nos dejas cantando
En la plazuela.
¡Arroyo claro,
Fuente serena!
¿Qué tienes en tus manos
De primavera?
Una rosa de sangre
Y una azucena.
Mójalas en el agua
De la canción añeja.
¡Arroyo claro,
Fuente serena!
¿Qué sientes en tu boca
Roja y sedienta?
El sabor de los huesos
De mi gran calavera.
Bebe el agua tranquila
De la canción añeja.
¡Arroyo claro,
Fuente serena!
¿Por qué te vas tan lejos
De la plazuela?
¡Voy en busca de magos
Y de princesas!
¿Quién te enseñó el camino
De los poetas?
La fuente y el arroyo
De la canción añeja.
¿Te vas lejos, muy lejos
Del mar y de la tierra?
Se ha llenado de luces
Mi corazón de seda,
De campanas perdidas,
De lirios y de abejas,
Y yo me iré muy lejos,
Más allá de esas sierras,
Más allá de los mares
Cerca de las estrellas,
Para pedirle a Cristo
Señor que me devuelva
Mi alma antigua de niño,
Madura de leyendas,
Con el gorro de plumas
Y el sable de madera.
Ya nos dejas cantando
En la plazuela.
¡Arroyo claro,
Fuente serena!
Las pupilas enormes
De las frondas resecas,
Heridas por el viento,
Lloran las hojas muertas.
1.8k
it ain’t got to be so complicated
knowledge should be available
free and running like water streams and ****
love should not be incarcerated
neither should dreams be lacerated
amongst barbed wire fences and ****
no body parts should feed the desert
no last breaths should be taken at the edge of dreams
why is it gotta be so **** complicated?
Filling out papers and ****
Singing hymns and chants to the empire
Why should some hide their red
While others call it patriotism?
Yet, the sinister of their practice is glorified and praised and ****
Praised like Jesus.. en el nombre de Cristo Jesus
A pregnant woman left to starve
While pedestrians watched
And children recorded
Children,
Children beaten by life
Children who beat other children unconscious
Drug dealing children
Prostitute children
Illegal alien children
Poor children
Poor colored children
Why has **** got to be so complicated?
We as a society feed off their flesh
Their voice, their fall from grace
We feast off their broken spirits
Cash checks over their corpses
And we demand more
What type of society are we
That we demand doom
While claiming privilege and ****
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 2:39 AM UTC
Havana, I arrive
in the sweaty thickness of July
caliente y picante
steamy sidewalks, steamy women
chocolate brown, tan and
black against the lemon-yellow walls
strolling through La Plaza de Armas
slurping thick café through weathered lips
in La Plaza de Francisco de Asis
dancing on the pregnant gray stones in La Plaza Vieja
timba, rumba, salsa and son
Cristo, Maria, Yemaya and Obatalá
Havana, I arrive
in the intoxication of your breath
between the acrid fumes
of insecticides and 1957 Chevy's
stepping past the dark grime of your slums
streets plush with tight round bodies
beautiful and sensuously swaying
I arrive snaking past the converted palaces
con las turistas ricos
and the buy-me-a-dress-and-a-ring ******
with their enchanting full-tooth smiles
and undulating earthquake-tremor hips
I hear your beat
the machine-gun laughter of your feet
on the hot cobblestones
with the jinateros and street musicians
chants of Santería drifting from pane-less windows
Havana, I smell your heat
under salty faded sheets
smell the long, tobacco-stained nights
with your hips swaying
to the pale drops of ***
spilt from red lips
and the red drops of blood
spilt from your revolutionaries
spilt from the gorging of Machado and Baptista
and 500 years of foreign dominion
In Paseo de Marti
banners of Che Guevara
flapping in the moist tear-laden breeze
Fidel, cigar in hand
tirelessly raging in black and white
on a Russian 1960's TV
Cuba, I can see the green in your eyes
the peeling-paint bedroom dreams and
dirt-poor joy of your richness
laughing out the despair and desperation
dancing out the oppression and the paucity
the aching of your past
the battles of Castillo De Los Tres Santos
of the revolution
of living
and as I stand on the steps of El Capitolio
looking out at the decaying grandeur
I understand why
I will be back
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 3:30 PM UTC
Jesus Cristo
Penso em ti e te conheço,
Da manjedoura ao berço,
Milagre dos peixes,
Porta que não feches.
Resplendor que me alumia,
Horto com tons primaveris,
Nascer e morrer dia a dia,
Gestos nobres e pueris.
Caminhavas sobre as águas,
Calmas ou agitadas?
Amaste até os malfeitores,
Deus da vida e dos amores.
Victor Marques
Jun 13, 2011
Jun 13, 2011 at 8:46 AM UTC
A noite chega com gemidos e lamentos,
Eu com a vida em torno de ternos
momentos,
Se nasce em qualquer lugar, vivemos com sonhos para realizar,
E eu aqui sentado com o pranto e o luar...
A lua hoje é plena e observa todos os seres que vivem para sempre morrer,
Uns acreditam outros não numa vida sem tristeza em eterna comunhão,
Pedaços de saudade de quem partiu sem por vezes querer...
Jesus Cristo foi vinho, foi pão, foi a única esperança para a vida,morte e ressurreição.
A vida foi aquilo que quis ser, pois pensamos que tudo podemos fazer,
Nunca temos a verdadeira preocupação que nascemos e vivemos para terra tornar a ser...
Com o canto dos grilos e com a terna saudade de quem foi vivo e nos deixou,
Me abandono ao mundo, ao céu e a Deus que tudo criou.
Victor Marques
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 5:55 PM UTC
Dovrei essere proprio come te, Cuore di ghiaccio nero, Sii gentile, Un amico, come creare un'illusione, nella tua mente, sii vicino, fingi di essere reale, un modo per conoscere, i tuoi sogni, i tuoi piani, la tua prossima mossa ,
Quando vedo le tue aspirazioni, che ti portano avanti,
Essendo un maestro manipolatore, come te, pianificherò astutamente la tua caduta, come un giullare, ridendo con la folla, che sono convinto che tu sia sempre stato, nient'altro che quello di un immutabile intimidito.
Sei davvero solo un codardo, hai paura di qualcuno, fai solo uno sforzo per fare ciò che è meglio, hai paura di qualcuno, che non è nemmeno una minaccia per te, o per la posizione che occupi.
Dimostra la tua superiorità, fiducia in te stesso, essendo orgogliosamente audace! Il tuo orgoglio, la tua arroganza, la tua ignoranza, la tua cecità e la tua ipocrisia...
NO, non potrei mai essere come te, rovinando gli altri come fai tu, pensavo di essere lo sciocco, ora vedo, ora ** pace.
Quindi prego sinceramente. "Dio apri il suo cuore, per accettare la tua grazia straordinaria, attraverso di te, conosceremo entrambi la nostra parte, il nostro posto, e se non presto, allora in Paradiso, avremo
un'eternità da rifare. "Sì, ti amo sorella mia in Cristo!
- VenJencie Ⓒ Autore Ven J. Arnold
Nov 10, 2021
Nov 10, 2021 at 11:26 PM UTC
2015 – Iglesia ni Cristo ginbuksan
Sa banwa sg Dumarao, Barangay San Juan
Nakakita ako sg kontrobersyal nga SCAN…
2015 – Star Wars 7 ginsuguran
Ipaguwa sa mga sinehan
Plano tani namon lantawon ni Juan…
Sa kaadlawan ni Juan, buta simbahan kg sinehan!
-12/18/2015
(Dumarao)
*Kaadlawan ni Juan
Sep 27, 2019
Sep 27, 2019 at 9:00 PM UTC
i remember the day when i saw you for the first time....,
i thought i am seeing you for the last time.........
but no,you met me again and again......
each time you made me feel i am born for you to gain.....
the way you looked at me that day......
made my heart to fly away and away......
everything was going fair......,
and love was in the air.....
but suddenly i dnt know what happened to you.....,
about Me,
you changed your view......
there was a day when we use to read each others eyes.....,
and this is the day when we both want to rid off from each other lives.....
i just cant believe that you are the person who made my world go round and round......,
because now you made my world go down and down.....
you know it very well that i never begged love from you.....,
because i never expected in return from you......
you know it very well that i never forced you for anything....,
but then too you insulted Me without thinking........
but never mind,
i am happy that you came in my life as a special person .....,
because you are the one who teaChed Me life's greatest lessons.....
the only wish is ,i want to see you happy forever....
but yup.....,
now i made my heart to fall in love never......!!!!!
-by MohiT CristO KalwadiA
Apr 12, 2012
Apr 12, 2012 at 7:03 AM UTC
There was a star in life
agreed, it was much loved
when it sank, it did sink.
Look at the sky’s vastness,
so many stars have broken away
so many loved ones it has lost
the lost ones, were they ever found?
But tell me, for the broken stars
does the sky ever grieve?
That which is past, is gone.
There was a flower in life
which, I doted everyday on
when it dried, it dried away.
Look at the garden’s breast,
dried, many of its saplings have
welted, many of its flowers have
that which welted, did it ever bloom?
But tell me, for dried flowers
does the garden create an uproar?
That which is past, is gone.
There was a cup of wine in life
which, you gave your heart and soul for
when it broke, it did break.
Look at the winehouse’s courtyard
shaken, where many cups are
fall, and merge with the ground
that which fall, do they ever rise?
But tell me, for broken cups
does the winehouse ever regret?
That which is past, is gone.
Soft mud, we are made of,
wine drops do tend to fall.
A short life, we have come with,
winecups do tend to break.
Yet, inside the winehouse
there is a winepot, there are winecups.
Those, struck by intoxication
do splurge away on the wine.
He’s a raw drinker,
whose affection escapes no cup,
one who has burnt from true wine
does he ever shout, or scream?
That which is past, is gone.
By- Mohit Cristo Kalwadia
Apr 12, 2012
Apr 12, 2012 at 7:39 AM UTC
Subes centelleante de labios y ojeras!
Por tus venas subo, como un can herido
que busca el refugio de blandas aceras.
Amor, en el mundo tú eres un pecado!
Mi beso es la ***** chispeante del cuerno
del diablo; mi beso que es credo sagrado!
Espíritu es el horópter que pasa
puro en su blasfemia!
El corazón que engendra al cerebro
que pasa hacia el tuyo, por mi barro triste.
Platónico estambre
que existe en el cáliz donde tu alma existe!
Algún penitente silencio siniestro?
Tú acaso lo escuchas? Inocente flor!
...Y saber que donde no hay un Padrenuestro,
el Amor es un Cristo pecador!
1.2k
Una prostituta llego a la iglesia
Buscando una salida una respuesta
Ignorantemente ella llego
Con una minifalda y una camisa descotada
Cuando iba entrando por la puerta de esa iglesia
Un miembro la detuvo y le dijo
Tú no puedes entrar en este lugar vestida así
Y ella se fue con lágrimas sin Jesús
Donde esta el amor
Donde esta el amor
El amor que declaramos conocer
Donde esta el amor
Donde esta el amor
El amor solo se encuentra en el
Doctrinas religiones y tantas cosas por ahí
Que lo único que nos hacen es volver atrás
Envolviéndonos en un mundo y un grito de ansiedad
Solo pensamos en nuestra situación
Y dime donde esta aquella mujer que un día vino
Buscando un poquito de amor
Tal ves ella esta muerta en un callejón
Solo por que tú no tuviste corazón
Donde esta el amor
Donde esta el amor
El amor que declaramos conocer
Donde esta el amor
Donde esta el amor
El amor solo se encuentra en el
Me han burlado
Me han criticado
Es que ellos piensan que me conocen
Pero no importa no me ha parado
Es que mi Cristo a quien yo sirvo
Siempre esta a mi lado
Mi señor
Llévanos a las personas que están llenas de dolor
Mi señor
Enséñanos a amar con tu amor
Enséñanos a amar
Aquel que se encuentra en la cárcel
Aquel que pelea su barrio
Aquella que vende su cuerpo en la esquina del pueblo a diario
Aquel que ha violado y robado
Aquel que sabe lo que es haber matado
Aquel niño desnudo
Aquel huérfano que nunca conoció a su mama
Regresar a la inocencia es lo que yo quiero dios
Regresar aquellas manos que me hicieron
Regresar a la inocencia es lo que yo quiero dios
Regresar aquellas manos que me hicieron
Regresar a la inocencia es lo que yo quiero dios
Regresar aquellas manos que me hicieron………
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 1:18 AM UTC