"eduardo" poems
A Golden Brown Mexican Royal Eagle proudly soaring and gliding on invisible æther:
Human Eyes from the ground: dark, attentive, following the Raptor's deadly arc as it ascends:
The Mexican Brown Royal Eagle spots
A frightened Doe:
The dark eyes from the leveled plain:
a startled double-take,
follow the rapid Eagle's spiraling descent:
The vaporized cloudiness slashed;
A cinematic flash
of hide torn
and shrieking delight
are jumbled,
and echoed
through the void:
The Raptor is
Voluble butcher
As it devours,
Sinewy flesh,
Peeled from broken bone
leathery skin and
curved horn;
The Dark eyes moisten
While the scene
Fills His Eyes;
What Beauty juxtaposed:
Death And Life Are Just
A House
Inhabited by
Swift
Or
Quick
The Fortunes Named
In The Game
Called
Life Or Death.
J Eduardo Ramos©
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 12:01 AM UTC
The gardenias' Sweet
fragrance enveloped
the backlit silhouette of You.
Profiled diffusely against the
Aura of the Eclipsed Moon,
Our Gentle Guest.
J Eduardo Ramos©
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 1:27 AM UTC
When Building the cities, roads, bridges and dams,
Blood, toil, sweat and tears
will never suffice;
The Romans, Phoenicians, the Hitites and Egyptians,
they all knew the score, they used it for years:
Mortar, water and stone were never enough.
Foundations were crumbling, the bridges fell tumbling, the roads went asunder, the cracked dams' water pouring;
Rulers and Chieftains, Pharaohs and Mighty Heads of the State,
Convened with their Wizards, Druids, Grand Mages and Magicians:
"Solutions", they clamored,
" Solutions at once!".
Bonfires were lit, the goat's blood spilt, the entrails were read, the tea leaves deciphered.
The Oracle rose, in a whispering murmur, She muttered:
"When Building the cities, roads, bridges and dams,
Blood, toil, sweat and tears will never suffice".
The Gods, in their infinite wisdom, had spoken:
" the elemental truth" they said
"that runs at the core, of all human enterprise
since the days of Gog,
for the formula to be true,
It needs a special glue,
a magical brew,
a mixture of fear, innocence
and tears
that can
only be found,
in the wide-eyed
Son of Man;
An infant is needed,
for Stone, Water and Gravel,
will eventually unravel."
"When Building the cities, roads, bridges and dams,
Blood, toil, sweat and tears
will never suffice".
So it has been said, it has long been sung, the basis of Civilisation
is Human Sacrifice...
The Romans, Phoenicians, the Hitites and Egyptians;
they all knew the score, they used it for years,
Mortar, water and stone were never enough...
J Eduardo Ramos©
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 9:13 PM UTC
Black Flags are flowing
In the news;
inked in
or Not
The pulp slashes
Across my seared consciousness:
What say my heart for those
Who perish?
What Say My Heart
For Those Who Cry?
Peevishly My Heart responds,
in ****** Tears,
As in a nightmare:
Weep all the tears
For the Motherless Children,
Weep All the Tears
For The Buried Child...
Weep For Yourself, And Not Without Shame,
Weep For Humanity And
Mankind
As it Slowly Dies...
Weep for Those
Whose Vibrant
Life You Adore.
Weep Not For The Cruelly Weak
Who, Knowingly,
inflicts
such
Inordinate pain.
J Eduardo Ramos©
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 2:21 AM UTC
A clover green bowler hat on the cars dashboard; mardi gras beads, wildly dangling from the rear-view mirror.
A cigarrete, held by the white knuckles grabbing the wheel. A mop of lush blonde hair, freely flowing in the wind. Aviator sunglasses, sitting astride
A dimpled nose; cherry-red lips whistling a long forgotten Irish
Song of Lust, Death & Fate...
J Eduardo Ramos©
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 8:50 PM UTC
The African Burial Ground
BY YUSEF KOMUNYAKAA
They came as Congo, Guinea, & Angola,
feet tuned to rhythms of a thumb piano.
They came to work fields of barley & flax, . . .
The Red Shoes
BY SHEILA BLACK
Someone buried red slippers under the floorboards
and the mice nested in them. The floors splintered no matter
To Juan Doe #234
BY EDUARDO C. CORRAL
I only recognized your hair: short,
neatly combed. Our mother
. . .
Istanbul 1983
BY SHEILA BLACK
In the frozen square, the student asks me if I will
sell him the books from my backpack. He hides them
under his winter coat. Steam rises from the whole . . .
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 8:45 PM UTC
Timidity not my Horse,
Timidity not my Sailboat,
Timidity not my Suave, Fluid
Elevator
thru Life's many travails.
Timidity
Not
Me.
J Eduardo Ramos©
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 12:57 AM UTC
On this eternally present appendix
of our modern life
Called our lifeline,
What is a landline?
Our fingers glide
Our eyes slowly die
We stare, we do not dare
Look away; wait, I gotta take this!
We buy
Sometimes sell
We search:
***
Love
Stuff
Knowledge?
Perhaps.
J Eduardo Ramos ©
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 5:32 AM UTC
Frente a el Monolito Esculpido de Coatlicue:
¡Terrible Madre de los Dioses! :
Ese dia domingo en un año cualquiera de el siglo diez y siete, cuando Humboldt conmovio
a los frailes Domínicos a remover
la tierra que cubria tu rúbea y sierpa tez:
La ferocidad que tus hijos, Huitxilopoxtli y Quetxalcóatl, conocieron de ti,
pasmo al santo abate y al pensador alemán.
Cuantos siglos dormida sin beber
Tu merecido y necesitado bermellón
Liquido, aun tibio, del corazón palpitante; ofrenda a ti, ¡Oh, Madre Terrible de los Antiguos dioses Aztecas!
J Eduardo Ramos ©
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 11:59 PM UTC
Una noche en la Ciudad de México,
En esa ciudad antigua, espesa de cultura sobre un árido Lago de Texcoco;
primitiva como sus religiones sangrientas, y moderna como afilado
Cuchillo de plata y nácar.
Aunque las piramides de el sol
Y la luna
No fueron testigos,
Y no nos encontramos abrazados, desnudos, sobre la Calzada de Los Muertos,
La nívea sabana se tiño de virginal
Pureza en rojo de entrega,
tu vez primera.
J Eduardo Ramos©
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 12:31 PM UTC
Like
The
Chrysalis
My
words
Blossom
And
unfold
Their
Wings
Hoping to
Fly
And
Reach
You.
J Eduardo Ramos©
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 10:19 PM UTC
Honey is english for Miel.
Miel is spanish for Honey.
I want to kiss the Miel from your lips, Honey.
The words taste sweet in my mouth:
M I E L/ H O N E Y
Your lips taste like Honey in my mouth, Miel.
Yo quiero besar tus labios, Honey, full of Miel.
Will you?
J Eduardo Ramos ©
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 2:14 AM UTC
My Muse is fickle and thrifty with her Gifts,
She caresses my eyelids with a gentle touch,
And Kisses my forehead with Violet Lips
Suffusing my Dreams in Magical Hues
She visits me Nightly
To show me the trove
Of Her Myriad Treasures
Which I Dare not steal.
J Eduardo Ramos©
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 8:44 PM UTC
Hay gente que se renta
Para llorar en Funerales;
Hay gente que se renta
Para satisfacer deseos Carnales.
Hay gente que vive y
vive mal en los Arrabales;
Hay gente que vive gozando en sus
Mansiones Estivales.
En esta vida el que entiende
Que no vive mas el que
compra o vende
Ni mejor el que en sus mansiones
La miseria del Arrabal escape.
Vive despierto a lo tuyo y tuyos
Ama mas y no envidies por lo que no trabajes
En la balanza de la Vida
Los Arrabales a veces huelen mejor
Que las mansiones Estivales.
J Eduardo Ramos ©
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 7:03 AM UTC
You wanted volcanic
passionate
kisses;
And I gave you
supernova
love.
J Eduardo Ramos ©
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 11:42 PM UTC
My Dog is loyal.
The unabashedly
noisy love it professes,
I'm embarrased to admit,
Is not reciprocated with
The same hallowed and pure innocence
Conveyed.
J Eduardo Ramos©
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 4:00 PM UTC
One day, I believe it was a Saturday
before the eve of Mother's day or Father's day I have
forgotten, let's say it was ten years ago,
the sun rose brighter than any day had
on any day I had woken still drunk.
The skies were blue as a bruise from a punch
on the jaw and stark as, shockingly pure , almost .
I awoke remembering a bit of the chaos of last night.
I sort of recalled getting my lights punched out by
Eduardo, Didn't realize he was a black belt,
but I beat the hell out of his fists.
I recall trying to swap girls or something,
young and dumb as a sombrero thrown in the air
on new year's , I was, no purpose, but to see if
they had those feelings too.
And all hell broke loose.
My girl got mad, Eduardo got mad.
His girl smiled at me.
I kind of grabbed her and kissed her
pasionately, she returned it.
Then Eduardo punched her and my sweet
Felicia cold cocked me.
Then he hit me and Felicia pulled his girl's hair.
It was bad. But good, you only live once ,
I said to Juanita as we limped home.
Woke up next to her, she and I both had black eyes
and hangovers. That Cuervos is crazy ,
dude!
May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 12:27 AM UTC
There are people who are born
To mend flying wings;
The healing comes easy and tender.
There are people who are born
To curtail your flight;
And their uncaring ways,
rubs hard and rough on you.
Flying and soaring makes up for the times, we find ourselves dragging our mended wings on the ground;
Flying and soaring, up, high in the sky,
Makes us feel we are one with the world.
Let us remember the feeling we love,
Living as creatures who are meant to
Always Soar!
Soaring and Flying
We live up above,
Loving and Living as
We
are meant to
be:
One with The World!
J. Eduardo Ramos ©
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 1:22 AM UTC
I love, not just to love;
You never understood my Love;
My love was as archaic as the medieval or Sapphic poems found as ruinous scrolls: Old and anachronistic;
***** in its innocence or faithfull as wide eyed babes.
J Eduardo Ramos©
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 8:59 PM UTC
Impossible is nothing but a word.
Chance encounters mean more than we know, and yet, like heralds of portent or foretold, unraveled mysteries, we untangle; by following Ariadna's thread:
No Minotaurs of doom to fear; no mazes of walls to get lost in; no legends to survive.
Life is real, and lovingly cinematic, like our dreams.
J Eduardo Ramos ©
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 1:24 AM UTC
Of long streets marked by dim lights.
Concrete steps that ran the side,
of your leathern'd shoes worn out,
by the myriad looks that browsed,
through your soul and left you untouched.
Solemn, You, sideways the smile.
Poet Prophet of the Night.
Only you could fathom All:
Broken windows of the Soul;
Nightless smiles, and daytime Owls
Who, in smooth cadence walked,
stepping into voids of
Coin,
selling their skin;
conjuring
The Harlem Dark,
Of their opaque,
blythe...
Lost Dream.
J. Eduardo Ramos©
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 2:54 AM UTC
The morning lark
Visited my window
To tell me that poetry
Is not exclusively, like jazz music,
the domain of the night.
J Eduardo Ramos ©
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 1:37 PM UTC
Morning light invites all the sleepy colors to awaken
from their slumber:
Red responds in a bright flash;
Yellow winks as it smiles;
Green unfolds calmly, almost asking for reprieve.
Blue is restless to heed the call ;
The World explodes, alive to the sunlit balm.
J Eduardo Ramos©
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 11:27 AM UTC
Warriors cry in solitude
Free to let the tears slowly flow
No constraints when no one sees
The shields are now lowered down
Tears for the death of their wasted
youth and dreams
Gone, long gone
Never to come back
The winners and losers
Of the psychic wars
It’s never them, O, never them
They’re left to be
Warriors who cry
In solitude for their
Lost
dreams,
youth and laughter
Long left behind…
©J. Eduardo Ramos
Aug 14, 2022
Aug 14, 2022 at 4:23 AM UTC
The hopeless, brutal love the ocean proposes,
To the immutable, unyielding, stoic cliff;
Manifested, for æons,
as ceaseless
Violent
Caresses;
Has spawned
the gentle and pristine
Beach.
J Eduardo Ramos©
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 8:24 PM UTC