"gioconda" poems
Mona Lisa, of Louvre,
in simplest words,
an angelic, of beauty.
Her enigmatic smiles,
so mystical, like
bewitching, yet heavenly
as I and you,
felt her, so alive,
left a mystery of,
unrevealed,
Da Vinci's Perfections.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 1:36 PM UTC
En la grana de un prado sanguíneo
o en un bosque de cabezas cercenadas,
la viuda reclama la carne
de un párvulo ********
Allí donde entonan sus voces
un coro de lamentos disonantes.
Reniega de su apetito
la matriarca del barrio francés
Pues los gritos de Joliet
no inquietan su consciencia,
cosechan en cambio,
un jardín de culposos deleites
Placeres como solo admite,
la maquiavelia de una gioconda
que envuelta en lujosos atavíos
extiende sus garras al inocente
.
Ni hablar del perjurio voraz,
que oculta a la fantasía
la marea virgen del infortunio
y el propio siniestro.
La desesperación de una madre
que devora a sus hijos con el don de Saturno.
Para la que no hay erotismo
sino aquel que evoca
el rigor cadavérico.
Vapores que ascienden
desde el lecho en descomposición,
y alimentan su magia.
Celebran el cruento dolor del infante,
con la mirada de espanto
apenas visible en el carmesí
de sus finas pestañas
Porque es claro como la luna
y tan cierto como la muerte
que en la viuda no hay gozo,
sin el grito que desgarra la noche.
Sin la brea que desciende
sobre el horizonte,
y la angustia que acompaña
la pasión de la masacre.
Aug 23, 2015
Aug 23, 2015 at 11:38 AM UTC
I am an eternal freak
The keeper of an everlasting mystery
Which is the secret of my vanishing grim?
Light or darkness makes a difference
Sometimes you see it
Sometimes you don’t
Games of your mind
Mirror of your emotions
I am me and I am you
A light hearted-woman
Or a Hermaphrodite?
To hold the enigma
Is my stigma
I am my master in disguise
If you really look you can see we are alike
I am not the mother
I am not the son
Since I am both and none
I am his masterpiece
His life companion
His mirror
Not his darkest secret
But his portrait of humankind
I am left and right
Masculine and feminine
Good and bad
The one with two faces
Who smiles and cries
At the same time
Yesterday, today and tomorrow
I am the world’s sorrow
I keep a mystery that none can borrow
I am Mona Lisa
So they say, so you say
I am La Gioconda
The one with the most famous, elegant smile
The entire world will ever talk about
Oct 7, 2010
Oct 7, 2010 at 9:39 AM UTC
saw the Mona Lisa once - couldn't stop smiling
© 2020 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
Mar 1, 2020
Mar 1, 2020 at 12:00 AM UTC
*Is it by chance that Da Vinci's "La Gioconda"
is named as such?
All propaganda, speculations and theories all based
on a smile.
Etymology of the name Gioconda is such:
"Friendly and communicative, Gioconda has plenty of charm and magnetism. A sociable extrovert, she is pleasant, cheerful and very likeable. She was born to express herself, interact with others and have a good time. In effect, she can sometimes appear rather disconcerting."
"Rather disconcerting", now that's an understatement of the enigmatic
Mona Lisa's smile!
A beguiling smile, what are you thinking whilst sat for the maestro?
Is it an affair of the heart?
Is it a smirk? A smirk of knowing.
Are you even real?
A woman or as some suggest, a beautiful boy, Da Vinci's muse/lover?
Does your beauty mask a hidden triumph, your magnetism over time?
You, have become immortal, looked upon and gazed at, where Gods have not.
Did you know as you sat amongst the smell of paint,
that your fate was sealed not with a kiss but a smile?*
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 6:56 PM UTC
Pages into dreams – as their stand painted in an enigma
of beauty; being the pencil drawn to you, La Gioconda
"The joyous woman"
As they call your smile a masterpiece; man tries to
piece together every fibre of what makes it so –
“Female power”
Still, I guess parts of your story hangs in the frame of
being an unfinished work – where parts of your soul
aren’t the parts that are fully whole. But the memory
of you holds a place in history.
Of where we met; under the tears of dripping paint,
as I’d share the dreams, I traced out on my notepad’s
pages – staring an hour’s end, knowing that even as
long as I could stare at your smile, we never actually
met.
Still, I have the picture of your smile, to retrace all
the memories in my head – oh the beauty of the
Mona Lisa smile; how it does in my head.
Mar 29, 2025
Mar 29, 2025 at 4:09 PM UTC
A Catalan
liaison where
with his
jazz guitar
as Gioconda
in Hoboken
really left
for Athens
and green
pasture of
Ulster that
pokes a
fable with
lure of
capes in
New York
and Saint-Tropez
Jun 6, 2019
Jun 6, 2019 at 8:51 AM UTC