"gui" poems
.
**•...mouth
wide op-
en, glis-
tening...
in the li-
ght•aw-
aiting to
swallow
this lone
piece of parch-
ment•on it i've scribbled
all my heart could write•bea-
ring sweet nothings, sure and si-
lent•now... take this scroll•down
your neck... it'll effortlessly slide...
•to the core of your very soul•my
message would follow your gui-
de•your opening i'd then gladly
seal •so your contents would...
remain guarded • time is now
to set adrift all i feel...•....now
ride the waves through jour-
ney uncharted•let the curr-
ents take you• let the tides
and winds be your friends
• ... my quiet well wishes
would see you through •
in hopes that you would
be received by my love's
deserving... and... open**
hands•
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 7:45 AM UTC
Here the triple-shadowed unveil their beliefs:
wrangled dusk-bitten demigods walking with-
out shame.
Between the voice I feel and the
touch I see, sweetness loses itself in multiplic-
ity. Here the ****** creators
peddle their big
dreams: failed, half-imagined writers writing
for some fame. Between the ink I taste
and
the blank page I peel, beauty spills onto an
unfinished film-reel. Here the salient idealists
distribute their silent pleas:
faceless, disre-
garded farmers farming hapless grain. Be-
tween
the thoughts I see and the biases I smell,
innocence sits unwanted in a wishing-well.
Here the greatest artists
present their newest
piece: aged, masterful painters painting to
stay stane. Between
the subtlest colors and
the heart-arresting hues, skill picks up a gui-
tar and sings some southern
blues.
Sep 8, 2012
Sep 8, 2012 at 3:09 AM UTC
Wind-whispered lullabies
Caress your apple cheeks.
The soft glow of moonrays
Light up your cow-brown eyes.
Resting on moss-covered branches,
You listen to the symphony of life.
Dew drops dance in the light of night
To the song of the Nightingale-bird.
You watch with rapt attention
Phoebe's bright ascension
In the black-drop of a purple midnight.
Do you hear the song they sing,
My child?
Do you hear the song just for you?
Listen to the voices of a dying tongue
And be lulled into slumber
As I once was.
"Mo bee dao gui ya ya
Ve song tou song tzak tou fa
Tou fa, Le fa buun ng tzak,
Mo tzak ngai ge miu dan fa,
Miu dan fa.
Ngai liu buun ngai ji zhun moi ga!"
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 3:27 PM UTC
D A Y L I G H T:
⠀
In my premature years, black licorice had always been my favorite treat, as it evoked memories of my favorite bird: the crow. It was something like a token of my admiration. Laid in a brittle bed of crisp-like-fall leaves, eyes that were once much bigger would gaze at the sky and see it as a continuation of the ocean. I assumed there was more distance, more leaves, more crows; because the ocean was never just the boats that wavered on the surface.
⠀
I never apprehended that throughout the day is when crows are most distinguishable. Their ebony cutouts, nefarious eyes, and visibly oily obsidian tones contrasted greatly against my favorite element of day – they rode through clouds like mere puddles of fog. Their squawking did not reverberate as boundlessly, nor did it ricochet against the buildings and quivering pine trees. The morning time is when the crows divulge in their breakfast meal, sipping dew from the tallest blades of grass while dressed all in black. It is never the question of, “did you hear that?” or “what was it?”. The crow is the crow as the pigeon is the pigeon.
⠀
⠀
N I G H T F A L L:
⠀
When the world is cloaked with its darkest twinges of night is when the crows become the /crows/, disappearing into their forest lairs. There, they resemble storm clouds that crackle with an aloof thunder regardless of hovering just overhead like a guilty conscience. At night, their hell reigns on a foreshadowed sanctuary – a repetitive funeral, Satan himself occupying a casket made from twigs, the flesh of mice, and children’s shoelaces. Your mind morphs into an unhinged vault, where they prowl and feed on your visions, and devour your common sense. They dilute your integrity with ingenuity. The crow is no longer something vexatious, but rather you are - an intruder - and he, above you in every sense of the word.
⠀
I lie here now, patient as the sun’s shift ends and a somber veil falls over relative land. I no longer face the obligation of licorice, and instead between my teeth resides the root of a sleek, onyx feather. “Sono vivo gui.”
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 3:53 PM UTC
The time had come, it was Sunday noon
My mind kept on telling me, this was way to soon
But there I was, there was no excuse
I had to accept, I couldn't refuse
When we arrived, they were already there
I was trembling inside, this I can swear
I met your Mum, she was so kind to me
But with the stare of your Dad, I was about to flee
Then I met the sisters, and there are three
Andrea is the oldest, she has a Mother's Degree
Marta came next, as tough as she looks
Then the nurse Flavia, with all her Books
Renato is the Brother, a King of the House
Little Angel Maria the daughter, Claudia the spouse
Alvaro is Andrea's husband and the jack of all trades
Their kids Martinha and Gui, both with A grades
You grab my hand, never left me alone
And then I met Nuno, always on the phone
He is Marta's husband and Barbara's father
Then I heard: "Come and sit." It was your brother
I smile at you, how could this be
They look so perfect, so perfect to me
It felt like home, I was happy and so glad
They were the Family, the Family I never had
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 7:31 AM UTC
muscle and teeth bite into her
tearing apart her sensibilities
eating her whole
swallowing her soul
and the worst part is
is that she doesn't mind
she doesn't mind at all
the strangest thing this relief is
sense to sense, nerve to pull
powder blue restrains me so
it's the way it is
or should've been.
mother raised her right
it could've been--
strong bones shiny eyes
sunny milk and porcelain
pretty girl pretty hair
spiteful shaking windy air
tossing golden dead cells
off her shoulders
feigning no awful mystery
giving nothing to hide
for youth has been kind
but what if, the sultan cried
what if the sparrow died?
to the bird that lost it's flight
from being powdered blue
from windless nights?
soaked in water-like tendencies
she'll become like you--
amphibian needs and transparencies
water drops on countertops
sniffing noses every night
runny eyes dry sockets
chains held tighter the safer and sounder
of the faucet transgressions
to the sewer conventions
to the minor inventions
of the heart
and beat beat beat beat
who cries heart
who cries wolf
my Rogerian adventure
cries the moonless girl
and powdered blue this muscle tee'd man
he's her solider her painted town
oh la la she cries
on his shoulder
running dripping faucets
on his shoulder
you see
there's nothing here
and Gui Jun will stand here, eternal flame,
And soon, there's only one thing left to do
i promise
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 1:52 AM UTC
. [for Melania Trump] .
The interior is in the morning. The fire was cold.
Marine Events: Who is my radio?
He found comfort in the trees as he did.
And go to the washing machine. Then wash the recorder.
But this is hell, where Elinstein's computer has long been.
Because there was one thing,
the people where he was before,
And you paid? Rome is tired. Portugal licensed 1
and registration form, The mystery of Jove's Hands;
Jove's Hand and night's system is my father.
For example, you can add two fingers to your wallet.
shopping bag; You can make a signal
Because they are not afraid, they will grow
when they want to.
I lost some part of the weapon,
Give me your heart.
Queen's queen, the queen of origin.
In this case, there are opportunities.
The answer is part of a diet.
Young and old. In the world
Fear of the computer manufacturer.
Asia, Asia; Accept my last at any time.
Socks of inconvenience; I am waiting for death
Dogs want to make ions.
As in many areas, we want to add
out The song, the phrase has shortcomings.
Art and power to the extent that clothes are not old,
And what we see, you know, he is a king,
Six years and the kings of these cities
You can buy without price.
If you see an abortion. And I think it's a list.
And what do you do for me?
And I will not eat.
I love you
GUI, built in A,
Mark does not see it; firearms confidentiality.
Turn off and wait
Wait until ISOCRATE; wait for the world
Wait! You will feel the future due to Knights'
mistakes. Find someone who can live anyhow
Give me a hope program; What was I waiting for?
to express; In fact, better, in practice
but there are royal palaces that are waiting
for you and are looking for you.
waiting for help in reporting sin,
The cereals were sent to where they were.
And now he has a big bubble.
Now tasty, wait for the mistake.
I hope to see you
wait
wait
install personal data protection;
soft football
This hope
Wait until I wait from you
on it;
hidden crises, feeling free:
Religious prayers in Ljubljana
Basic translations: oh, oh, or refuse.
v, a, ab, wine, pass, For example,
he put out of the outside. And the roots
of the pilot, and so on.
He must leave the past.
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 10:54 PM UTC
All along the dock
hangs my sunny face
I'm done picking bones
no one cares about.
There there, there's still
a chance to drop off.
Hey hey, what else is a
girl to do?
All that saved
you've saved
for someone else.
All that you left
has been shaven off.
All that was hope
broken up.
All that's been thought
forgotten lost.
And the strangest thing this relief is--
shreds the muscle from the bone--knowing they'd never come
Gui Jun, he'll stand here eternal flame.
Wait,wait you said you could talk me out
Still, Still! there's my chance to drop off
It's all fine. All good. All fine I promise.
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 2:08 PM UTC
Ouate sacrée de fromager sauvage
Déraciné, fossilisé,
Les racines en l 'air
Hors du sol, suspendues
A des chaînes
Elle survit pourtant
Envers et contre tout.
Dans ses contreforts
Des offrandes déposées
Et chaque fois qu 'elle s 'effiloche
Chaque fois qu 'elle se désintègre
Une autre prend comme par magie la relève
Et perpétue son kapok centenaire.
Ne lui demandez pas la couleur de son coton
Demandez-lui la couleur du rhum épicé
Pour soulager ses chaînes.
Regarder des racines sèches
ne fait pas repousser l 'arbre
Regarder des cabosses au sol
ne fait pas renaître le gui.
Chevauchez les ouates farouches
De mapou rouge
Hantez de votre parade nuptiale
Les fétiches qui hurlent dans la canopée
En dansant le branle des paradisiers
De ma Première Dame,
De ma Grande Brigitte.
Aug 25, 2019
Aug 25, 2019 at 5:37 AM UTC
S’il m’était donné de choisir, comme une dernière bouée de sauvetage, au faîte de ma déréliction endémique, entre le pinacle à la française à Fontainebleau et la géhenne à deux encablures de la tour de Pise, je choisirais assurément, sans l’ombre d’un doute, sans l’ombre d’une hésitation, sans un cillement d’yeux, le paradis des hardis réprouvés dans la géhenne toscane.
Géhenne pour géhenne s’il m’était donné de choisir comme compagnons de noble moisissure entre Marie Joseph Rose (1763-1814) et Marie-Louise (1778-1851), j’opterais aussi vite que l’éclair qui zèbre l’oeil ivre des cyclones autistes pour l’épouse d’Henri (1767-1820) aux détriments de la créole impératrice et pour le Grenadien plus que pour le Corse (1769-1821).
Entre la géhenne aux relents de sangliers épicés de gui des druides rôtissant sous les langues de flammes du bûcher de Jeanne la Pucelle (1412-1431) et celle aux humeurs de sang du cochon noir scarifié par Cécile Fatiman (1775-1883) épouse Pierrot (Jean Louis Michel Paul) (1761-1857) qui vécut plus que centenaire, permettez que je préfère un bail de cent et quelques douze ans à vol d’oiseau de Bwa Kayiman.
Sur mon échafaud ce n’est pas Louis Le Dernier l’ex-Seizième (1754-1793) et sa fleur de lys que je pleure mais Boukman Dutty (?- 1791), le Jamaïquain et son cou coupé cloué!
S’il m’était donné de choisir à l’heure de mon dernier mercredi des Cendres entre extrême-onction de poussière boréale aux parfums de lavande et de papier bible et viatique de poussière volcanique aux fumets de soufre et de bay-rhum, ce ne serait aucun sacrifice que de faire libation des tourments d’amour et de feu de cette boue vavalesque des Bains Jaunes car je suis né par la volonté des cyclones de cette poussière rouge et noire à la fois, et de cette poussière kako je ne sortirai que par la force des genèses des cyclones-baïonnettes.
Aug 23, 2019
Aug 23, 2019 at 3:27 AM UTC