"marius" poems
a twist of legs, a sort of side jump shadow
getting wild behaviour to its happy roots
no-body can resist to this merry-go-round
virus
“amour” is the only word remained in his dictionary
the only drink accepted in his clans like a shard
of life sparkling greater than the sun itself
ashy
moustache hides a strange confidence when
lifted from the always-filled glass
with potion called
manouche
in the eyes of Lewis he caresses
the immortal chords
© Marius Surleac
Apr 30, 2010
Apr 30, 2010 at 9:59 AM UTC
I cannot wait
To weather storms with you,
And I cannot wait
To see all the miracles of life with you.
And I used to think
I was the Eponine
To your Marius,
But I am the Hinata
To your Naruto.
My head hurts with
Pain I faced alone,
But I can't wait for the day
We face the world hand-in-hand,
Because you are all that I've ever wanted
Out of life and more.
It's taken awhile,
But I'm finally where I'm meant to be,
I'm finally within your heart.
Aug 15, 2016
Aug 15, 2016 at 2:46 PM UTC
The words I wrote on the sky
with stars instead of blue ink
- signs of my heart's vibrations
on top of this soul
© Marius Surleac
Apr 28, 2010
Apr 28, 2010 at 8:59 PM UTC
She's so casual squishy,
that Velda Tautginas. Lithuanians
have the strangest names
but **** can they cook. Fine
figured woman too. That Marius
is sure a lucky man. I don't know
how he keeps the pounds off.
If someone was cooking me
kugel like that, I'd be fat as a
manatee. Gettin' close though.
Shoulda never moved to Florida.
It's so **** sticky, I can't bear
to leave the air conditioning. Still,
Id've never met the Tautginas
had I not moved to St. Pete's. Guess
I oughta get a treadmill or
one of them there Beachbody
workout videos. Hell Marius tells me
Velda's sister is recently widowed
and is moving here from Newark.
Bet she knows how to make,
kugel like that.
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 6:30 PM UTC
Oh, from a starving lady to a man,
This can't be more than just a little show!
Say then, what if there is some higher plan?
Don't say you'll love a girl who you don't know!
I cannot say your love is false or dull,
Nor can I ever say she's not a dame
But I can say my heart is twice as full
Of poems that are titled with your name.
So, if the words you say to her are true,
Then you go have your fun and I will stay--
Outside and all alone and without you,
My heart will sing those words you'll never say.
My love is thus-- My love is always so
That what is in your heart I'll never know.
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 9:05 PM UTC
The pale glow of her skin
Calls out to him
Calling and luring and dragging him in
The kiss of two lovers
The passion delight
Nothing compared to the vampires bite
Golden hair flows back
Exposing her skin
Her blood its calling
Calling to him
Feel her heart beating
Its racing, its racing
Beating and beating the darkness within
Now the bites taken
Now the bloods flowing
Drip, drip, dripping for him
Soaking and staining the soft white skin
Come see the feeding of
Marius Gallowsraven
Nov 30, 2011
Nov 30, 2011 at 9:25 PM UTC
An empty page is a perfect reflection
Of my empty mind
And who took the life away from the words I write?
Who has cursed me to pace nervously around dining rooms with the hope that something meaningful will appear on a page
Some words that are worthy of being said that will be met by crowds with adoration and applause
Yet I am not worthy
I am not worthy of adoration or applause or words with meaning
I am stuck in this flat affair
Because while others seek for meaning with action my hours are stained with a deep black oil that keeps me standing still
When I think about writing my head feels so empty
And I wonder if I have wasted all my pretty words on meaningless sayings in the hopes someone would look at me and say “now there is a good and articulate revolutionary soul, a good man with good answers”
Now, for once, the whole truth is clear
I cannot write sacred words for there are no sacred words
I cannot write a sacred poem for sacred poems do not exist
And I think this is what growing up feels like
The day you realize that just because you read Allen Ginsbergs Howl,
and wanted to write a poem just like that, and you spend two years attempting to create a facsimile of “I saw the best minds of my generation”,
None of that can make you a poet
Just as refusing to have a drivers license does not make one an anarchist
And how much have I grown away from that once holy phrase “I saw the best minds of my generation”?
Since then I have heard Marius Jacobs declare “I saw the world and it was not beautiful”
Max Stirner cry out “All things are nothing to me”
And Johnny Hobo singing “you wish that the world was clean/but I’m in love with the way it’s *****
None of these words are holy
None of these sayings are sacred
But I hold each one in my heart as if they are my property, or rather, a property of me
I decided to write poetry because of people like Carl Sandburg and Jack Kerouac
I loved the words they wrote to the point that my words were lost
I celebrated their words as if they were holy
But growing up means I understand that, at the end of the day, they are just words
I tried so hard to write the words that came from them
And it’s about **** time I start writing the words
That can only come from me
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 3:52 PM UTC