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RAJ NANDY May 2015
Declared as an UNESCO Heritage Site in 1983, is today a place of tourist attraction, - this ancient city of Inca pride! Please read its absorbing story, you will not regret it ! Thanks, - Raj Nandy

MACHU PICCHU: THE LOST CITY OF THE INCAS!

(I)
At those ethereal heights where only eagles dare,
And where the Condor glides to gently perch;
Above the Urubamba Valley of Peru, -
Stretches the peaks of Machu Picchu and Huayna
Picchu;
Where the sky above is a clear cerulean blue!
And on a cloud-draped ridge connecting both
these Andean peaks, -
Lies the magnificent site of Machu Picchu, –
which many tourists seek!
A city hewed and carved out of rocks and stones,
Which in proud defiance to marauding time,
Stands there for nearly six hundred years, -
A majestic symbol of Inca pride!
(II)
The Inca Kings were the ‘child of the sun’,
Their chief deity was the Sun God - ‘INTI’,
Their ninth king who expanded and consolidated
their Empire,
Was known as the great Emperor Pachucuti!
This king and his architects, at an altitude of
8000 feet built the great Inca City!
To worship their gods and honor their ancestors,
And as a royal family resort and a summer retreat!
Inca religion was based around Nature, and their
architecture blended with the landscape around!
At Machu Picchu they felt closer to their gods,
And could almost hear His sound!
Pachucuti also built the city of Cuzco, the capital
of the Inca Empire,
They never had horses or wheels those days,
Their ‘runners’ covered their kingdom entire!
With posts located at suitable distances, for
relaying messages throughout their Empire!
(III)
The ruins of Machu Picchu covers 13 sq kms,
Lying some 70 kms north-west of Cuzco city,
Nestled amidst the navel of the mountain rocks,
Hidden from the praying eyes of all adversaries!
Surrounded by gushing mountain rivers and
yawning chasms going down deep;
And with secret ropeway bridges, this Inca hideout
was all complete!
It escaped the greedy Pizarro’s eyes, that Spaniard
who came for Inca gold,
Leaving Machu Picchu untouched, for the entire world
to behold!
So the urban sector of Machu Picchu has 140 buildings
still intact;
With steps and terraces cut into steep granite face,
And streams and aqua-ducts to irrigate their lands!
(IV)
The citadel lies on a flat surface, which is a 20 hectares
spread!
With a sacred and a residential area, and houses for
priests, nobility and guests!
‘Amautas’ were men both holy and wise, conducted
ceremonies and read the stars;
But the Incas had no written script, and took help of
the ‘quipu’ by far!
The ‘quipu’ was a numerical system using many
knotted strings, -
With which they kept records and accounts of almost
any and everything!
(V)
A Sacred Area had temples and buildings,
All dedicated to the Gods by Pachucuti;
A Sun Temple, and the sacred Intihuatana Stone,
For ‘binding the sun’ – the great Inti !
During the Equinox on the 21st of March and September,
When the sun was directly above the Intihuatana Stone, <
The priests performed ceremonies and offered prayers, -
To keep the sun caged and in control!
Legend has it that should a sensitive man, keep his
forehead on this sacred Stone, -
His ‘third eye’ would open up, and the ‘spiritual world’
he shall behold!
(VI)
It was Hiram Bingham a professor from Yale University,
Who in July 1911 rediscovered this miniature Inca City!
He took three years to clear the jungles and the wild
vines;
And the artifacts he had found were sent to the US -
as precious finds!
The modern architects who visited Machu Picchu,
all marvelled at the techniques used;
A ‘dry stone technique’
* without mortar, had all of
them pretty confused!
Many stones weighed around fifty tones, and others were
cut into various shapes and size;
And were fitted with such precision, leaving no room
even for a blade of knife!
The peaks there often get covered with mist,
And is the abode of white fluffy clouds;
This stairways to where the Inca gods dwell, #
Is where Machu Picchu is to be found!
- Raj Nandy
(- ALL COPYRIGHTS RESERVED -)
Notes: -Huayna Pichu stands behind Machu Picchu -
40mtrs higher! It has a steeper climb and has the ‘Temple of
the Moon’ inside a dark cave! +Declared a Heritage Site
by UNESCO in 1983.< Sun being directly above the sacred stone did not cast any shadow, so the priest said he had caged the Sun! *
Dry stone
technique without mortar also used in Egyptian Pyramids! #Many
tribes believed Incas were Gods! Thanks for reading, - Raj Nandy.

............................................. ................................................. .....................
Jim Davis Apr 2017
In the last
three decades,
after we became one,
I touched
amazingly beautiful things,
horribly ugly things,  
unbelievably wondrous things

I touched nature's majesty;
hued walls of the Grand Canyon,              
crusty bark of the
Redwoods and Sequoias,
live corals of the
Great Barrier Reef,
dreamlike sandstone of the Wave

I touched magical and strange;
platypus, koalas and
kangaroos Down Under,
underwater alkali flies and
lacustrine tufa at Mono Lake,
astral glowing worms
in the Kawiti caves

I touched holy places;
Christianity's oldest churches,
the Pope's home in the Vatican,
Hindu and Sikh temples and
Moslem mosques in India,
Anasazi's kivas of Chaco canyon,
Aboriginal rocks of Uluru and Kata Tjuta

I touched glimmers of civilization;
uncovered roads of Pompeii,
fighting arenas of Rome,
terra cotta armies of Xian,
sharp stone points of the Apache,
pottery shards from the Navajo,
petroglyphs by the Jornada Mogollon

I touched fantastical things;
winds blowing on the
steppes of Patagonia,,
playas and craters of Death Valley,  
high peaks of the Continental Divide,
blazing white sands of the  
Land of Enchantment

I touched icons of liberty
and freedom;
the defended Alamo,
a fissured Liberty Bell,
an embracing Statue of Liberty,
the harbor of Checkpoints
Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie

I touched glorious things
made by man;
the monstrous Hoover Dam,
an exquisite Eiffel tower,
a soaring St Louis Arch,
an Art deco Empire State Building,
the sublime Golden Gate Bridge

I touched sparks from history;
the running path of an
Olympic flame just off Bourbon,
the last steps of Mohandas Ghandi
at Birla House before Godse,
******'s Eagle's nest and the
grounds over Der Führerbunker

I touched walls of power;
enclosed rings of the Pentagon,
steep steps of the
Great Wall of China,
untried bastions of
Peter and Paul's fortress,
fitted boulders of Machu Picchu

I touched strong hands;
of those conquering
Rommel's and ******'s hordes,
of cold warriors of
Chosin Reservoir,  
of forgotten soldiers of Vietnam,
of terrorist killers of today

I touched memories of war;
the somber Vietnam memorial,
the glorious Iwo Jima statue,
the cold slabs at Arlington,
the buried tomb of USS Arizonians,
Volgograd's Mother Russia  

I touched ugly things;
shreds of light in
Port Arthur's prison,
horrible smelly dust
in the streets from 9/11,
ash impregnated dirt
in the pits at Auschwitz

I touched oppressed freedom;
open ****** plazas
of Tiananmen Square,
smooth pipe and concrete
of the Berlin Wall,  
tall red brick walls
of the Moscow Kremlin

I touched constrained freedom;
heavy ankle and
wrist slave chains
in the South,
little windows
in Berlin's Stasi prison,
haunted cells in Alcatraz  

I touched remnants of madness;
wire and ovens of Auschwitz,
stacked chimneys and
wooden bunks of Birkenau,        
Ravensbruck, and Dachau,
the tomb of Lenin,
toppled Stalins

I touched hands of survivors;
of Leningrad's siege,
of German POWs and
of Russian fighters
of Stalingrad's battle,
of Cancer's scourges  

I touched grand things;
deep waters of the Pacific and Atlantic,
blue hills of Appalachia,
towering peaks of the Rockies,
high falls of Yosemite Valley,
bursting geysers of Yellowstone,
crashing glaciers of Antarctica and Alaska    

I touched times of adventure;
abseiling and zipping in Costa Rica,
packing Pecos wilds and Padre isles,
flying nap of earth Hueys to Meridian,
breaking arms in JRTC's box,
fighting Abu Sayyaf, and Jemaah
Islami in Zamboanga City

I touched through you;
wet sand beaches of  Mexico and Jamaica,
mysterious energy of the monoliths of Stonehenge,
rarefied air in front of the
Louvre's Mona Lisa,
ancient wonders of Giza,
Egypt's tombs and pyramids

We shared soft touches;
drifting in Bora Bora's
surreal waters,
joining hands camel trekking the
Outback's dry sands,
strolling along Tasmania's
eucalyptus forest trails

basking in swinging hammocks
under Fiji's bright sun,
scrambling in
Las Vegas' glittering and
red rock canyons,
kissing under the
Taj Mahal's symphony of arches

We shared touching deep waters;
propelled in gondolas
through the city of canals,
Drifting atop Uru cat boats on Lake Titticaca,
Swooping in jet boats
up a wild river in Talkeetna

Racing in speed boats
around Sydney's great harbour,
skimming in pangas in Puerto Ayora,
paddling the Kennebec for
East's best petroglyphs,
cruising Salzbergwerk's underwater lake

We touched scrumptious things;
Beignets and chicory coffee at DuMonde's in the Big Easy,
Hot *** with sesame sauce
in the walled city of Xian,
Peking duck, dimsum, scorpions,
snake and starfish on Wangfujing Snack Street

We touched delicious things
Crawfish heads and tails at JuJu's shack
and ten years at Jeanette's,
Langoustine at Poinciana's, Fjöruborðinus and Galapagos,
Cream cheese and loch bagels
at Ess-a' s in the Big Apple

I touched your hand riding;
hang loose waves of Waikiki,
a big green bus in Denali's awesomeness,
clip clopping carriages of Vienna, Paris,
Prague, New Orleans, Krakow,
Quebec City, and Zakopane,
the acapella sugar train of St Kitts

We shared touching on paths;
the highway 1 of Big Sur,
the Road of the Great Ocean,
the bahn to Buda and Pest,
the path to the North of Maine,
the trail of the Hoh rainforest,
and time after time, the way home

Yet,
I could spend
the next three decades,
in simple bliss,
having need for
touching nothing,
other than you!

©  2016 Jim Davis
A poem I wrote last year for my wife!  Posted now since it matches the HP' theme for today - "Places"
Jeff Raheb Aug 2014
I arrive in Lima
The sweat-sogged poverty
lumped onto concrete
pushes at my heels
The tight black air
swallows the nakedness
of prostitutes and thieves
Pockets empty like a traveler’s stomach
growling beneath the world of Los Incas

In Cusco
My head throbs in the thin air
with the sound of boys
trying to shine my boots, my sandals
my bare feet
no problemo
women sell fresh papaya and guava
sweaters and trinkets
Hawkers surround me
like a tightly stitched T-shirt

Cusco
The Navel of the Earth
A bulging belly
throbbing
digesting
living

Sunset
I spread my toes
over the evaporated flood waters
of the Rio Urubamba
where it once flowed
from the fingers of Manco Inca
over the fleeing conquistadors
at the top of Ollantaytambo
Momentary brilliance
before you retreated to the jungle
Spain, always gnawing at your heels

It’s a mouth-full-of-coca-leave’s journey
to Macchu Picchu
I enter the dream
spitting wet leaves
on the silence of a dead kingdom
Gasping for air that once filled lungs
of Inca messengers
carrying news of defeat and conquest
over the great Andes
Los Incas Caminos
The cloud-dripped mountains
spread green across my eyes
I see ghosts
a steady move of feet through the depleted air
Porter, takes my backpack
carries it against his brown crusty skin
ancient, sun-baked descendant
of the Earth’s naval
A toothless, painless smile
It must have been different
before we came
with money the color of unpicked rice
Now I hear your belly-groan
Between the perfectly fitted stones
of Sacsayhuaman
My voice bounces circular
off invisible walls
because your magic has survived you

Macchu Picchu
Unknown and majestic
Hidden from blood
from the stink of vultures
No more
Black raven feather
drops on my skull
floats on the shiny gray stone
under my feet
which are wrapped in dried, brown skin
naked, without a heartbeat

It’s past sunrise
the tourist bus has arrived
and the flat shadow of the crowd
blocks the light of the ascending sun
that tries to penetrate
the perfect holes
of a perfect wall
in an imperfect dream
The human soul was threshed out like maize
   in the endless
granary of defeated actions,
   of mean things that happened,
to the very edge of endurance, and beyond,
and not only death, but many deaths,
   came to each one:
each day a tiny death, dust, worm, a light
flicked off in the mud at the city's edge,
   a tiny death with coarse wings
pierced into each man like a short lance
and the man was besieged by the bread or by the knife,
the cattle-dealer: the child of sea-harbours,
   or the dark captain of the plough,
or the rag-picker of snarled streets:
everybody lost heart, anxiously waiting for death,
   the short death of every day:
and the grinding bad luck of every day was
like a black cup that they drank,
   with their hands shaking.
Karijinbba Jul 2018
My twin flame here I am
Do with me as you please
I surrender to you
Other women complain asking
you why do you love me more then them and you replied...
"why do I not love any of you like I love her?"
"If a blind woman and one who sees are together in darkness, they are the same.
Light comes, the one who sees will see light. The blind one
stays in darkness."
I am yours beloved I see your light my teacher my guru Sage twin flame my everything!
Caress me dance me oh sing me
Lay with me among the wild
flowered fields and bunny meadow prairy land
Spread you my wings I am
in full array near our nudist hill
My Adam your Eve
Or skip this previews
just take me now
Touch me taste me
Climbing becoming one we do our Macchu-picchu mountain each time we touch
many a mountain we shall climb
I won't ever let you down
Reciprocate my lover
I am your true love
I've been waiting for your scripted promises of old for decades to manifest.
Help me bridge this old gap bridge the chasm with
a leap of faith
Help me come out of this world of unreality our old prenuptial script lets jump into life
Let me spill my heart to you
Spill yours and play some nice music no more sad songs
Its sunny and beautiful outside
What a wonderful world
Loving the outdoors
Loving you loving me
Lay me down under the sunny
blue sky by day, let the pine tree aromas after the heavy rains to heighten and sharpen our senses
the evenings long.
Let's lay us both down
under the pomegranate trees examining their sensual hanging fruits that get us so high
Feed me your ripe fruits
I so hunger for you love.
Embrace me gently or grab me
download yourself into my hybrid vessel your inter galactic antivirus, lets wait untill dark falls for the stars to blanket us all night long I am your star seed
ENTER ME the evenings mornings long.
You raise me up like mercury on a thermometer pumping me
Earthquaking me
Fireworks crackling us
Volcanic booms exploding
with each pump fly me higher and higher raise me up, and up
You are the perfect lover
Protective husband amazing father
To this truth I surrender to you
Mate with me jump into Karijinis's hole fly us a honeymoon trip to Australia.
Protect me from the wild beast there here guide me make me into your own image God of love heart of gold like me!
King of hearts
here I am your Queen bee 2
glued together baby two
plus eight more!
There isn't a tree a rose a
Hilton hotel a Travelodge
A Laundry's restaurant
a garden a mountain
Paris Egypt Australia Africas starry sky
Not any place on Earth
Where I can't find you
You are omnipresent in my world even crossroads and street lights define you
You love like I do your eye moves are my own!
your smile is my own!
There isn't a Space Center rocket
Not any Star System
That won't remind me of you:
looking at me, waiting
Longing praying
for me to understand you.
You were the only one who
truly loved me just for me!
Everywhere I look I see you
I died amnesic in Greece and Veracruz there I wished I was never born
we all have our ways
of jumping off cliffs.
I fell into the abyss and I died again when Nasus answered phone in our home in Kemah
saying you two had a son!
I believed her lie
Lover of  life!
Giver of life
Love of my life
Lord G* heaven i missed you all my life
I sing and dance for you
Lord son of G
omnipresent
miss you my E.T divine
I surender to you
do with me
as you please.
rdd/pjc I'm bba/asg
remember me as
something very
dear and precious
you promed me
my true love
I love you adore you forever yours in
mind heart body spirit soul.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
By: Karijinbba
All rights reserved:
excerpts from my first memoir
Aplicable {1974 through 1995-
up to 2006) sorry we didn't change the world where rich
marry poor
and women not men rule
no more wars
no more wars!
Jay Vasquez Oct 2014
Can I grab your hand tonight, under the light bulb
Can I feel your top lip tonight, over the cell phone
I waited outside your window but you took too long
I walked you home last year that's the last I saw you
Make time for me cause I've waited longer than they have
r Apr 2014
Led down from the tower
Head high and hands bound
Blindfold declined against the wall
Black square pinned to his heart
Eyes afire and shining proud
He sang...

He sang of Caruso, Townes Van Zandt
Pavarotti, Bocelli, Mercury,
Carreras, he sang of Antoine,
Of Sinatra, Lennon, Morrison, Redding
He sang and songbirds paused in flight
He sang like them all

He sang a song of himself
Of leaves of grass, of second comings
Of Byron, and Bharti, and Cummings
He sang of Neruda, and Plath, Tagore
Dickinson, Kamala Das and Naidu
Oh, he sang of them all

He sang of art and beauty
Of Mona Lisa and starry nights
Girls in green dresses and pearls
He sang of Van Gogh, of Picasso
Of Rembrandt, da Vinci
He sang of Michelangelo

He sang of sadness, pain
He sang of My Lai, Sand Creek
Of Guernica and Krystallnacht
He cried and sang of Wounded Knee
Of Katyn Forest, Sabra and Shatila
Oh, he wept as he sang

He sang of history and wonders
He sang of Olduvai and pyramids
Machu Picchu, Tikal, and Angkor Wat
He sang of a great wall, the Taj Mahal
Stonehenge, Easter Isle, Mesa Verde
His song took us to them all

He sang of courage
A song of Bunker Hill, Gettysburg
Of the Alamo, Normandy, Stalingrad
Of Lincoln, Guevara and Dr. King
He sang of Bolivar, Bhutto, Ghandi
He shamed us with their song

He sang his song...
As women sighed and peasants cried
He  sang until the rifles fired, he died
Songbirds fell from the sky
Soldiers broke their guns on stones
And marched into the deep blue sea.

r ~ 4/12/14
Overwhelmed Sep 2012
all that’s left is ruins
holding within them
the stories of so many

but the jungle barely notices
as her vines begin to reclaim
that which is rightfully hers
El oro, cuando lo golpea, brilla.


I want to stand at 3,082 meters
On the overlook above Machu Picchu — close
Enough to the edge so my timid toes
Flirt with wild columbine and teeter

On white granite stones laid centuries ago.
Speak to me the way the Andes
Breathe cumulus clouds phthalo blue. Seek
Answers in the form of temples. Slow

Down time in the Room with Three Windows —
Hanan-Pacha: bless my fears with conviction.
Kay-Pacha: reject this earth’s mundane affliction.
Ukju-Pacha: watch my seedling-soul as it grows.

Move with me in cyclical certainty from ruin
To reverence, beyond what words can measure —
Even the old Peruvian proverb for treasure.
Our trials make us mountains among humans.
Sube a nacer conmigo, hermano.
Dame la mano desde la profunda
zona de tu dolor diseminado.
No volverás del fondo de las rocas.
No volverás del tiempo subterráneo.
No volverá tu voz endurecida.
No volverán tus ojos taladrados.
Mírame desde el fondo de la tierra,
labrador, tejedor, pastor callado:
domador de guanacos tutelares:
albañil del andamio desafiado:
aguador de las lágrimas andinas:
joyero de los dedos machacados:
agricultor temblando en la semilla:
alfarero en tu greda derramado:
traed a la copa de esta nueva vida
vuestros viejos dolores enterrados.
Mostradme vuestra sangre y vuestro surco,
decidme: aquí fui castigado,
porque la joya no brilló o la tierra
no entregó a tiempo la piedra o el grano:
señaladme la piedra en que caísteis
y la madera en que os crucificaron,
encendedme los viejos pedernales,
las viejas lámparas, los látigos pegados
a través de los siglos en las llagas
y las hachas de brillo ensangrentado.
Yo vengo a hablar por vuestra boca muerta.
A través de la tierra juntad todos
los silenciosos labios derramados
y desde el fondo habladme toda esta larga noche
como si yo estuviera con vosotros anclado,
contadme todo, cadena a cadena,
eslabón a eslabón, y paso a paso,
afilad los cuchillos que guardasteis,
ponedlos en mi pecho y en mi mano,
como un río de rayos amarillos,
como un río de tigres enterrados,
y dejadme llorar, horas, días, años,
edades ciegas, siglos estelares.
Dadme el silencio, el agua, la esperanza.
Dadme la lucha, el hierro, los volcanes.
Hablad por mis palabras y mi sangre.
Norman Crane Sep 2020
A spiralling ascent
Along the world's edge
Sweatdrops fall
To a below without sunlight
Boot dust
Llamas labour under supply packs
Hoof beat lantern dance
Shadows cast on the cliff face
Distorted we loom
Above the mute fog of humanity
Summitous
Awash in the final dawn
The old Inca smiling sprouts his knife
Ancient tapestral landscape
Exhales into us
Curvously infolding
The old Inca holds out his hands
The knife cuts horizontally
Reality opens like a book upon a tabletop
There, he says,
Pointing to the infinite space between where the sky in the past met the land
Timespace lies like a discarded washcloth
And we see dimly through the mists—
There, he says,
Pizarro could not follow us,
And we see dimly through the mists—
The neon lights of
Neoqusqo
the lost city of the Incas,
survives and breathes
with this cataclysmic vegetation
still malignant and undying
to conjure divinity
for those lack,
in the purest form,

it awed Neruda and Che
with the shimmer of the first light,
the smell is a poisonous offering,
the view is like an unforgotten love,

most of the nights in my sleep
I come back from there
and some of the nights
I wish I could never.
ivory Sep 2010
throw away all of our material *******
our iphones and credit cards and television sets
throw them in a bonfire, take off our clothes and
dance around the flames naked chanting freedom mantras
we could do anything we wanted
climb to machu picchu and try to feel the past
drink ayahuasca and play shaman for a day
be wild and open and part of the earth again
for once in our lives we might feel important
unrestricted, powerful
like we have a purpose
and even after the hallucinations fade
maybe the plants will still whisper to us our destiny
when we are sleeping in hammocks and eating bugs
i guess i just wouldn't care if the guts got stuck in my teeth
because you'd be there and encourage me to give up my ocd habits
of always being clean
because you'd make it worth it to not care
i'd give you my soul if it meant we could always feel this way
so wonderfully lost in each other that nothing else matters.
© AlyssiaAnderson

Awkward reactions encouraged.
Brian Oarr Feb 2012
Third day of this trek descending
rapidly from cloud forest into high jungle habitat,
alive with hummingbirds and orchids,
her Q'ero porters guide the tour group
to Intipunko, "Gate of the Sun".
At 4:30 AM and 10,000 feet altitude
biting cold cracks stone, eats exposed flesh,
stealing breath as she gulps pale sunlight.
Coca leaves wadded in her cheek
forge mind against the acts of atmosphere.
A lifelong pilgrimage to this purpose,
observation of the sunrise over Machu Picchu.

The Q'ero pass around a sack of pemmican.
What meat it is, she doesn't ask.
It smells of canvas, but tastes of apricot.
Her fate entrusted to these guides,
she eats what they offer.
This Inca Trail is marked with their scent;
they follow signposts painted on thin air,
read morning mists like road maps.
They have brought her to this citadel,
Lost City of Peace and Power.
Her life for now at equinox,
shaman-guides have opened her vision
to the hitching post of the sun.
Alan McClure Sep 2011
Victoria Falls
with all its mighty battering roar
was merely background noise
as I wondered what Camilla was thinking of me.

Machu Picchu from the sun-gate at dawn?
I was distracted by Helen,
and whether she'd keep in touch
when she returned to Britain.

Debbie eclipsed the solar eclipse -
The outback rolling into premature darkness
spectacular, sure
but nothing to what she was doing to my heart.


But you and I
feel the simple Scottish lawn
beneath our four feet
together, complete.
cartel Sep 2015
12
Jane was given a year to live
Febricity, nausea and cancer would assist her through that year
Marching headfirst into this battle
Apropos of nothing, she packed up and left
Maybe she broke down, maybe she got up
Junction of her heart and mind, she was preparing to die whilst simultaneously starting to live
Julian Alps, Tianzi Mountains, Santorini, Petra, Machu Picchu, she saw them all
Augmented her mind
Separated her ignorance
October fell and she was hospitalized, the hospital was now her personal party with constant visitors
Novice to cancer no more, now she was the leader
Dec**ease couldn’t stop her, she was alive
Matalie Niller Jun 2012
Lordy it's a pretty day though
humidity may ruin the glue
must use less water or else
the whole contraption will fall apart-
balloons pop wire melts
oh no Machu Picchu is ruined
just a globby mess of beer bottles and pizza boxes
how can I describe
how you look like a less attractive Jason Segel
and not even nearly as cool
still pretty smart though
but something tells my brain
there are plenty more even better
maybe a male model with a heart of platinum-
or chocolate!
what a perfect man
eat your heart out.
A dios no lo encontré
precisamente en una iglesia,
ni tampoco en un sermón.
No nos conocimos un domingo,
ni se me presentó envuelto en sotanas.

A dios lo vi en una solitaria zebra,
en un hocico húmedo y arrugado,
y en el tímido beso de una hiena.
En el sincronizado nado de los delfines,
la jorobada espalda de una ballena
y un atardecer radiante de rojo y azul.

Me lo topé en las canas de mi padre
y la fe intensa de mi madre.
En la tenacidad de mi hermanita,
convertida hoy en empoderada mujer,
y en el calor de esas amistades
que prevalecen a pesar
de tiempo y distancia.

Dios se me apareció en un primer beso
y una caricia sincera.
Lo encontré detrás de ese
par de ojos azules que gritaban “te amo”,
y en la impotencia y el dolor
que hoy causa el haberlos perdido.

Lo atrapé escondido
en la grandeza de Machu Picchu,
y corriendo por las majestuosas
planicies sudafricanas.
En las calles de mi pueblo pequeñito,
tan lleno de virtudes y problemas,
y en el eco del grito latinoamericano.

A dios lo veo en las cicatrices
que exhiben mis rodillas,
producto de cada caída.
Reside en mi fuerza y coraje,
que me han levantado,
y también en cada persona
que me ha brindado una mano.

Y es que a dios lo veo en algo tan simple
como lo es la gracia de ser humano.
En la risa, el éxito, el dolor y los errores.
El amor, la soledad, la esperanza y la incertidumbre.
Dios, mis amigos, está en la valentía de vivir.
- Dec 2016
Machu Picchu, Stonehenge, The Colloseum
These are all built in ruins
All beautiful pieces
All fascinating

Hence don't ask me
Why I look at you
Like a piece of art

Darling, don't hide
Brokenness is beautiful
*You are fascinating
Hi if youre reading this here's a hug!!!
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2019
.all of Dante: no feminism; surely woman was such a half-"breed" that she didn't deserve the partiarchal sustenance anomaly of a Dante... a: mutation... half-wit me: succor? no succor! surely a man these days, would rather read ****-****** poetry from the 20th century, and watch football... than be levelled to a "need" to fathom the courtship of woman... it's enough for me to read the Braille of a key and a keyhole: and... like... some miraculous enterprise of a door... i'm out: dodo project... all the man that i will ever be: is being the man i was not expected to be: one thing being a puppet in the hands of the gods: another to be a puppet being kicked and shoved by a fellow human mob; fin; yep... fancy a gambled spotting of a Dante on a roundabout of: on a whim, within a whim, and... whenever she puts on lipstick in an advert: i am not thinking about her thinking of the metaphor for: *******.

you know...
i once stop myself...

i'm reading some
homosexual poetry
from the 1950s

and then i...
"reflect":

what is woman
writing in
the 21st century...

??????

archeologist...
certainly not
an entymologist...

one word...
pre-
whatever ethnic
grouping i was
part of...

***'gy'el...
one word savior,
much more
than an "our father..."

oh i'm way, way past
brown, coco,
copper tanning,
way past the Bangladeshii:
100 shades of
  goo...

gold smitten...
and some of Cairo
hushed extra-
     extravagance
of the dimmed
sandy-
-hued locket of
             timid amber...

4 artifacts from
the 20th century
imprinted on my collectivised
aspect of a singling out
mind:
the holocaust
of the 1940s...
itallian **** from the 1970s...
music videos
from the 1980s...
t.v. reruns of cartoons
in the 1990s...
4th artifact... ****!
****!

what's the fourth 'un?

westerns:
with their scoop of:
any action, no action,
all action:
   panorama to boot...
a decade bias:
'60s...

             and with so many
takes on, "the trip",
i sometimes they didn't
drag god, the word, logos,
into their phantoms
upon the wake...
if only... they didn't desecrate
the shrines of
ingesting hallucinogenic
fungus,
by simultaneously
writing about them:

no go: zombie area...
   i too wish:
no x-ray was handy
in the variety of poem...
but:
******* desecrated
the sights...
like the machu picchu
of the soul...

what then:
at the end of a bottle?
another bottle!

       and prior to?
all of the worthy set
that constitutes
the making of life:
in the collective quest
of the repeated set
of mistakes.

- i tune in into
the speakeasies of
american psychologists
who:
a controversial
opinion is as much
degrading
as a shot of *****...

they could have tripped
all they wanted...
but have recorded:
nothing of their
experiences...

   and all would be:
just as well...
stiff & the stale Vatican:
holy men
for a worth of a leather
shoe... or a cotton shroud's
worth of a hood 'n'
fabric...

                as i sometimes...
have to stop...
no writing,
and interlude of reading...
and nothing but
a shelter in music...

rarely does the sound
of falling rain
compensate
music...

     i remember that the first
time i heard
       ola gjeilo i was in
transit, i cried,
because only the kind
of beauty never to be
attached in attaching itself
to the world, the organic,
will ever make me
cower into complete
shadow:
disowning a heart,
both in rhythm as
           in subject-matter...

now i know the word
to counter what
is being strained:
4000 b.c.

                to boot...
summary:

40s lamb for the slaughter...
70s italian ****,
80s music videos,
90s televised cartoons...
50s new york poetry...

         some jazz,
some painting,
   and then some of 21st century's
summary "criticism"...
         19th century architecture...

but of course...
  none of this even
suggests a chance to savour
  a contemplation
as recuperation...

         to me?
the poets of the 20th century...
should have never have
dragged
  the word into the phantasmagorical
world of the fungus "deity":
namely?
whatever word
is to be extracted from the dream
world is nothing but:

****, skyscraper,
*****, oyster, hat...
             screwdriver...

we have been abandoned
by dreams
...

we have been kicked out
from our "2nd Eden",
the Eden of Dreams...
and, it's as if:
we... "don't know it"...


i can only see my persistent
inability to dream,
the anglo-saxon lie that:
we can elaborate on
sleep with: staggering
dream-architectures...

      no! we've been kicked out!
second strike!
i blame the beatnik poets:
because why would you
drag the word into
hallucinogenic experiences...
while desecrating
the altar of the unconscious?

to have been kicked out
of the Eden of Sleep...
is to face the reality
of standing before
the Narcissus of a mirror's
rejection of the 3D man...
an no 2D avatar waiting:
mind you...
   the atom, the... "man"...

i sleep, i don't dream,
all i see is the
gnawing worm:
                         εποχoν -
the bulwark
released from
being tied to an orbit
for our safety: on a leash:

gnarl - up!
and gnashing teeth
like a mythology
of a grinding into
    spit
from a crushing wheel;

however much i try...
i can't dissociate
the following:

fjør-

                             & -skå...

da!

             no anglo-saxon can
lie to me,
in saying:
  he's the architect of
the dream-world:
while mine:
    remains shackled
to ruin...

                     and sometimes:
baron music
shoves a sock soaked
in **** down my throat:
and i...

mingle fingers away from
flesh,
and entomb them
in the wind:
and lacerate myself
with a vision
of an x-ray's worth
of gaze.
Sakura Mar 2021
I am twenty, you are twenty two
See the sky is so blue
Let's gulp some mountain dew
And write a poem for you
Don't be so blue
Just chew chew chewingum chew
Sitting on top of a mountain
Just me and you
Just the grass and morning dew
Such a serene view
While listening music
Let's have a barbecue!Some wine and Belgium beef stew
Walking together down the hill
A sudden gust of wind blew
Holding hands together
Talking bit about nature
Birds chirping around the corner
It's Like a déjà vu
Let's travel to peru
And see the ruins of Machu Picchu
Talking about the sun and the moon
Let's get a sick tattoo
Who knew
What we will go through tomorrow
Is this true
Or...
I'm feeling a déjà vu
I'm meeting my Waterloo
I see the emerald hills of Toledo draped in a golden sunrise,
A cold morning breeze is blowing past the trees on the outskirts of Cordoba.
I walk down the white marble entombing the streets of Old Madrid,
The fluorescent lights of nocturnal Paris still dance around me,
As I pour myself a cold beer under a clear Berlin sky.

I fly over and find you walking under a Pennsylvania fall,
Getting ready to play in the Jersey snow.
We go down south, almost to the border,
To have a prime rib eye Texas steak for lunch;
And for dessert we share a kiss that tastes like New York.

You hold my hand as we walk through the Peruvian border,
And take my picture as I pose next to Machu Picchu.
I smile as you play with the llamas we found on the edge of the Titicaca Lake,
And together we look down on the ruins found on the Sun Island,
Before we end up gasping for air on the roof of the world 5,000 meters above the sea.

Climbing down we take a walk under the fading Bolivian sky,
We see luxurious office buildings on the right and brick and mud huts on the left.
The narrow streets of La Paz beaming with life as the sun creeps over the hills,
We walk to our favorite taco stand across from the Cathedral,
And on the last night we have in the land of my birth,
We share a kiss that tastes just like New York.
- JP DeVille Sep 2018
The sun can fade,
The skies can clear,
But I wont care,
Because I know,
You'll still be here.

We could grow old,
The years could roll,
But I'll be fine,
Because I know,
You'll still be mine.

Our paths could spread,
Our knots extend,
But I have faith,
If you love me now,
You'll love me then.

One never knows,
So we both stare,
I say I do,
Because I know,
I'll still be there.

They don't believe,
And call us fools,
But they don't know,
That even then,
I'll still be yours.

My love for you,
Will grow times ten,
Because I know,
If I love you now,
I'll love you then.
miriam troth Feb 2017
Humpty Trumpty yearned for a wall
He needed it strong and free to install
'It's gotta be huge like the size of my *****
And clearly discerned from the far side of Venus'

Peligro, Mexico, mind his massive ego
He ain't your mate nor your fondest amigo.

'I'll make 'em pay, so complete it real soon
And spacemen will marvel
When they stroll on the moon.

It's gonna be bigger and infinitely finer
Than The Pyramids, Machu Picchu
Or that crap wall in China'

Miriam Troth 2016
Mateuš Conrad May 2016
there's a man with no life in his eyes,
                                  there's a man with no life in his eyes.

it had been a long time since i wrote mediocre poems,
without a sedative, overtly sensitive  and too self-conscious
for my liking, unlike all others: under the influence of
a more potent Bacchus elixir, as is due further
north, building up on some sort of ethnic
mythology - it's just that i know it's not actually
self-consciousness, but precautionary measures,
in the sense: i can't be ridiculous - i remember
reading the poetry foundation and knew it was
poetry straight from the coffee houses and tea parties:
no ridiculousness and certainly more sensitivity;
i haven't been down this alley for a long long time;
and it's bothersome, just a little, just a little
too much for me: a poet with a repertoire of 6 accessible
poems to browse over, a poet in residence at some
university, but only a repertoire of 6 accessible poems
to browse over - so much love on the page, so much
nature, so many relationships, religiosity, living,
hobbies, art...
                        i can only refer to my porcelain doll eyes,
i remember when that one word was whispered
into my ear, i was at a party in Edinburgh, promise
of a lively affair, psychotically shopped in a clothes
shop buying all the cotton glitters of fine prints...
but at the party i ended up a potato sack like hood
made from hemp - the minute that word was whispered
into my ear, an electricity ran through me entirely,
my eyes rolled back and a mini-epileptic shiver shook
me yet enabling me to still stand - the mini seizure
stopped and the porcelain eyes were revealed for me
to peer from behind - i seemed to have lost the depth of those
prior eyes masqueraded youth, naiveness, hope,
a bearable kind of expression of love and solidarity,
ambition, jubilation at physical exertion: the basic tenets
for a thirst for life... but everything changed in a flash of
lightning... i rushed out from the party in rage...
walking from the door of the party (an apartment, below
which were shops) i smashed the window to a hairdressing
shop... run into an alley, and threw everything from my
pockets on the floor: coins and a polish citizen card...
after all i wasn't exactly in favour of holding a dual-
citizenship... then certain things revealed and certain
hidden, audacity over scholarly dogmatism, comparison:

surah al-baqarah
ألف      لام      ميم
a         l        m
l         ā         ī
i        m       m
f                                                  seen this sort of code
                                                    in a preceding book...
                                                    hmm, where did i see it?

                                         ah!
                                                 Χ          ξ         ς
                                                 c           x         s
                                                 h           i          i
                                                 i                     (g
                                                              ­          m
                                                     ­                    a)...
"         "        "
but then there's another
                           صاد
                             s'
                             ā
                             d
                                           as there is also
"          "       راء
                     r
                     ā                    and however many variations,

but the principle is the same as the encryption in
the greek book... oh man, i wish i could write cool stuff,
about nature and all that stuff about being macho on
Machu Picchu with a boyscout survival guide...
i just can't rub of my initial indoctrination to a certain
degree with a religion, up to the age of sixteen we
used to prayer in the morning, the *our father
drilled
into us - hence i justify my interest in these matters
because of that - just spotting one thing following through
to another with a similarity - you can hardy deny
the Quran is not following from what was established prior,
although that's where my interest ends...
just looks like another jigsaw puzzle... i just haven't
seen any literature on the topic... and i'm not going to
transliterate hebrew, for that numbers game whereby
the original Gematria meaning i already described about
the geometry of letters, and how they all fit through
O... the open mouth... M can fit through the mouth
and also turn into a bee caught between the lips,
and can also be lodged in the larynx when you hearing
mumbling with the mouth closed.
Niobe Apr 2018
I

The city is in decay -
Has been since it sprouted from the earth like a sapling,
Will be for as long as it still stands.
The only permanence is entropy.
Nature makes its bed
To unmake it.
We are eternal and mortal.
The jellyfish unbecomes itself into the polyp.

II

A millennium ago,
The ocean fell from the sky, drop by drop,
And dragons were a myth.
Dinosaurs came around
And dragons were a myth.
Humans came around
And dragons are still a myth.

If time is linear, time travel is impossible.
If it is cyclical, I have met my descendants.
If it does not exist, then I am still two and twelve and seventeen,
Young and old, a child of Schrodinger,
And eternal.

III

A cup of tea sits hot and cold.
It should one day be ice,
But not today.
Today it is full of salt.
Moses parts the Red Sea
And a motley crew of revolutionaries
Wait for tea leaves to steep in the harbor.
It is somehow simultaneous and distant all at once,
Another child of Schrodinger.
The sea rushes closed on an ocean floor
That is still made of sand.
Dragons are still a myth,
But the fish neither know nor care.

The tea goes down the drain,
And I replace the salt in the shaker with sugar,
As it should have been,
And for now, All is Well.
I walk into the adjacent room and
Immediately forget why I am there.
All is no longer Well.
The world forgot where it came from,
Mammals forgot the dinosaurs,
****** forgot he was Jewish,
And I forgot what I wanted here.
I want more tea,
But I don’t want to remember the salt.

IV

Time is short,
Born, spent, and dead in an instant,
But born and born and born again after that.
The city is in decay.
Teotihuacan was once New York.
Machu Picchu decays into the mountain again,
Venice and San Francisco will one day be underwater.
Kings held slaves when the monarchy thrived,
Nazis rose to power in their wake..
The people revolted against the crown
As their descendants march for peace, pay, and freedom.
There is no originality,
Time has proven this.
It unbecomes itself into the polyp as its feathers turn to ash
And pyramids are born in Egypt, the Americas,
In the courtyard at the Louvre.
Only time remembers when dragons were more than a myth,
And quarks became friends with each other.
One day, humans will be the myth,
And no city will stand, so no city will decay.
Tea will come in only salted flavors,
And dragons in none.
The only permanent is entropy.
Bekah Halle Jun 29
I miss my best friend;
She brought adventure to my life
We hiked Machu Picchu and Kokoda,
Tasted dumplings at Holy Duck! in Kensington.
We were close for eight years:
Preempting needs - bringing her back coffee
after my morning walk around the Kirribilli shoreline.
But somewhere along the way
I lost myself in her
Love turned to hate
She didn't see me, need me anymore
And it became too late…
I miss her,
Well, the idea of her anyway.
Daphisha Khapiah Feb 2019
An insatiable wanderlust I wish to be,
Beyond the horizon I ought to see.
The land, the sea and many places,
To meet and greet those beautiful faces.

I wish to visit the spectacular Angkor Wat in Cambodia,
Or tripping on a bumpy Leh-Ladakh Road ride in India.
To swim among the tropical fishes in the Maldives,
Or sitting at the edge of the Kalaupapa Peninsular Cliffs

I wish to meditate at the peak of the Himalaya,
Or adore the fascinating Great Wall of China.
To romance at the Oia- Santorini in Greece,
Or party at the Belearic Islands till the day ceased.

I wish to watch the sunset illuminates the Pyramid of Giza,
Or a calm sunbathe in the magical islands of Bora Bora.
To get awed by the grandeur beauty of the Amazon,
Or simply a Gandola ride in Venice like a Vagabond.

I wish to sip the finest Bordeaux Wine in France,
Or get drown in the madness of “Tomorrow land”.
To visit the isolated Chile Easter Island,
Or brave the arduous climb to the top of Fuji mountain.

I wish to embark on a panoramic train ride to Machu Picchu,
Or immersed on remnants of the mythical history of Peru.
To witness the Aurora Borealis in Norway,
Or the divine old city of Jerusalem is a must visit someday.

I will travel through the land and the ocean,
Could be a random plan without a direction.
But I will travel far and I will travel near,
And I will keep my feet rolling every where.
Canadian Cowboy Oct 2019
So you think you know the reason why it is that we're all here? You think you've got it sussed and that it's crystal clear? But what you fail to realize is that you don't know who to trust. The people who have taught us are also made of dust.

You're strong in your convictions; you never doubt the facts. You read the science books but don't inspect the cracks. You back your suppositions; hold strong to your beliefs. But have you ever smoked a joint and doubted all your briefs?

Life is not at all what it at first appears to be. All you need to show that is some archaeology. Gaze up at the stars at night, or the moon during the day; check out Machu Picchu and reflect on what you say.

We'd be pretty ****** foolish; and equally naive; to place all our bets on the lies that people weave. I don't mean that in a mean way, or disrespectfully; it's meant to show my love and camaraderie.

And hey, I know, that sounds real cocky, 'cause I've no monopoly on truth. But I've got something tangible that's both evidence and proof. If you want to hang a while I'm happy to expound; I'll blow your mind and steal your heart and shake your faithless ground.

© Canadian Cowboy




___________
If royalty moost likely
spotlight ye would dodge
nonetheless anointed, deemed, granted...
within humble abode
of your lodge
most righteous, magnanimous, gracious...
among confrère noblesse oblige.

Methinks twas foolhardy of me
when joost a mere young man
(more'n half agoo me lifespan)
ye always acknowledging me birthdate,
(although tomorrow a day early,
and dollar long)
regarding thirteenth of Jan.

Your sisterly affection doth buoy
inside mine heart and soul
first born of three offspring
begat courtesy Boyce

and Harriet Harris handed lead role
par exemplar to officiate (figuratively)
filial obeisance, particularly
when older analogous to foal
abiding maternal horse sense, thus I extol.

As your brother, rhetorical question I ask
how often did thee deserve to bask
within metaphorical sunshine to exceed
regarding care and concern emotional task

tenderly "mothering" kith and kin,
ye divinely didst shew,
especially yours truly
now he dost rue
he rarely did communicate -
hermetically within his

hermetically sealed queue
detached, isolated, outsourced,
I may as well lived in Peru
(think Machu Picchu)
courtesy schizoid personality disorder
leavened, prepared, and sprinkled with

obsessive compulsiveness
for good measure ooh
and aah barely registered
consciousness, and knew
not what blessedness constituted hew
as tremendous precious jewel few

chore birthdays promise with clear clue
how ye go above and beyond
call of sisterly duty aware remaining life
(mine) would be far inadequate to accrue
equitable devotional, emotional,
and financial recompense.

Hence feeble attempt
to distill some essence
with words that appear
incomprehensible and dense,
cuz writing more comfortable

verses talking, which
often jabbering (more like a wookie)
(think fictional hirsute humanoids
in Star Wars universe)
often makes no cents.

Tempus fugit fleets at light speed
quasi immortality conferred as generations rebreed
all the while unwittingly transmitting indeed
idiosyncrasies, mutations, quarks... such as greed
myopia, selfishness... at death sorrow doth bleed.
Aye haint gonna mention anyone by name,
     and *** myself poisoned
     with deadly tocsin, a most wick
kid demise act of vengeance cheap trick

boot Mayan tent to write this poem,
     a message came tummy mind rather quick,
and fuel a contrived rumor hoop fully
     spreading like wild fire
     from this nada so sainted Nick

juiced for pure sport and to kick
start and spellbind denunciatory, deprecatory,
     and derogatory unfounded slander
     toward one country bumpkin,

     who lives in the sticks of Hick
ville, and unfortunately
     shares the same body as me,
     an old curmudgeon full of (lix) spittle,
     with lovely bones that crick,

thus, while spur of the moment whim arose
     (take bull by the horns
     asthma late grammar used to say), aye chose
to hash out matter of fact playful verse,

     while ma doppelganger doth doze
and trump scathing "FAKE" news expose
zing ambivalent (nee loathsome)
     punishing sentiments ach'n ma heart

     with daggers of icy sin tax
     directed as rhetorical linguistic floes
vicariously experiencing euphoria,
     red hot poker glows

within the scabrous, tenebrous,
     and villainous haughty yahoo
an unprepossessing, quite,
     and nattering kooky human

     immune to voodoo
he **** sitters himself smug,
     throughout every single sinew

of his (and mine) corporeal essence
     directly descended
     from storied Machu Picchu of Peru
yet his (ah, and mine)
     suppressed genealogy branch

     also includes, an a meow
zing small percentage of Neanderthal Jew
evidenced by genetic test 23andme,
     which helps explain primate characteristic

     dragging (sic) hairy knuckles,
     where thick callouses grew
thus aye conclude
     (just in the nick of time

     as he who must not be mentioned) drew
a breath upon awakening
     from a nap bright tailed,
     and bushy eyed anew.

— The End —