"poetise" poems
I'm a United States citizen,
Fifth generation,
And I might be sent back to Mexico.
Because in the here of the now
The people stand at the crest
Of the paper moon,
Its almost eclipsed
Because Obama was
Never more than words.
So we look for anything,
We are thirsting for something,
And the Trump card falls
Into place, he's full of ****
But he's full of **** in
Full public.
See we know the establiment
Needs to be dis- established
Because they sing like mockingbirds
To another mockingbird,
And Hillary the woman
Is still a politician:
Oh the patriot,
Damned fool.
He still believes
In America!
And why cry the democracy?
Why poetise the political?
And the patriot said-
Because I am what I am,
For love of country,
Freedom of my freedom,
I am the people,
We are the voice,
And America once had a dream.
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 7:05 PM UTC
Golden hue of an immortal sun
Flying clouds on the canvas of sky
Birds fly in the freedom of fun
A treat to watch - a gift to eye
Green grass, covered by morning dew
Trees dance in tune of naughty breeze
A smiling rose does all delight renew
Quiet moist earth is at absolute ease
A perfect scenario for two lovers young
As nature creates a soft romantic stage
Lost in each other - emotionally clung
Slowly they break the lawful cage
All the earth and air, beauty so profound
Awaken the soul of a poet hidden in deep
Now I can feel the aura, hear the sound
My spirit awakens from the defiant sleep.
Aug 9, 2010
Aug 9, 2010 at 11:03 PM UTC
“I broke with the virtuality yesternight”.
Your hands as numb as the winter of some unreached epoch;
as traumatised as the rays of this moon—
borrowed and leaden.
Diddering by the cold morrows of life,
your soul is already downfallen,
out of the blue,
by this last good-bye.
You are through the endless seasons of fall,
with no spring foreseen,
your spirit at stake;
your fall, an eventual doom.
Your eyes are drowning in the ocean of death,
where even in the best of the boards, you're wrecked.
While, I stand as stiff as mountains,
with the same impoverished gesture of last adieu;
concieted by the delight of pain bequeathed to you.
You are the object of my empirical yet conjectural fortune—
that, I poetise now.
In your heart, broken, lies my dwelling destroyed,
and I would soon find myself mislaid or a doomed grave.
Oct 21, 2017
Oct 21, 2017 at 5:19 AM UTC
When I am in the middle of a storm,
Or some cold overflowing,
I write the words to keep me warm,
I write the pain unknowing.
Home is in the verse
Where all the sadness combines,
I feel as a lifted curse,
And take back life that is mine.
When the winds carry sorrow,
I poetise the pain,
I no longer worry about tomorrow
Or wether it will rain.
So home is in the words
And I go away to life,
I can become a flying bird,
The metaphor flying away from strife.
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 2:17 PM UTC
Hit me with the knives you sharpened with your rage,
Hit me with the words you wished you released out of the cage,
Hit me with the floods coming out of your eyes, the undesirable wreckage,
Hit me with the revenage you composed, to stay for your soul, a heritage,
Hit me with the dreams you wrote on that vintage page,
Hit me with the memories you drowned down the rivage.
Hit me with the passion I made you fantasize,
Hit me with the pain you can't verbalize,
Hit me with the struggle I gave as an advice,
Hit me with the sorrows that won't let you rise,
Hit me with the filth unleashed of my vice,
Hit me with the agony I'd enjoy to poetise,
Hit me with the sadness you should idolise,
Hit me with the deception that I got to, on you, idealise.
Hit me with the thoughts you ignited in your head,
Hit me with the lies I loved you with instead,
Hit me with the cries that to your end, have led.
Hit me with the words I never dared to let being said.
Hit me with the regret that you'll never get,
Hit me with the anger, you, because of me, have met.
Hit me with the ages of misery, I've for you set.
Apr 20, 2019
Apr 20, 2019 at 3:41 AM UTC