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David Flemister Mar 2017
i was born all naturally
formed in a lax factory
im actually
a hack with ******* in my nose, practically,
every day,  haphazardly
stumbling home, half asleep
i cant tell whats happening
vision begins blackening
im whack like kriss kross
***** like rick ross
major brown boy to houston
be like, "yes, we have liftoff"
dont like me when i'm *******
cause *****, i'm bruce banner
or maybe i'm bruce wayne
either way, i got mad manners

tearing down walls like berlin
preaching like its a sermon
potential begins to burgeon
i'll cut you up like a surgeon
killing in place of coercion
so you better lower the curtain
my head and my body are hurtin
so tell me how quick does the world spin?

i'm taddling on ya, you can call me a toddler
but the snitchin n' **** is somethin im never fond of
and i never grow up, cause i'm the neverland smuggler
peter pan turns into one of my best customers

i never grew into my head, im not cocky
never had the eye of the tiger, im not rocky
growing up i never got in fights or caused a lotta ****
but presently im screaming "**** the world", i've got a bone to pick

i've gotta problem and i think its the probable cause
you hold me captive, keep me trapped in your facets of laws
looks of repulsion are what cause me to brandish my claws
constant compulsions reminiscent of prodigal flaws
i've gotta problem and i think its the probable cause
see im a goblin shark i'll sink in my nautical jaws
im not a joker im a jester with lesser facades
wrought with insomnia cause drugs are american gods
Experimenting with rap lyrics
Jillian Aug 2018
am I you
what am I without you
its not your fault
don’t cry for me
don’t confuse me
I love you
don’t leave me
don’t have *** like it's
nothing
don’t look at her ***** body
with the same eyes that you
looked upon mine
don’t let me breathe a life saving breath
while you’re

in
her

let me wallow in saturated agony
let me be in pain
let me feel the extent of my own emotions
and eventually
for a bee that carries three times its weight isn’t meant to last
let me go into that valley of death
that idyll
that probable ****
where I may but suffer the more,
take me there.

give me a smallest crumb more
let me lick your fingers
I must see if I could still summon that sweet syrup love
that burns as it exits
my bellybutton

let it then lapse away
so I may forget
and when he finds his way
back to my dirt trail I'll never stop walking
I will pick him up and nourish his soul with my own
so his stomach fills
and he is more whole

and I am more hole
Wrote this with a chaotic mind
Poem

Querido amigo,

Te quiero decir
Que eres patetico, que estás ahí sentado
Que sueñas cambiarlo.

Te confieso que ya hace tiempo la noche no brilla, las luciérnagas
Se han vuelto colillas.

Te lo digo de frente, al reflector que alumbra tu mente, brilla un poco, reconócete un poco.

Se que odias ser el centro de atención, te saca de comfort, se que el chisme te da asco oírlo y nauseas decirlo.

¿La quieres?
¡Vamos en serio!
solo dilo, déjalo ir
y sino ¿lo pierdes? o
es que nunca fue tuyo.

¿Te quiere? probable,
pero no le ruegues.

Querido amigo te escribo, para que no te ahogues en tu laberinto de misterio,
para que no seas duro con tus errores,
para que seas aceite y no sarro.

Atte.
El saltamontes en tu oído.

PD: léelo cuando te sientas perdido...
x Jan 20
you hold me with a grasp that aches to let go
that hates that I let it know that i’m leaving
Your arms begin grieving
Refusing to let go of this fleeting
Moment
The energy you surround me with
so potent
So intense
The kind that gives one notions
The kind that causes me to question every motion
I make
Every romantic idea I create
a facade
So intense
With little motion
And the sense
Of calm
You yawn
I gaze at your slumber
and my fawn hands caress your umber burnt skin
and i begin to listen,
to your heartbeat at its proper pace
as my aching heart mimics it, they begin to race
my eyes dance around your face
As you pull me deeper into your embrace
You hold me
as your snores begin to scold me
you unfold me
i become open to you
as i review ever subtle movement
my body soothes when
you hold me,
how I refuse to hold myself.
i whisper very boldly
to myself, i love you
but only discreetly
while you’re sleeping
because only while we’re dreaming
does this all feel so possible
does this type of love
and sensuality
and affection
feel probable
so i lay
and i wait
for you to awake
i wait in this space
for you to gently place
your lips on my forehead
for your warm embrace.
for clothes to replace
your warm embrace in its stead
for our little visit
to come to an end.
you release me with that grasp that aches to let go
that hates that, I let it know that i have to leave it
Your arms begin grieving me
the romanticism begins fleeting me
i reach over to kiss you
one more time
and in turn you reply
“i love you”
my heart did not know what to say
or what to do
it could not take any less of you
only anymore
fearfulpoet Mar 22
Why they call me the fearful poet! (The Razor Thin Difference)

”but who am I to complain
the  razor thin difference tween
blessings and curses so thin,
sometimes are they not, the same thing”

Aug. 2018

~~~

this familiar line, well traversed, lives on the maps
sketched indented on your palms and brow,
at the edges of the crow’s nests, the eye’s keyboard witnesses,
recording every ******

we tap in seeings, forming letters,
letters into lines, lines into verse,
as we alliterate, we walk unawares,
of the razor thin difference tween blessings and curse,
indiscernible until concluded, perhaps, not even then,
the stanza’s probable outcome,
always unsure, unknowing destiny’s decision

so we walk, tread, plumb, shoutout
“vive la difference,”
hoping the blessing messengers hear us first,
consummating our pleas on their favorable sight & side,
ever fearful, we do not shout loud enough,
do the blind hear,
need me, possess my sacrificial offerings,
my trepidations, burnt on the Temple’s altar

who will breathe their smoke and understand
their fearful origins?

so we-write, cajole that our every moment’s fear,
find the difference, that we don’t bleed from life’s razoring,
the thinner thinnest
needle threaded,

and fear is the threat,
and fear is the thread,
that holds me together


until the unraveling
requires me to write again,
the fearful poet
3/21/19 4:15 am
Hali Nicole Oct 2018
If I had just,
what if...
if things had been
different...
The two letter word
one syllable
synonymous with
condition that,
provided that,
supposing, assuming, presuming that
as long as, given that
in the event
its if
if i roll it around in my head enough
if my thoughts lead me there
its that unattainable direction
if , if i let those thoughts go far enough I wonder
if the lines blurred enough between
my insecurities, my vanity
my never take the blame
shamefully, unashamed
narcissist paradox personality with suicidal tendencies
if i drank my fill of it
mixed up and down
my forever favorite
and took that train all the way out
the only way out now
if I could would I slip
right past my own grip on all of it
the whats and who's that is
those that could have been
if....
if I could just hang on a bit
if i could just make sense of
some or part of it, if I could turn back time and save them from my existence
if my poly substance abuse
and dis-associative disorder
could play nice for once. Stop pulling each others hair!
if weren't for that genetic predisposition
An inherent inclination
for habit forming mind alteration and I’m
double dosed both sides heaping and if not them
itd be those socioeconomic circumstances,me and little sister were prison  system victims at 6 and 3 and when the parents got out they didn’t get far and still get kept down by the same badges different clowns. Same name discrimination probable cause probably cause my name is 4 letters 2 syllables synonymous with she’s definitely holding, or on something,
that below poverty, white trash-ness
I cant spend enough ******* money to scrub off or find a label expensive enough to cover it up
if I had been wealthy
instead of so ******* good looking
if I hadnt been told since
I was 13 years old
my pretty face made up for it all
and if i had just listened to those voices
and cashed in on that gold mine
I squeeze in my double zero designer jeans
instead of working myself to nothing
trying to maintain the weight
of those price tags hanging from my
all consuming habit, my emotional baggage,
my questionable relationship status,
buckling under the strain of a no where fast
job and that reminder between my thighs that
with a little less pride
if, I could just ******* stomach it
live with myself after it
look myself in the eyes again
I wonder what shades of gray
theyd be after that dissolution of self

if... mistreated, misunderstood, mistaken
medicated pre teen to present day
for more than my share of misdiagnosis

My brain on lithium forgets about any and all those feelings and tells me none of that **** ever even happened. Prozac feels like the emotional equivalent of Novocain filled gums you can poke the absess as much as you want and feel absolutely nothing. Prozac is the greatest, says Who cares to any and all of my negative questions and comments. And the only trouble with that is we peace out just about everything bad, including my guilty conscious. And with out that the lines of perseption that blurr are no longer in my psyche but in wrong or right and impulsive decisions, makes it ******* my relationships.

Hard to love on all of the above and impossible to get along with with out something and if I could just find a doc who could draw the right straw and dose me accordingly , if balancing my chemicals didn’t require sobriety
I might’ve been fixed but Prozac doesn’t lift a finger to help kick a habit and forgetting to take it’s emotional break down city and breaking something expensive in a tantrum is inevitable, so is hitting up some one you don’t even like so he can hit on you so you can shut him down again for no good ******* reason other than you’re bored and insecure.

If..
If I could write with out rambling and say what I feel just be a little more cohesive, my journals wouldn’t be front to back scibbled out iledgable self portraits in poetry.
If I painted myself now I think black and blue and green like old bruising would saturate the pages. I’d paint me *****, my ribs jutting, my eyes sunken, tattoos, scars, concealer covered track marks and my perpetually tangled hair... burn the edges... paint me drowning.

If I could stop wasting loose leaf and get back to the point of this no ones gonna read it any way 8 pages of journal number cant count how many I’ve filled and thrown away, poetry? No I’m purging.

My point was that a two letter word with one syllable did all this, and that’s all for negative, flip for positive
Ken Pepiton Mar 13
less religious? be

less signal sending?
less signal ceiving and re
cipericle

deciphering de
ceptive fashionable effectations

fectupt old
fashion once wigs and lace,
gave place to coat and tie and,
on occasion, tails
jewels and veils, seven of each was the sup
er position in the initial polarity
twixt V1a and V2a.1

We were fashioning a reality, your polarity bogus
science pierced more attention spans

than I can spare in seven minutes
define or refine, what was the resolution in reality

less signal sending?
mo' signal ceiving and re
cipericle
ceptive fashionable effectations
okeh, got it. Zero beat. Same same spectral harmony.
Nobody in **** knows ever knew that.

Lose the fig leaf, lose the tats and scars,
match the bloodshed with the idea
in
humility we acting as if we stand

as pillars

as sticks in mud, bruised but unbroken, bound
in smouldering flax,

we stand, sistere, dressed for no carnal war,

we came as poets holding up the ceiling with twigs
from the forest of trees of knowledge

the we we are in, we can stand upright, you and me

confidant

fashion is un sanct, un sanct, unsanctified
aknown known, y'know,

it's all cause play, excuse me

the uniform dress code bars what from my kid's school?
First pocket knives,

Now, a simple T with a meme,

and you co
municate, une-meme-icate,
possible be
be probable degree or dimension or layer or ply

complex, many tangled
plys of piles of pleasant points in time that did rhyme
reason
with well enough, alone

meme
is a better measure than moment, I think,

How much of never

is twixt us, e pluribis us, the unems

twixt me and thee what we are
touch

ing ting

sound, think vibratory, earth ratt'lin'

miracles, un belief

the act of unbelieving lies
as if there is a re

ality under lying

asif no lie can pass the true test

in the first theerum of one (rrroll therrrrum!)

The first of its kind from my own mind

a universe

ex
panding, like Bazooka Double Bubble.

whose lips? Jungish child askt the rock,
who sits? who sits on?

Rock staid quiet. Your lips...

senseless... no connecton to any re already re
ferred to

oh, no, bless m'soul, some lies are buts,
feeble patches

over light pierced points
in consistent insistence on possible  secrecy,

nothing

empty moments pierced

enlightenment,
thin light is not no light. That is a wee

thinklink. Follow a point  and find,

probably, eventually several ideas unthunk

until you imagined someone musta thunk it,

and realized
yourself,

as not Christ, and not dead,

muttering, who could not 'athunkit. How musta been involved.

from that prickofapen. Imagine a wall, not a Socratic
shadow show,
not a barrior, a plain 2-d -ic, flat wall in a dark room where

we go to pray for impossible things to be possible,

and we are answered with a scene
from the street below, through a hole in the shutter about
yea big,

camera obsura projected on that wall we all imagine

the fourth wall. A flection from another angle,

same light all squeezed through a tiny
ity bitty empty place in

time and space,
splashes up from the intersection of 3rd
and Broadway, Nashvul, 'bout a block from th Rhyman

spreads in each vector of probable vision

splashes against that wall we imagined,

That forth wall reflects each pixel, each photonic quant
you should have seen

had you ever gone there, at that time.
A poem intended to be
SEND US BACK TO ****** ******* ISLAND so that
we can be happy & ***, enjoying *** ****** ******* with *****
pirates all day. Send Ilsa Lund here 'neath a ½-full moon, to ******
******* Island on a big pony, camelid, alpaca, elephant or mule.
How might I reduce communal-****** swelling by five-eighths over
the course of 26 weekends, among the freaks of Utah's freak lands?
It is a probable problem programmed improbably problematical for
Polish programmers proportionally poled prissy by prison parolees,
who pause on ponies & wolf pies with phonies at a token Shoney's.
You should know, from the get-go, that your Chinese buildings are
wire & sorghum-flour stucco. They'll give baby a vaccine-rash from
what's injected as trash. They'll afford a dizzy spell from the corded
depths of Satan's most sorrowful ****. Trial by disuse. I feel obtuse.
The gloomy apartment for pretty bride Kimberly *******was dyin'
Gig's desperate money pit. That's why pistol-silly Gig Young did it.
Gig & Kim, **** me with a suicidal love; ****** me quickly by 38
vulvae kicks sickly. Let's live in Jesus until He crosses & leaves us.
Nutrients slow the race to death, allowing flies to flourish in Maine
on the blackened, wormy corpses of ritually-slaughtered yankee pig
mayors, lard-***, **** judges & scads of meat-grinder-ground cops.
Prelude  PART I


"Today when the threat is looming, as close apocalyptic years approach, it will be by cohabiting itself and the ruining valley of debris, which will make this world corrupted the next issue of the numeral scale of the new count, a rising hyperspace , concerning the parts of the kingdom of God ... "

Then on the Lord's day, John saw the glory of the risen Christ, and she understood from the point of view of God, he saw that the fate of the Church and threatened in the first persecutions took the appearance of a dark beginning.
And the time John wrote the Evangelist, including books were Jews called Revelation, that is, "Revelations". With fantastic images of monsters, angels and cataclysms, evidence of the Jewish people are stressed and are invited to await the judgment of God who intervenes from heaven with all his power.  So my beloved world is harsh and does not represent an apocalypse, but it is the true reality is when I will bear its overwhelming slaughter.

" Today when I walked with my winged feet near my friend Victor, I confided down the road crushed by afflictive legs; how difficult the taste of laughter when the decadent surrounds you, the human, the vile, the loose ...
Even though the celestial charisma invoke his memory and help nourish the weakness of Robert in hyperspace, with clean clothes, I can see his beloved mother consumed as automaton can take care of him. She is also her father, because it carries rooted in its members and manners, infinitely sharp look; in their arms they will gather wherever his soul is under his patronage that lives there ..."
I am  who  say that Roberto is a dog, who bears all the faces of dogs humble and serene. Perhaps tired of hearing young people, it is flush adults who do not accept, and who do not share as young faces were watching them, getting them to receive them what they should disclose them.
This is how we are numbed and distraction is fleeting, and he looking aside in his astrayed, he would be saying ...:
"Among the cradle and the grave I have a feeble scaffolding, and then complains, though his other I demolishes; unsconcient defends his executioner ... that the threat of death is its widespread depravity, which dominates it and want to go on like mortifiying.

      I want to talk about life ..., he said in his short years of life, which is more of it; possibly coming to complex, what our Somatic territory responds in normal or involuntarily. Comparative anatomy, and its innermost portion, the link body and mind, as a pure white as Samadhis and nature.
Homeostatic factors regulating our vitality, making its experimental modification, increasing to evolution, or maturation as a criterion of personal psychology go with the passage of time into in the depths of our mind.
Thus in a known threshold of Vedic architecture, its sensitivity is excited by regulating the effectiveness of the response to be made ... and everything related to the world of Ludwig Garroch; brother Robert in his strange Emigrate.
Yesterday when my arms away from hers, my fingers pounding away and recording what the heart more than a song, was a symphony sonata with a single end, long and sustained movement; It was the adage inner melancholy with an eye romanticism, which dominates the
passions of the visible world, which inhabits Antonieta, causing me, unbalanced living.


                                       CHAPTER I


In the beginning years of his childhood, little Ludwig sitting at home, in the gallery. Ask her aunt who was ironing ... Madelain, how I would always be a child of five ...?, And being as such, a privileged to receive toys for many years. Attentive aunt, maybe go to hear with little complacency as his hands only want unroll clothes.
After two years at the age of seven, when her aunt arranging his coat to go to Mass, she teaches a carol that had been taught in childhood. When many wondered whether there is a Santa Claus ...?, And among his friends they looked to unravel the mystery. One year later, when he enjoyed his unicycle, who just dominated him, called him a cousin telling her it was her birthday. He did not hesitate to go to find out what was behind the call, so he found the means by which we celebrate, we live and cooperate towards happiness and delight to have us at each other.
Not long after a friend told him .. "You do not have ten years are too big And Ludwig thought he was well endowed and well stopped, so not your friend was wrong in the above. It is my label and my stance has put the world on me.
Every passing day came the stamp of manly character, a woman or girl who made change her hairstyle, and he did dress more attractive every day.
Later, in his teens, his gaze was well received and their voices radiated security screening. Where He must continue the line of men. Even when I was living as smoothly, looks out strong destination with which calls us to live with skin clean or *****, because it is inside the feeling and the pain does not come out, it is enclosed by the overflowing affection. Here is the portion of good or evil haunting things casual and destroys the healthy, it fertile.

                                        
              ­                           CHAPTER II


Then was a year with a sports compensate pleasant summer sated outdoors, almost fugitive ... will not wonder that life smiled on him serfdom, and very willing opened his prudence.
Every time I decided to go to his favorite places, he went with his burly comrades in the best mood to conquer optimistically. Thus, no wonder he wanted when he was alone and put your reasoning judiciously, because nothing is distant, nothing is impossible.

After unite desires and forces, to clean your bike, piece by piece, in full sun know much security would not allow the mother of vices ruin their fun, that scarce alive to possess the desire to move and go on compliance instinct. Casts on itself, the vigor of the inner, its desolate world full of free enthusiasms who obey no doubt the vital complex activity.
Ludwig and entering the maelstrom of men love hate Godson, you can glimpse the friction with the air, with people ... I wore. That their voices heard their soul contracts, and thus puts light feet towards an acceleration which does not afflict his troubled stomach, nor regret his decision and put fearful, but, bring himself retained encouragement of his mind to remember the maternal cooing, comfort and timely relief to protect forever the suffering, the suffering of torment without end, not he shut the inspiration of the good man that no harm will result, and not for nothing the valence of living and not quarrel prancing. No existing could shed some light on what role, and that little thought is not complicated, and thus shown kneeling and unable to distressing oppressors and agents tangled conduct to chaos, those characters of ambition and discrimination.
Ludwig, who lives in the Ecologist City, where large forest ... budded, is home jungle floral site, whose relations are flowers, trees ..., next to Strange birds migrate flower in her intra nature reproduced, and pods evacuated by butterflies.
His close friend, is the watery and salty sea, which is beloved because he falls in love, puts on alert and curses him by his surroundings and invoking him. Anyway, it dwells wherever it is, and is accepted as a basic element of the universe.

                                    
                                         CHAPTER III

The act of tender love would be fulfilled later ..., what his voice fell silent and had his eyes and heart fortify, which will be linked from far inside.
At night, with Roderick going to a festive night, they climbed the rungs center alone, with heat in his shirt skin later. And in a deliberate action, someone asks you a sign that taking care tired and distinguishing see that John was his friend, school mate. He did not hesitate, he approached, greeted him and his sister and a cousin when she noticed well, he saw that he wore perfect for your night.
Debra wore elegant, dark clothes and sang with her dark brown wavy hair; his white brunette and harmonious ****** complexion line, gave her constant reflection. Fate was present, as it would not go around the world to be looked at by someone, he would watch his choice. Little was said, he only realized he was not passing and North America came eleven years ago.


They roasted the hours and the party ended, Ludwig remained with her new friend and his old friend John. They went downstairs, thinking about committing his new friendship, as I had noticed a slight interest in it. This happened and the meeting lasted for several hours.
The next day, he went to see her lawns roads where she lived, always with its mystique and kneeling the beast that wanted to impose upon him, that gives it excessive materialism unloved peace.
She arrives at her house, which was to John, though not very comfortable, but sure to please and attentive to host it.
And that night said much that was the tender feeling and liking her, but as his policy was rigid and concerning celibacy, only mattered to him, the unknown world of madness in his brawling to survive.
Time passed and deepened love, Ludwig went to say goodbye to his beloved, especially that he had faith, but that day would betray him. And so I wanted to put his heart and iron sleep peacefully, but Debra no secret  to tell ...:

"Ludwig, do not abandon our own, we must have faith, and I understand what it is. Ludwig rested and then brought her hands to her, hugged her and kissed all over her face, covering her eyebrows, nose, forehead, mouth; his lips positions in the middle of it, wanted to feel her warmth and tell her he loved her and would miss a lot of pain. But there was no show weakness, he must be strong and not to complicate the farewell from North America. Mourn scared him, because he had forged the feeling, because his aching grief was deep and it was at an undetermined point, with great desire to hold her and kiss over his face.
So ever, it was unbearable, she would like to die in his memory and had to remember in the collective thinking of his family circle. Which it fits the feel shivers ideas with sensations, such as the best in its inherent upstart point.

It was hard, as if more than man Ludwig out the feminine side of himself. But irremediable was the end, eager poisonous reaper approached. Ludwig hugged her, kissed her and stroked her right breast ... saying: "Do not forget me ..." and so left. Then he wrote her, that madness had transformed her away, but the distance was prevented against carcinoma being all postponed.
To know he could not boil your blood heavy thinking, they were contracted muscles. When he relaxed, he saw back through the hatch of his head, the soul that was in an ****** tragic holocaust, where Eros tenaciously and rebellion dictated its laws. Ludwig slept, and consciousness became natural color, as if it were safer, eternally fresh and manufactured this dream a poem ...:  

" That one corresponding to the celebration,
I wish to reunite with enthusiasm and strength ...
touching eyes closed
the sad sky, the dry ground, dried flowers
and people backward habits.

As meaning if it takes itself ...,
is the meaning
although they are scattered
in flows oppressions ...
the animosity of delight just widow and desultory,
losses and more losses at the time of aging ...
and profits to appease others.

For more like,
there seems to be a big drop ...
the same credibility ...?
and setting as a feeling
remain imagination stationary.

As hard it corresponds to the body,
It is destroyed inside ...
and hardened thoughts
tears falling to the esophagus,
without recognizing either way.

Who the pace of living is customizable,
and no opportunity is lost ...
but growing and creative
rears its profile,
as an unforgiven mirage. "


    Have been and unrestless forms of peremptory perceive, and when it starts to wander in my solitude, transporting my sorrow with grief, wherever I go I will take silent and vivifying separation completes the probable brain, which lives and endures in avidity stamped man with his need to want the Lord's command that made me forge this creation .--- he told himself, as a witness epilogue of his poem, albeit as the cry to its essence it was about. Originally from the Ecologist City, where reigned the wise and calm, where he healed their diseases, which has dodged the putrefaction of their wounds, where you inhale the aroms most want and cordoned off its without a grave lack of soft and flowering odour.
To believe missing, do not be afraid and trust that will grab everything, that not a drop of air was not lost on her fingers, which will not fail to display their imaginative stuff Alma Mater.
With all their eating, you want to cure your bad like venereum, and would go into the hands of a counselor or a warlock who extirpated the curse. Heal her feet and hands to despair, to heal the memory of his thought that I seasoned and voluptuous breaks the veins of his caleter, which seems not of it like a dwarf be provided with a dagger will break their venal, and this to commit such surgery, he laughs loudly with garnets eyes, full of the worst evil.

And this way Ludwig Garroch, vague without fear of rags, without fear of hunger or the messiness, only idles so that someday I can walk on the water surface, leaving their hydrocentric footprints where plankton reverence their sense of pain, his infarcted heart , her long fingernails of violence.


TO  BE CONTINUED….
Under edition,  then under All...
Naciste siete años antes del comienzo de la guerra civil española,
Y viviste en una casita de dos pisos en la Calle de Abajo de Fontan,
Frente al mar que les regalo su riqueza y belleza,
Y les robo a tu hermano mayor, y el más noble, Juan, a los 19 años.

De chiquita eras muy llorona. Los vecinos te hacían rabiar con solo decirte,
“Chora, Litiña, chora” lo cual producía un largo llanto al instante.
A los siete u ocho años quedaste ciega por una infección en los ojos. Te salvó la vista
El medico del pueblo, pero no antes de pasar más de un año sin poder ir a la escuela.

Nunca recuperaste ese tiempo perdido. Tu impaciencia y la vergüenza de sentirte atrasada, Impidieron tus estudios. Tu profundo amor propio y la vergüenza de no saber lo que sabían tus
Amigas de tu edad, tu inquietud y tu inhabilidad de aguantar la lengua cuando te corregían,
Crearon una perfecta tormenta que desvió tu diminutiva nave hacia las rocas.

Cuando aún una niña, viste a Franco con su escolta salir de su yate en Fontan.
Con la inocencia de una niña que nunca supo aguantar la lengua, preguntaste a
Una vecina que también estaba presente “Quien es ese señor?”
“El Generalísimo Francisco Franco” te contestó en voz baja. Dile “Viva Franco” cuando pase.

Con la inocencia de una niña y con la arrogancia de una viejita incorregible gritaste señalándolo
“Ese es el Generalísimo?” Y con una carcajada seguiste en voz alta “Parece Pulgarcito!”
Un miembro de su escolta se acercó alzando su ametralladora con la aparente Intención de Golpearte con la culata. “Dejadla!” Exclamo Franco. “Es una niña—la culpa no es suya.”

Contaste ese cuento muchas veces en mi presencia, siempre con una sonrisa o riéndote.
Creo que nunca apreciaste el importe de esa “hazaña” de desprecio a la autoridad. Pudiera ser En parte por ese hecho de tu niñez que vinieron eventualmente por tu padre  
Que lo Llevaron preso. Que lo torturaron por muchos meses y condenaron a muerte?

El escapó su condena como ya he contado antes—con la ayuda de un oficial fascista.
Tan fuerte era su reputación y el poder de sus ideas hasta con sus muchos amigos contrarios.
Tal tu inocencia, o tu ceguera psíquica, en no comprender nunca una potencial causa de su Destrucción. A Dios gracias que nunca pudiste apreciar la posible consecuencia de tus palabras.

Tu padre, quien quisiste toda la vida entrañablemente con una pasión de la cual fue muy Merecedor, murió poco después del término de la guerra civil. Una madre con diez
Bocas para alimentar necesitaba ayuda. Tú fuiste una de las que más acudió a ese
Pedido silencioso. A los 11 años dejaste la escuela por última vez y comenzaste a trabajar.

Los niños no podían trabajar en la España de Franco. No obstante, un primo tomó piedad
De la situación y te permitió trabajar en su fábrica de embutidos de pescado en Sada.
Ganabas igual que todas tus compañeras mayores. Y trabajabas mejor que la mayoría de ellas,
Con la rapidez y destreza que te sirvieron bien toda tu vida en todos tus trabajos.

En tu tiempo libre, llevabas agua de la fuente comunal a vecinos por unos céntimos.
De chiquita también llevabas una sella en la cabeza para casa y dos baldes en las manos antes y Después de tu trabajo en la fábrica de Cheche para el agua de muchos pescadores en el puerto
Antes del amanecer esperando la partida a alta mar con tu agua fresca en sus recipientes.

Todo ese dinero era entregado tu madre con el orgullo de una niña que proveía
Más que el sueldo de una mujer grande—solo a cambio de tu niñez y de la escuela.
También lavabas ropa para algunos vecinos. Y siempre gratuitamente los pañales cuando había
Niños recién nacidos solo por el placer de verlos y poder estar con ellos.

Cuando eras un poco más grande, ya de edad de ir al baile y al cine, seguías la misma rutina,
Pero también lavabas y planchabas la ropa de los marineros jóvenes que querían ir muy limpios
Y bien planchados al baile los domingos. Ese era el único dinero que era solo tuyo—para
Pagar la peluquería todas las semanas y el baile y cine. El resto siempre para tu madre.


A los dieciséis años quisiste emigrar a Argentina a la casa de una tía en Buenos Aires.
Tu madre te lo permitió, pero solo si llevabas también a tu hermana menor, Remedios, contigo.
Lo hiciste. En Buenos Aires no podías trabajar tampoco por ser menor. Mentiste en las Aplicaciones y pudiste conseguir trabajo en una clínica como ayudanta de enfermera.

Lavaste bacinillas, cambiaste camas, y limpiaste pisos con otros trabajos similares.
Todo por ganar suficiente dinero para poder reclamar a tu madre y hermanos menores,
Sito (José) y Paco (Francisco). Luego conseguiste un trabajo de mucama en un hotel
En Mar del Plata. Los dueños apreciaron tu pasión por cuidar a sus niños pequeños.

Te mantuvieron como niñera y mucama—sin doble sueldo. Entre tu (pobre) sueldo y
Propinas de mucama, en un tiempo pudiste guardar suficiente dinero para comprar
Los pasajes para tu madre y hermanos. También pudiste volver a Buenos Aires y
Conseguiste alquilar un doble cuarto en una antigua casa cerca del Consulado español.

De aquellas, aun menor de edad, ya trabajabas en el laboratorio Ponds—al cargo de una
Máquina de empacado de productos de belleza. Ganabas buen dinero, y vivieron en el
Centro de Buenos aires en esa casa hasta que te casaste con papa muchos años después.
Aun te perseguía la mala costumbre de decir lo que penabas y de no dar el brazo a torcer.

El sindicato de la Ponds trató de obligarte a registrarte como Peronista.
A gato escaldado hasta el agua fría le hace daño, y reusaste registrarte al partido.
Le dijiste al sindicato que no le habías escapado a un dictador para aliarte a otro.
Te amenazaron con perder el trabajo. Y con repatriarte a ti y a tu madre y hermanos.

Tu respuesta no la puedo escribir aquí. Te llevaron frente al gerente general demandando
Que te despidiera de inmediato. Contestaste que te demostraran razones para hacerlo.
El gerente—indudablemente a propio riesgo—contestó que no había mejor trabajadora
En la fábrica y que no tenía el sindicato razones para pedir que te despidiera.

Después de un noviazgo de varios años, se casaron tú y papa. Tenían el mundo en sus
Manos. Buen trabajo con buenos ahorros que les permitirían vivir muy bien en el futuro.
No podías tener hijos—los cuales siempre anhelaste tener. Tres años de tratamientos
Lograron que me dieras vida. Vivimos por años en un hermoso apartamento en la ciudad.

Tengo uso de razón y recuerdos gratos desde antes de los dos años. Recuerdo muy bien ese Apartamento. Pero las cosas cambiaron cuando decidieron emprender un negocio
Que no fue sostenible en el caos de la Argentina en los años 60. Recuerdo demasiado bien el Sacrificio tuyo y el de papa—es eso un tema para otro día, pero no para hoy.

Fuiste la persona más trabajadora que conocí en mi vida. No le temías a ningún trabajo
Honesto por fuerte que fuese y tu inquietud y espíritu competitivo siempre te hicieron
Una empleada estelar en todos tus trabajos, la mayoría de ellos sumamente esclavos.
Hasta en casa no sabias parar a no ser que tuvieras con quien charlar un rato largo.

Eras una gran cocinera gracias en parte al chef del hotel en cual trabajaste en Argentina
Que era también un compatriota español (vasco) y te enseno a cocinar muchos de sus
Platos españoles e italianos favoritos. Fuiste siempre muy mal comedora. Pero te
Encantaba cocinar para amigos, familia y—cuantos mas mejor—y para las fiestas.

Papá también era buen cocinero aunque con un repertorio mas limitado. Y yo aprendí
De los dos con mucho afán también a cocinar desde joven. Ni en la cocina ni en ninguna
Fase de mi vida me puedo comparar contigo ni con papa, pero también me encanta
Cocinar y en especial para compartir con seres queridos.

Te daba gran placer introducir a mis amigos a tus platos favoritos como la cazuela de mariscos,
Paella, caldo gallego, tus incomparables canelones, ñoquis, orejas, filloas, buñuelos, flan,
Y todo el resto de tu largo repertorio de música culinaria. Papa me iba a buscar al colegio
Cuando en la escuela secundaria (JHS #10) todos los días antes del trabajo.

Los dos trabajaban el segundo turno y no partían hasta después de las 2:00 p.m.
Muchos días traía el coche lleno de mis compañeros. Recuerdo igual que si fuera ayer
Las caras de mis amigos judíos, chinos, japoneses, italianos, ingleses e irlandeses
Cuando primero probaron el pulpo, caldo gallego, la tortilla, las orejas o el flan.

Mediante el bachiller, la universidad y los estudios de derecho fue igual. A veces parecía
Una reunión de Las Naciones Unidas, pero siempre con comida. Siempre trataste a mis
Amigos íntimos como si fueran hijos tuyos también. Y algunos aun hoy día te quieren
Como una segunda madre y sienten tu ausencia aunque no te vieran por muchos años.

Tuviste una pasión por ser madre (una gran pena que solo tuvieras un hijo).
Que te hizo ser demasiado protectora de tu hijo.  Me vestías con ropa exclusiva de
Les Bebes—Fui un muñeco para quien no los tuvo de niña. No me dejabas fuera de tu vista.
El mantenerme en un ambiente libre de gérmenes produjeron algunos problemas de salud.

Mi pediatra te decía “Quiero verlo con las rodillas raspadas y las uñas sucias.”
Tú lo tomabas como un chiste. Me llevabas a menudo a un parque y a la calesita.
Lo recuerdo como si fuera ayer. Pero no recuerdo tener ningún amigo hasta los siete u ocho
Años. Y solo uno entonces. No recuerdo tener una pandilla de amigos hasta los 13 años. Triste.

Cuando comencé a hablar como una cotorra con un año, y a caminar al mismo tiempo,
Me llevaste al médico. El medico pensó que era solo idea tuya. Me mostro unas llaves y me
Pregunto “Sabes lo que es esto, Danielito?” “Si. Son las llaves de tu tutú,” le contesté.
Después de unas pruebas, le recomendaron a mi madre que alimentara mi curiosidad.

Según ella era yo insoportable (algunas cosas nunca cambian). Si le preguntaba a
Papá por que el sol quema, a que distancia esta, que son las estrellas, por qué una
Linterna enfocada al cielo en una noche oscura no se ve, por qué los aviones no tienen
Ruedas debajo de pontones para poder aterrizar y despegar en el agua? Etc., etc., etc.

Me contestaba con paciencia. Recuerdo viajes en tren o autobús sentado en las piernas de mi Padre haciéndole mil preguntas. Desafortunadamente, si le preguntaba algo a mama que No supiera contestar, inventaba cualquier respuesta con tal de hacerme callar en vez de decirme “No se” o “pregúntaselo a papá” o “vete al infierno de una ver por todas y dejame en paz.”

Cuando me contaba algún cuento y no me gustaba como terminaba, “Caperucita Roja” por Ejemplo, mi madre tenía que inventar un fin que me gustara mejor o aguantar un llanto
Interminable. Pobre madre. Inventar lo que a Danielito no le gustaba podía ser peligroso.
Recuerdo un día en el teatro viendo dibujos animados que me encantaban (y aun encantan).

El Pato Donald salió en una escena comiéndose un tremendo sándwich. Le dije a mamá que
Quería un sándwich igual. En vez de contestarme que no era un sándwich de verdad, o que me Llevarían a comer después del teatro (como de costumbre) se le ocurrió decirme que me
Lo iba a traer el Pato Donald al asiento. Cambio la escena y el Pato Donald salió sin el sándwich.


Se acabo el mundo. Empecé a chillar y llorar que el Pato Donald se comió mi sándwich.
Me había mentido y no me trajo el prometido sándwich. Eso era algo insoportable.
No hubo forma de consolarme o hacerme entender—ya tarde—que el Pato Donald también
Tenía hambre, que el sándwich era suyo y no mío, o que lo de la pantalla no era realidad.

Ardió Cristo. Se había comido el sándwich del nene el Pato Donald quien era (y es) mi favorito.
La traición de un ser querido así era inconcebible e insoportable. Me tuvieron que quitar del
Cine a grito pelado. No se me fue la pataleta por largo rato. Pero todo paso cuando mi querida Tía Nieves (una prima) me dio unas galletas marineras con mermelada más tarde en su casa.

Cuánta agua debajo del puente. Tus recuerdos como el humo en una placentera brisa ya se han Esparcido, son moléculas insubstanciales como estrellas en el cielo, que no pintan cuadros Coherentes. Una vida de conversaciones vitales vueltas a susurros de niños en una tormenta Tropical, impermisibles, insustanciales, solo un sueño que interrumpe una pesadilla eterna.

Así es tu vida hoy. Tu memoria fue siempre prodigiosa. Recordabas el nombre de todas las Personas que conociste en toda tu vida—y conversaciones enteras palabra por palabra.
Con solo tres años de escuela, te fuiste por el mundo rompiendo paso y aprendiste a leer y
Escribir ya después de os 16 años en una ciudad adoptiva. Te fue más que suficiente tu estudio.

Siempre dije que eras mucho mejor escritora que yo. Cuantas excelentes novelas u obras de Teatro y poesía hubieras escribido tú con la mitad de mi educación y el triple de trabajo?  
No ay justicia en este mundo. Por qué le da Dios pan a quien no tiene dientes? Tú prodigiosa Memoria no te permite ya que me reconozcas. Fui la última persona que olvidaste.

Pero aun ahora que ya no puedes tener una conversación normal en ningún idioma,
Alguna vez te brillan los ojos y me llamas “neniño” y sé que por un instante no estás ya sola.
Pero pronto se apaga esa luz y vuelve la oscuridad. Solo te puedo ver unas horas un día a la Semana. Las circunstancias de mi vida no me dejan otra mejor opción.

Algún día no tendré ni siquiera la oportunidad de compartir unas horas contigo. No tendrás
Monumento alguno salvo en mis recuerdos mientras me quede uso de razón. Toda una
Vida de incalculable sacrificio de la cual solo dejarás el más pobre rasgo viviente del amor
De tu único hijo quien no tiene palabras para honrarte adecuadamente ni nunca las tendrá.


*          *          *

Ya llegó ese día, demasiado pronto. Octubre 11, 2018. Llegó la llamada a las 03:30 horas,
Una o dos horas después de haber quedado yo dormido. Te trataron de resucitar en vano.
No habría ya mas oportunidades de decirte te quiero, de acariciar tus manos y cara,
De cantarte al oído, de poner crema en tus manos, de anhelar que esta semana me recordaras.

De contarte acontecimientos de seres queridos, a quien vi, que me dijeron, quien pregunto
Por ti, ni de rezar por ti o de pedirte si me dabas un besito poniendo mi mejilla cerca de tus Labios y del placer cuando respondías dándome muchos besitos. Cuando no me respondías,
Lo mas probable estos últimos muchos meses, te decía, “Bueno la próxima vez.”

Siempre al despedirme te daba un besito por Alice y un abrazo que siempre te mandaba,
Y tres besitos en tu frente de parte de papa (siempre te daba tres juntos), y uno mío. Te
Dejaba la tele prendida en un canal sin volumen que mostrara movimiento. Y en lo posible
Esperaba que quedaras con los ojos cerrados antes de marchar.

Se acabó el tiempo. No hay mas prorroga. Mis oraciones cambian de pedir que Dios te proteja
Y que por Su Gracia puedas sanar un poquito día a día a que Dios guarde tu alma y la de papá y
Permita que descansen en paz en Su reino. Te hecho mucho de menos ya, como a papá, y lo
Haré mientras viva y Dios me permita uso de razón. No sabia lo que es estar solo. Ahora si lo se.

Cuatro años viendo tu deslumbrante luz reducirse a una vela temblando en a oscuridad.
Cuatro años temiendo que te dieras cuenta de tu situación.
Cuatro años rogando que no tuvieras dolor, tristeza o soledad.
Cuatro años y sin aprender como decirte adiós. El resto de mi vida esperando verte otra vez.

Te quiero con todo mi corazón siempre y para siempre, mamá. Descansa en Paz.
Verdant Quo Dec 2018
It was simple
really.

The general flow
and proximity
of the world
that I swam to
and sought
the universe.

She let me touch
the infinitesimal
stars and skies;
the grays and greens
the nothingness
and the everything
all at once.

Humans were
different too.
Free of societal
implications
and frustrations
I was able to breath.

Surface breaking
where control wasn't
unfeasible
and organization wasn't
impossible
and emotions became
probable.

The constant
in and out
where I was pulled
was also where I pushed.
where the world smiled
and I smiled back
where everything was so
simple.

and then I woke up.
Farook Suyarov Aug 2018
I've trashed the years
and never blinked,
nor cried a tear
for a lost chance.
It flowed,
the swelling rivers of honey and milk,
‎at my feet,
which i never counted or held dear.
So what,
‎for my shabby soul,
‎i lived and died here.

You say, i could ask for a little help,
at least kneel down in a silence, for prayer
or implore to wisdom of common sense,
embracing defeat,
succumb and concede.
So what,
i dont feel sorry for what i did.

I am trying to be humble,
though unconcscious of what that means,
palping the boundaries of dreams,
scratching old wounds,
that heal and redeem
with every probable sin.

Don't expect me with dazzling
success,
throwing treasures at your feet.
No words of comfort i can offer
under the glimmering stars,
brightly lit.
A mere sorrow.
Only defeat.

You can throw a few lies to trick my mind,
pretending to value its eccentricity,
while you don't give a ****.
So what,
i am a regular guy.
You might still pity me,
but never love.
1st persona
Inequality is good, a wise friend once divulged
It was a good thought that has a hint of truth
Why? I asked to uncover its mystery
The he replied and informed me gleefully
2nd persona
Perfect liberation is too far to achieve for foolish men,
In the present time I witness what I believe
Blissful faces all around and its probable not their last
And ain’t we living now in an unequal world with future to trust?
1st persona
I ask, but what about those people lamenting in the dark?
2nd persona
I’m sorry to tell you bro, in a senseless quest I won’t embark
Isn’t it those happy people the cause of their misery?
Which we are a part of, this is ours and that is their destiny

Of course I won’t impede your stance in this matter
I believe you ain’t too foolish with your freedom and liberty
It’s just that some people get what they want on a silver platter
While some work their ***** of just to receive their miniscule pay
1st persona
I understand my friend that harsh verity
2nd persona
Harsh? Yeah to some people it is full of cruelty
That’s why they want to overturn the norms, the world’s ethos
I admire their courage but that is a matter I don’t intend to poke my nose
1st persona
Speaking of unfairness, I have a thought of mine
Why do people complain of what is absent
When compared to others they have a lot present
Is it because man's greed knows no confines

And some people grumble about their problems that  
When compared to other's crosses are just shallow vats
2nd persona
If it is what you said then what use is contentment?
And the second problem’s just like a game in my discernment

Level by level we are differing with every other
It is by which our environments determine our given attitude
A level one complains to a level seven, a higher number
And a level ten complains to a problem of greater magnitude

By which sometimes the level ten see level one in annoyance
For how lucky he is yet grumble of his misfortune
See, its just a matter of perspective and vision
Now why are you looking at me in askance?
1st persona
Your logic has something wrong, I’m just pointing out, not debate
Why can’t a level ten, over a level 1 problem, grumble?
For its just a matter of perspective as you did articulate
And if it is the case then what use is the level of the people?
2nd persona
Hahaha, you got me right my friend
My view is flawed as I am
Please do share thy thoughts so all this will end?
For we have talked till the cows to home, come
1st persona
My friend, I dare not belittle the view you conceive
For I think it has a hint of truth, even though with a flaw
You have a wisdom that exists only on a chosen few
So let me add a bit of my subjective perspective

The great may whine of a small barricade
The lesser may smile to the towering obstacles ahead
In every individual there are many factors of multitude
This is what you have missed, the peculiarity of humans

Not just discernment,
There is also temperament
We not only have perspective,
There is also attitude that we give

Many matter in life, I thus conclude my statement
2nd persona
So that’s it! Thank you for the enlightenment
Those factors really do affect our actions
As long as we are humans, there are no exceptions

To persist, to cower, to grumble, in traversing the rain
To take it easy, to seek help or to accomplish it on our own
Despite all these choices, one truth remains
That in life we most likely will reap what we have sown

— The End —