"tangos" poems
Turn the corner
Hand tenses
Looking down the iron sights I see an object fall
"Tango down" I call over the radio
what was his name? Tango, Threat, Terrorist, doesn't matter.
Explosion
Mud brick wall vaporized into dust
Keep going
Out of breathe
Keep going
Hand tenses
"Tango down"
Does it have kids? A Family? Threat eliminated
Round the corner
Hand tenses
"Three tangos on west building roof top"
Bullets from my brothers **** by my helmet
Return fire
"Take Cover!"
Sweat drenched face fogs up my goggles
Explosion
Brick pieces pummel my back
Ears ringing, faintly hearing
"Alpha down, Medic!"
Blurred vision, equilibrium thrown off
Raise my rifle
Hand tenses
Silhouette falls
"Medic!" heard faintly
Hand tenses
"Are you okay?" sounds distant
Hand tenses
"babe?" getting louder
Hand tenses
Hand tenses
Wake up
Sheets heavy with sweat
"Babe, are you ok?"
Throwing the blankets I jump back to the edge of the bed
Her frightened face
I've seen before
I look down
Hands tense
Same look, no tangos
No threats
Just Ghosts
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 12:01 AM UTC
The ghost of you lingers on my mind
The echo of your words tangos across my heart
The feeling of excitement of falling in love in cyberspace
Sexting without remorse or grace
A friendship that hits below the waist
Intelligent conversations that strokes your passion and ignites your fire
I wonder if I'll have anything left to offer
Or would the sight of you take me higher up the ladder of my sinful desire
Your words drive my imagination wild
The touch on my skin, your fingers, lightly caressing my spine
This image in my head is so divine
Seriously hoping that one day, this feeling will be mine.
Pictures and thoughts exchanged on a whim
Something strange grows from within
Intellectually stimulating every part of me
Zeros and ones creates a digital reality
Here I am, imagining being in your arms
The sweetest words you whisper in my ear
My soul yarns for you to be here
Feelings your warm body against mines under the cover
I long for you, my WhatsApp lover
©La Vida Love
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 4:08 PM UTC
The brass trumpet sounds
In the dark, where weeps aloud
And hearts are made of silver
To match her necklace that slithers
As a snake which tangos
When their bracelets dangle
No one seems much surprised
For her dance, the cobra rise
To greet the man on the street
As he is poisoned head to feet
Shake the jeepers, I'm telling you
If not, may your spirit be cool
She is definitely a piece of work
And drunken whispers offer jerks
But, they do not have a clue
This woman moves to voodoo
Wiggle... Jiggle.. Lady Dancer
You eat them like a malice cancer
Wiggle... Jiggle... Lady Dancer
Tomorrow, you will have to answer.
Mar 8, 2011
Mar 8, 2011 at 9:24 AM UTC
After the first astounding rush,
after the weeks at the lake,
the crystal, the clouds, the water lapping the rocks,
the snow breaking under our boots like skin,
& the long mornings in bed. . .
After the tangos in the kitchen,
& our eyes fixed on each other at dinner,
as if we would eat with our lids,
as if we would swallow each other. . .
I find you still
here beside me in bed,
(while my pen scratches the pad
& your skin glows as you read)
& my whole life so mellowed & changed
that at times I cannot remember
the crimp in my heart that brought me to you,
the pain of a marriage like an old ache,
a husband like an arthritic knuckle.
Here, living with you,
love is still the only subject that matters.
I open to you like a flowering wound,
or a trough in the sea filled with dreaming fish,
or a steaming chasm of earth
split by a major quake.
You changed the topography.
Where valleys were,
there are now mountains.
Where deserts were,
there now are seas.
We rub each other,
but we do not wear away.
The sand gets finer
& our skins turn silk.
4k
Blush!
The blush of pinkish,
As flamingo fandangos,
In rhythmic tangos,
Long legs centrally bent as she stands,
Flamingo masquerades as delicate swan!
Sort of strutting,
Elegant,
Thought not!
Woman masked as flaming flamingo.
Lady tall in height,
Wistfully wishes on starlight night, bright,
Clear eyes sparkle,
A tint of mystery's mystique,
No teardrops,
He fed her fire with touch of love,
As if were both sent from above,
Two strange birds can only tell,
If love will grow or tears well!
Passion kissed her on her cheek,
Left her blushing scarlet,
Jesus wept and cried out loud,
'This woman,
She's no harlot,'
Both dangling suspended in ether clouds ,
Dozy as hell,
These two dreamy birds are two of a kind,
No similar creatures will you ever find,
He struts peacock feathers glory.
She blushes,
Escaped from love story!
Eccentricity,
Idiosyncrasies,
Rule the day,
Hurry up,
Bring him back my way!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 5:33 AM UTC
She is raving and unfaithful,
judged to die of insomnia
but
I love her.
She dances four tangos
with demons in her mind
but the fifth dance is mine tonight.
Instead of singing her love songs
I scream in agony
"Baby, your blood tastes like Tequila",
but she pours me a cold Jager
hissing.
She was never a person of tender touch,
rolled up her sleeves and showed her scars
and bruises
like a warrior.
She is ******* and restless,
a street cat fearing strangers
yet chasing cars
and
I love her.
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 2:16 PM UTC
The snowflakes fell
Like talcum, softly, from a rusted tube.
Pure and silently, the
Pine trees shrugged
Against the blanket they were forced to hug-
Evergreen arms
Cut the blue sky and
The white clouds became gray,
And they cried.
As a mirror thrown against
A brick wall in the dark,
The wind blew harshly,
Demeaning,
Unforgiving,
Like tiny knives, tiny shards
Of broken glass, fast and hard.
Drops of dew looked up to the sky-
And now it is springtime;
Spring is the temple,
Love is a new day
To open your eyes and
Count the
Births,
And blooms,
And beginnings
And things.
The raindrops fell in a gentle mist,
Fat and slow,
Onto blades of dark green grass
And when they landed,
They kissed.
Light
Tangos on the tops of heads,
Perches in the hair like
Crown jewels,
Liquid like gold
Above faces of lovers-
Lovely, bright, and bold.
Births,
And blooms,
And beginnings,
And things.
And now it is springtime,
Stuck inside a blissful moment,
Snapping vintage photographs in
Hues of yellow and green,
Chartreuse, something in between-
Light falls down though eyelashes,
Dancing upon toes of shoes,
Hoping this moment doesn’t
End too soon.
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 4:23 PM UTC
as a butterfly
fleets the cocoon
vivaciously flying
towards never land
I love, love
don't let time
turn silent
the answer I find
forever in your eyes
I love, love
dive in with my fate
as an infinity
speaking softly
from what you feel…
when you're with me,
and when you are alone in flight
looking for your journeys
end
I love, to love
I sit in meadows
fresh, vibrantly green
creating shapes of
the cotton ***** above
I love, to love
breeze tangos with
my hair gently
sun illuminates you
while fluttering by
I love, to love
my heart twinkles
at the thought
never to cease
blissfully fulfilled
boundlessly intertwined
confidently whispering I love
you
I love, love...love, to love...love you
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 4:42 PM UTC
GO ! BELOVED MAN ~ go c r e a t e
YOU are the CENTRE OF CREATION
see these children in my embracing protection
I will send them when you are ready
we all float flying together confidently
but now you must L E A V E, descend
our forefingers are disengaging, a pattern paternal, forever humanity will remember
this gesture, TWO IN ONE, a HOLDING
and LETTING go, sign of
GRACEFUL DIVINE INSTRUCTION
I birth your progeny, birthing ALL WORLDS
this teen your son says : “BE not afraid”
he becomes angry
as you lounge hesitant, question or plead
he is impatient to elevate what you will manifest
but wait he must ~ ONLY I control TIME
I s t r e t c h Y O U, SON
I O P E N S K Y in the eternal Now
immersing myself in my creations
then letting them GO
this is NO FALL call it ART ~ MY COMMAND FOR YOU IS RISE then F ~ L~ Y
You are my CHOSEN
EYES to eyes
THE TIME IS NOW
recline no more in cloud beauty
endurance is your hallmark
ferocity tangos with LOVE
I will not forsake you
you will soar on my winds
they will carry your shapely limbs
ready groin will create at my bidding
your elegant strong fingers will caress
Question not MY IMAGE
man of man, woman of woman
curved ears hear, wide nostrils breathe life
Heart pumping into infinity
food will flow from hair to toe tip
ACT and RELAX, written into ****** constitution
Forever MICHELANGELO, Sculptor
humble Genius I saLute you, My own Creation
Son of Marbled Art
Yours sincerely, GOD
Sep 14, 2025
Sep 14, 2025 at 4:42 AM UTC
How long will you sit there?
Cavities, your type of trophies from wilder days, the forgettable kind
Rutting between hills of lifeless grey flesh
Moist as the dust that stood to search (unsuccessfully) for fresh light
Nothing moves anymore
Even the 41, Guyanese invertebrates
Learned you long ago
They wait, tire
Sometimes before the hours tip, I hear you, or try to
You play the dances in your head
Just like swallowed tangos and serenades for mama
She always said you could sing
I fought for the top of your feet
My place, where my toes gripped wrinkles in your smile
Pulling me down, down past moonless flights
Yet no such pedestal stood
Mid-yawn, we breathed in springtime
I left a piece for you, buried deep in an injection
I lost my crown that day
My heart anticipated the warmth of melting snow
I'd cover furrowed brows in blue ink, sometimes black
Grinning under the blotting
Recipes for tomorrow
Words I beg to forget
Sep 13, 2013
Sep 13, 2013 at 8:01 PM UTC
Gentle winter sun,
Peeking through the hazy window,
Fiddling with your hair as your head rested on my shoulder,
While, to Florence we journeyed,
Away from the Sicilian soil,
Whose Olives kept us captives for so long.
Oh! And remember how-
The Florentine pavements answered our footsteps,
And picturesque italian figures smiled at our liberty,
And how-
The sound of mandolin, and of accordion;
The carefree ramblings,the mindless tangos in the Italian streets,
And the sheer aura of it all,
Moved me-
And how it moved you!
But it was later in Vatican,
Ah! it was then,
When God became Michelangelo for me,
And you,the ceiling of Sistine Chapel.
Feb 15, 2019
Feb 15, 2019 at 8:06 AM UTC
she jumps from table to table, dances with me like no other.
dips me, lifts me, whips me round in the most passionate of tangos.
She traces her legs, every movement, with care,
a fall from grace, so perfect and so rare.
she catches me as I leap. And leap I do but still I am there, in her arms, wrapped so tightly and held so dear.
"Do you like that?" she whispers into my ear
I do not. But I cannot seem to drag myself from her, a swirling twister of silver and red, though to be with her is my downfall, and she knows it.
she sees the fear in my eyes and she relishes in it. she sees my inhibitions and she dances all the more, shocking my soul and pleasing my heart. she is a heatwave, frostbite, a tragic death and the first breath. she is my ending and my beginning, killing me softly. and yet I do not stray. try as I might to escape she drags me back screaming and kicking, spinning me round till I cannot see, cannot walk and cannot think. she is ingrained in me, patterns on my skin that burn desperately through my clothes, itching red-hot. they remind me that I am hers.
and what if i liked it?
Dec 11, 2021
Dec 11, 2021 at 7:37 PM UTC
They hang limply from the walls as
Old friend DECAY settles
Suburbia Mexicana neons and
Obscene jabs in raspberry
Demonizing the scalp of an 18th cake
The lipstick is not dark enough to
Carry a meaning here
No scent lingers as the calendar turns
Another year burnt to death as
We move further away from coincidence
And desperately memorize the lines of a
Modern work, every brushstroke an intellectual
Marvel so if we stare enough it will enfold on
Itself to glass
Guten morgen, Herr Schicksal!
Would you be so kind as to
Dissolve the peppermint stench
And leave the shower on?
I may see a reflection through the
Steam and like it more than yours
I never much liked chloroform or
Frosted roses
Settle on with
Delusions of Poland
And lazy eye tangos
With naked melodies re-vamped
By a 21st century greaser
Please don’t leave
Hail to Canon, brute of mine!
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 2:43 PM UTC
Praying for a minute more
as I stare at my watch.
Maybe if I look harder,
I can hinder time.
1.
At night, with my hand behind my head,
its whispering metronome
lulls me to sleep,
continuous like the white noise of some undiscovered beach.
2.
In the apartment, as I pass by the stairs,
the bourdon note of the hour's routine chime
hides in the corner
like a child meeting a stranger for the first time,
clinging to its mother.
3.
In the classroom, on the wall,
it lingers like a ******
Everywhere, I am followed
by its piercing gaze.
4.
In the room, on the bed stand,
assertive in the light of the rising sun,
as reliable as a royal guard.
Cold and unfeeling.
I am obligated to obey.
5.
In my body, behind the gilded cage of my ribs,
it tangos in step
with my pulsating heart.
Every second winds the battery down.
Tangible,
yet why can't I feel it?
6.
In the train station,
it keeps a record of our coming and going,
sees us float like specters across spotless tile.
How many wanderers will it see before it breaks?
Perhaps it is our guardian angel,
silently waiting for us to be late.
7.
On the sundial, in the crumbling heat of mid-afternoon,
it remains unreliable.
The sky makes its own hours.
With clouds come the pause of time.
Aug 2, 2012
Aug 2, 2012 at 10:42 AM UTC
.
Ravens scatter outside my pain.
A throw of die against the winters
First snow and the window needs cleaning,
Maybe later. The running glass
Is watery and after I make love
With you, I wake to the severing light
That is always silent. The phone
Does not ring, as my cat has told me
Many times, let us play she says,
The way it used to be under
The red wood beams on the hard wood
Floors, you would cry in that vacancy.
Though we lived in a one bedroom
Unfurnished, I called it a dance hall
And we danced silly tangos. I tried
To lift you then, but now outside
My window, ravens dervish and never
Fly in formation, under blue mountain.
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 3:24 PM UTC
Temper-
now, now, there. He is
man of raging waters-
ease flees his body
Like birds spooked by passing train.
Time and truths drag down his shoulders as
He walks his well-worn path to
Earn his well-worn dollar.
His arms limp to pick the tempest bottle
That fill his flaccid faith with the warmth of a hundred singing choirs.
Temper, now - hallelujah, hallelujah
He fills his cup - king of kings-
and pours it down the funnel of his spine,
And like the clown that blows up balloon animals
He blows up a lion
blows up a fighting ****
He blows himself up into hope-into happy.
Temper man, mine,
I am branches of his trees
Snapping in the sudden gale
The storm that brews beneath his feet.
I am what he preserves -
what he destroys
Makes me like one of his castles
That
drip-drop
drip -drop
rise in the sand
I rise, towers blossom fragile
Queen of Drip-drop Land
- temper man watches it all wash away
I am sullen and silent and stirring
His madness alive
as he tangos with electrified demons on the beach where I puddle.
Oh how tiring it all is,
And he'll wake to drag his medal with him
As he walks the dusty road to clutch his dusty dollar
So he may do it all again.
Shan 01/05/15
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 3:31 AM UTC
We live in times of innovation.
Winds of change affront the nation;
wind most welcome – by a few
(the masses know not what to do
with engineered progressive change,
their morals slow to rearrange).
And thus, in ornithology
we find an apt analogy…
Phoenix-like the vulture rose
in rainbow raiment, from repose
Its plumage all askew – a freak:
a mutant with a painted beak
borne of winds but lately blown.
This strange new hybrid (yet unflown)
did twitter forth an avian boon.
It preened its plumes and croaked a tune:
“I represent that rarest fowl,
far wiser than outmoded owl…
A dazzling swan of change am I
brought forth to liberate the sky!”
(Yet more appeared a fractured emu;
fair is fowl post-op… they tried to
cross said emu with an ostrich!
(What the hell – the surgeon got rich
changing apples into – mangos;
altering the twos to tangos…)
Fresh from gender suicide
he moulted into she. Beside
herself (itself?) with grief, regarded
previous selves as false: discarded
Sir for Madam overnight;
fixed it, mixed it, made it right.
Since God was wrong the first time ‘round,
Man (or something) thus is bound
hormonally to tweak and mutate,
hastening rebirth’s freakish due-date.
A manly bass – and yet the face
was poorly paired in his/her case
Soprano ought to have resounded –
yet the voice left one confounded.
Rainbow bracelets notwithstanding
this was clearly modern branding
(on the forehead – like a beast?)
well, Jesus said the truth at least:
that angels are of neither gender
(hence no need to check the member.)
Lest we offend endangered species
I commend transgendered theses –
paired with warning and a fable
as they turn the feathered table:
We may nurture fair to foul
while nature shrieks a hideous howl
but foul to fair cannot return;
thus trapped, both Eve and Adam burn.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 9:12 PM UTC
She is a miasma of regret and gin
My resurrection Mary bound by sin
We all have white mice and black dogs
We all have white mice and black dogs
We all have songs we cannot sing
Burdens to bare upon our wings
She is a gilded crown one cannot wear
A ghostly smile, a forbidden stare
Dancing graveyard tangos before mother lune
She swirls and cascades and flies up to the moon
Her smile the jagged blade that ripped her wrist
And yet her shadow still persists
A spectre of memory upon my pealing wall
A heartbeat echoing from beneath the floor
A happiness known only to be ******
Inundated by **** and sand
She comes to me with wailing moans
The intolerable moments I am alone
She comes to me with obscene plans
And how I long to take her hand
To take the claw, take the blade
Bid adieu to sweat and shade
Oh bells and flame and an absence of pain
That endless slumber, oblivion, peace
Where broken girls find sweet relief
To be judged by lord on high, to be saved
To find the comfort I forever crave
To hug once more that girl I loved
Who visits me from far above
But she is a spectre of my dreams
My ignoble suffering, my pain and though it seems
She offers paradise she offers nothing but
She is an absence, a fissure, an empty plot
Where does that ****** maiden dwell?
There is no heaven, there is no hell
There is but this moment now, this moment now
For she is gone, and take note how
She cannot suffer, but nor delight
In warm winds nor the sordid ballet of night
In songs that come from god’s own choir
Or the devils dance of deep desire
Where live your smiles, if not on my own lips?
What persistence have you, if I did not exist?
She is dead
She has ceased to be
While every moment moves in me
Her waters still, mine swarm and flow
Onwards and upwards with any dream to know
So yes I dream of death, for she is sweet
To remember why my life I keep
A toast, a cavalcade of praise and love
I send to thee up high above
But understand why, my darling friend, I cannot follow
For I still long to taste tomorrow
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 9:38 AM UTC
She danced with death.
At times they would wait on opposite sides of the room,
Stealing glances of each other around the other guests.
At others, they would stand so close
Their breath intermingled like the winds in the trees.
They held each other gently,
Both afraid to hold too hard
And have the other shatter into scattered fragments.
They would twirl and sidestep gracefully,
Making others yearn to watch
Yet afraid to do so, for doing so
Might upset the magical balance they’d set up.
And so the two dance on—
Waltzes, tangos, ballets,
Separating briefly to catch their breath
And to let the tension build from across the room.
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 8:37 PM UTC
It is in this space
Where thoughts can dance unconstrained
Of the concessions
To jealousy and stricture
Where tangos are passionate
May 19, 2010
May 19, 2010 at 2:43 PM UTC
You're across
An ocean swell
You're across
A boat's plough crushing
Waves down down
You're beyond
An island crowned in orange cloud
Seagulls busy dancing tangos
On the greasy wind.
You're way past
The strokes of spits of sand saliva
Of palm trees clapping coconuts
Making feigned horsehoove beats
To bring the waves a shouting match.
Roars clean the salty, dry air.
You've passed,
The shallow castles
Of whale dens,
Keeping ships in new homes
Wooden kin with keels and ribs
Flies and jibs.
You're not here, that's for sure,
But,
I feel you,
Maybe somehow.
I do.
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 8:37 PM UTC
¿Y fue por este río de sueñera y de barro
que las proas vinieron a fundarme la patria?
Irían a los tumbos los barquitos pintados
entre los camalotes de la corriente zaina.
Pensando bien la cosa, supondremos que el río
era azulejo entonces como oriundo del cielo
con su estrellita roja para marcar el sitio
en que ayunó Juan Díaz y los indios comieron.
Lo cierto es que mil hombres y otros mil arribaron
por un mar que tenía cinco lunas de anchura
y aún estaba poblado de sirenas y endriagos
y de piedras imanes que enloquecen la brújula.
Prendieron unos ranchos trémulos en la costa,
durmieron extrañados. Dicen que en el Riachuelo,
pero son embelecos fraguados en la Boca.
Fue una manzana entera y en mi barrio: en Palermo.
Una manzana entera pero en mitá del campo
expuesta a las auroras y lluvias y suestadas.
La manzana pareja que persiste en mi barrio:
Guatemala, Serrano, Paraguay, Gurruchaga.
Un almacén rosado como revés de naipe
brilló y en la trastienda conversaron un truco;
el almacén rosado floreció en un compadre,
ya patrón de la esquina, ya resentido y duro.
El primer organito salvaba el horizonte
con su achacoso porte, su habanera y su ******
El corralón seguro ya opinaba YRIGOYEN,
algún piano mandaba tangos de Saborido.
Una cigarrería sahumó como una rosa
el desierto. La tarde se había ahondado en ayeres,
los hombres compartieron un pasado ilusorio.
Sólo faltó una cosa: la vereda de enfrente.
A mí se me hace cuento que empezó Buenos Aires:
La juzgo tan eterna como el agua y el aire.
942