"vega" poems
Albert Camus
Kept an Emu
Tied to a potted,
Portable wisteria
To keep him company
Whilst he kept goal
For the University of Algeria.
As Albert was fishing
The ball out
From the back of the net
The Emu mused
On the conversations they'd had
About The Oprah Winfrey Show,
The significance of suffragettes,
Adam Smith's Wealth Of Nations
And the ****** orientation
Of Sir Galahad.
Whilst discussing the plots of
The Plague and The Outsider
Warm feelings would suddenly
Well up inside her.
Why should such intellect
Elicit so much love
And even more pain?
My thoughts for this man
Aren't getting any vaguer.
Then Utrecht University
Scored again.
There are no happy endings
With Albert Camus -
Decades later he dies
In his publisher's Facel Vega.
When she heard of Albert's demise
Her initial reaction
Was hysteria
And it comes as no surprise
That a few weeks later
She died of diphtheria
Which is so much easier to do
When you're an existential emu.
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 2:53 PM UTC
the day i left for good he wrapped me in an inescapable bear
hug that made me feel like i was
gonna stop breathing in
3
2
1...
we listened to a whole lotta
tom petty which is the reason why
whenever i'm scanning through
the radio on those drives i go on too often
that lead to nowhere and
i hear "refugee" or "free fallin"
i skip.
i read a lot to him and he
always listened to everything i had to say
and the 290th time of the day that i'd say
**** and everytime i said something even remotely
twisted a small smirk would
gradually paint on his lips
and then he'd laugh
and say it was a good thing we loved each other
otherwise he would think i was severely
****** up in the head.
he loved my heart shaped sunglasses
and he said i made him feel
like he was living in a time warp
where it was 1989 every millisecond
of every waking hour of every day
and i loved his eternal youthfulness
that sent fireworks flying through my
central nervous system.
and when he released me from the
wrath of his arms he promised
that we were gonna sit on his
back porch and crack open
some brews at midnight
and tell stories when i came back home.
i miss him more than the sun misses
the moon in the morning light
my partner in crime,
my adrenaline ******
my sagittarius.
-z. vega
Jun 28, 2016
Jun 28, 2016 at 5:33 PM UTC
My best work may be behind me
clouded in midnight dust, bottles, and empathic Sha-la-la
That bird is gone now
in the valley astray, gliding through Dream 1, and Dream 2
not an utterance in the ethereal space.
At the brink of Vernal Equinox I am re-imagined:
That valley bird, gone indeed, yet a Phoenix emerges hemorrhaging growth.
The imagination Stampede, the deafening glory cry
It is lovely to have similar feathers, and to talk freely with companions.
I know what this means now.
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 1:37 PM UTC
so
here we Are:
Arnold......Shortman,
Shorty......Meeks,
Mr......Meeseeks,
Ezekiel......Whitmore.
Morphine,,,,,,Morpheus,
Neo......Geo,
OG......Sour,
Sour......Diesel.
DeeDee's......Brother,
Cousin......Vinny,
Vinny's......Lover,
Brothers......Grimm.
Grim......adVentures,
Billy......Madison,
Hansel,,,,,,Gretel,
Chelsea......Grin.
Grimace,,,,,,Misery,
Mister......eBonic,
Bonny,,,,,,Clyde,
Kyle,,,,,,Kenny.
Kenny......Powers,
Powder Puff Girls,
"Girls Girls Girls",
Girls Gone Wild.
Wilee......Coyote,
Coyote......Ugly,
Ugly......Betty,
Betty......Crocker.
Doctor......Parnassus,
Doctor......Krieger,
Doctor......Horrible,
Doctor......Evil.
Evil......Knievel,
Felix......the Cat,
Captain Jack Sparrow:
"Captain......my Captain".
Tinman,,,,,,Scarecrow,
"Rowrow Rowyer Boat",
Bo......Burnham,
Earnest,,,,,,Vern.
Verdict,,,,,,Votive,
deVotion,,,,,,Vengeance,
aVenging......Evey,
V,,,,,,Vendetta.
Denace......the Menace,
Crystal......Globes,
Snow,,,,,,Aesthetics:
Skeletal......Shedding.
Head,,,,,,Tail,
Sally,,,,,,Jack,
Jack......Rabbits,
Magic......Hatters.
Shattered......Glass,
Glasgow......Smile,
Guile,,,,,,Vega,
Akuma,,,,,,Ryu.
You,,,,,,Me,
Beneath......the Bleacher:
Jeepers,,,,,,Creepers,
Reapers......of Seeds.
Seeds......of Chucky,
Chuckie......Finster,
Principal......Muriel,
Yuri......Gagarin.
© Copyrighted Jesse James Adams
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 12:44 PM UTC
To write a sonnet doth Juana press me,
I've never found me in such stress or pain;
A sonnet numbers fourteen lines, 'tis plain,
And three are gone, ere I can say, God bless me!
I thought that spinning rhymes might sore oppress me,
Yet here I'm midway in the last quatrain;
And if the foremost tercet I can gain,
The quatrains need not any more distress me.
To the first tercet I have got at last,
And travel through it with such right good will,
That with this line I've finished it, I ween;
I'm in the second now, and see how fast
The thirteenth line runs tripping from my quill;
Hurrah, 'tis done! Count if there be fourteen!
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 2:15 PM UTC
tonight a girl stands on a bridge.
the midsummer breeze dances around her curves.
it begs her to come play.
her heart beats steady.
her gaze is motionless.
the changing air steals a whisper.
"we are moving into the house of Aquarius"
under the bridge a man sleeps.
in a few weeks he'll turn fifty-eight,
but he doesn't know that.
he hasn't had a birthday celebration in years.
he hasn't had anything to celebrate in years.
the bridge is home now.
above him,
a girl is rediscovering herself.
a girl is rediscovering her fear of heights.
she looks 25 light years above her, at Vega.
in a way, she thinks, she is like this star.
she is about midway through her life expectancy,
but her light died a quarter century ago.
the man sleeps soundly.
a smile is spread across his face.
he is dreaming of his dinner,
a footlong sub.
extra olives, just the way he likes it.
it was his first meal in several days
but tonight, his stomach is full.
he has come to like the grease on his face.
it shows he has survived many challenges.
the hardships have only made him wiser.
the girl, she minored in astrology.
she was fifth in her graduating class.
debt lurked deep in her mind.
it polluted her every thought with
reminders that she was not in control.
now, she tries to justify her current position.
on the bridge.
looking out at Lyra, partially hidden by clouds
"nothing I do will matter."
she reconsiders.
she recalls an anecdote she overheard
on the subway, or somewhere:
"when you're dead, you're dead for a looooong time"
she smiles. kids say the darnedest things.
tonight she curses her 'lucky stars'.
nothing the girl does will matter.
tonight she will become a woman.
tonight she will give herself to the wind.
the man will find her in the morning.
the man will chuckle to himself.
"they always make it down here,
one way or another"
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 1:23 PM UTC
Forjada en la "Fábrica de Armas y Municiones",
la ciudad
muerde con sus almenas
un pedazo de cielo,
mientras el Tajo,
alfanje que se funde en un molde de piedra,
atraviesa los puentes y la Vega,
pintada por algún primitivo castellano
de esos que conservaron
una influencia flamenca.
Ya al subir en dirección a la ciudad,
apriétase en las llaves
la empuñadura de una espada,
en tanto que un vientecillo
nos va enmoheciendo el espinazo
para insuflarnos el empaque
que los aduaneros exigen al entrar.
¡Silencio!
¡Silencio que nos extravía las pupilas
y nos diafaniza la nariz!
¡Silencio!
Perros que se pasean de golilla
con los ojos pintados por el Greco.
Posadas donde se hospedan todavía
los protagonistas del "Lazarillo" y del "Buscón".
Puertas que gruñen y se cierran
con las llaves que se le extraviaron a San Pedro.
¡Para cruzar sobre las, murallas y el Alcázar
las nubes ensillan con arneses y paramentos medioevales!
Hidalgos que se alimentan de piedras y de orgullo,
tienen la carne idéntica a la cera de los exvotos
y un tufo a herrumbre y a ratón.
Hidalgos que se detienen para escupir
con la jactancia con que sus abuelos
tiraban su escarcela a los leprosos.
Los pies ensangrentados por los guijarros,
se gulusmea en las cocinas
un olorcillo a inquisición,
y cuando las sombras se descuelgan de los tejados,
se oye la gesta
que las paredes nos cuentan al pasar,
a cuyo influjo una pelambre
nos va cubriendo las tetillas.
¡Noches en que los pasos suenan
como malas palabras!
¡Noches, con gélido aliento de fantasma,
en que las piedras que circundan la población
celebran aquelarres goyescos!
¡Juro,
por el mismísimo Cristo de la Vega,
que a pesar del cansancio que nos purifica
y nos despoja de toda vanidad,
a veces, al atravesar una calleja,
uno se cree Don Juan!
2.3k
rock on, baby.
slow dance to nirvana
at the stoplight in the deep south of
town
and never let him damage ya
BUT if he does
chip his tooth
and write on his
skin
clenching a permanent marker
in between your teeth that's
blacker than your soul
could ever be -
"I'LL SEE YOU WHEN THE SUN
SETS EAST...
DON'T FORGET ME."
-z. vega
Jun 28, 2016
Jun 28, 2016 at 2:08 AM UTC
“one day i will find the right words, and they will be simple.” - jack kerouac
pancakes on a sunday morning, jack daniel’s, getting really drunk then running naked through the forest, mosh pits, double rainbows, old trucks, freebandz, panic attacks, overflowing bubble baths, woodstock 1969, lemonade, slamming my head into wet pavement, the cranberries, jumping into someone’s arms after having gone years without seeing them, american spirits, crying, heavy metal music, innocence, laughing until a hospital visit is necessary, ragers, smiles on the faces of five year old children after stripping the shelves of a candy store bare, severe depression, the 90s, basketball hoops in driveways, putting on makeup at 1 AM, the mojave desert, life.
-z. vega
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 2:50 AM UTC
Surrealistic lover meet me at the danger zone
In space ships where we simulate
As you shape shift, I stay fascinated
A reptilian, an arcturian, pleiadian
The vega, a lyra, light years away
Supersonic lover kiss me at the signal house
In cellular automaton advance my grid of DNA
As we diffuse in megastructures, callibrate my power
A sirian, grays, draconian,anunnaki
The human, indigo, crystal, the rainbow
Take me to the fantasy, at the star line of illusion
Where my body glows and your DNA burrows
Take me and show me the laser in the magic cosmic
Open my heart, inject your poison,kiss my toes as you do
Disconnect my body and spirit to another dimension
Distort the optic nerve so that the reality seems normal
Transverse the solar bodies and celestial systems
Fight the hypotonic regression to recall the delusions
Climb the mountain as the peaceful dwellers wear googles
Awaiting for a UFO float and disappear from the bare land
May 21, 2016
May 21, 2016 at 1:59 PM UTC
It starts with I…
And one night, under triangular canopy of Vega-Denair-Altair,
I meets you,
you call it M-13,
A foolish and globular cluster.
We muster courage saying: “There are no bodies in the sky. There are only bodies here to live and die.”
I-like-you(s) sprain to I-want-you(s)
And I-want-you(s) will, surely, hint at I-need-you(s)
This will be a lie because we are not each other’s food or drink.
Nevertheless, one day an I-need-you is translated into an I-love-you
This will not be a lie. Not because all poets are liars, but because not all liars are poets.
Not by lips or tongues or even signs-
But by virus, a susceptible core and conception
Infectious only under summer triangle,
low light pollution, and _____________.
In darkness we can doubt the existence of light.
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 1:40 AM UTC
living off
of apologies and time
spent in desperation
recollecting and reflecting
on where
all of the good vibes went
then
I may have smoked them.
underestimating my
control
of the situation
like I'm not
educated in protecting
my Peace
and healing my whole
mind, body
and Spirit
deflecting questions of
my integrity
all
because I prefer
complexity -
it takes me
three lefts
to make it right.
also some
times
I have to remind
myself
that it's okay
to cry
boiling hot emotions
got this little black kettle
singing high
currently
I'm choking
on the
hard pill
of a broken home
..heartache
worse than a broken bone
this is admitting to myself
that
I could be traumatized.
True.
I need a
get away
like Lenny says
quick break
with Mary, Garcia
and Vega
the only chance I ever get
to take flight.
in all Honesty
I am really
tired
of people
pushing me
and pulling me.
college drop-outs
they think
they schooling me
they are
tools to me.
Shorty,
swing my way
with that hammer
No
I'm not
driving for that *****
some say real
Love is
Black
some say it's
blue..
I say it's both
you know
the winners
always leave with
a little
bruise .
or two . .
or3 . . .
there probably may come
a time of day
where
you have to choose
whether
to lose
yourself
in this matrix
or
to fight
by your own rules
and well
Here
is to you,
my Little Light
your presence is proof
that some
times
choosing
True
Love is
the right thing to do.
May 4, 2022
May 4, 2022 at 1:48 AM UTC
“The atoms that comprise life on earth are all traceable to the crucibles that cooked light element into heavy element.” —Neil deGrasse Tyson
And up here we have Vega, rigged to a few older men,
Jupiter’s herd of moons. Look through its eyepiece,
convince us there is no such thing as reconstruction.
The right time to return light, the path to earth. Yes,
we are part, living or real. Such is the layout
of this cosmic ballet. A naked man and woman,
a map of earth’s location, unstable in their older years.
He spreads himself so wide, hard at the heavens
for two reasons. Fairly often, someone would call the police.
Handcuffs came from stars, next generation solar systems
quantumly entangled. Size is only development condensed
into a singularity, enriched guts against gears of war.
So what does this mean? The breadth of the actions
taken, meaning limitations, meaning sky was worth looking at.
He charmed the cops with conversational boom, dozens of people
crouching in the dark. Their common center of gravity:
darker barrel shaped streets with long rows of sold-out houses.
It’s not a lecture—how to calculate latitude, one neck cramp at a time,
an extension cord across Merlin’s Tour of the Universe
to satellites gliding in low orbit, nine years to work its way out.
The voice is deep and rowdy—from a man at the edge of the crowd.
The other reason is down here on earth, down the handle of the Big
Dipper. An artist will tell you—crank it some more, until it begins
to glow blue. Red-hot is the coldest among all the hots.
Apr 5, 2012
Apr 5, 2012 at 12:03 AM UTC
I want to jump off the earth and into space
As vast visions of knowledge graze my face
Laplace's demon I wish to be
But that hypothetical is not me
To witness planets and stars humans never see
Floating in space will set me free
Milky Way, Andromeda, perhaps a Magellanic cloud
Vega, Rigel, and Altair are my shroud
Antares and Arcturus burning up high
Adara and Bellatrix in my night sky
Life like Eridanus, the end is Achernar
So beautiful up close, and from afar
Horologium watching my every move
To Hydrus and Leo, my courage I must prove
Sun Ra taught me that "Space Is The Place"
When I journey forth, Ill shall adventure with grace
Mar 7, 2010
Mar 7, 2010 at 9:40 PM UTC
being your self
acting the way you want to
treating others the way they treat you
judged every way you turn
huh? I guess I'm kind of confused
- Vega...
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 11:21 PM UTC
no one knew how i felt except
for all the dusty back roads
in their dreary isolation and brokenness.
i spent countless hours standing outside
the entrance of the buckaroo tavern
with stephanie when i was 3 years old
because daddy was too *******
wasted to drive home. the heat waves
from that broken down neon sign
during the frosty seattle winter of 2001
felt like a security blanket at times
if i pretended hard enough,
i felt like there was something in
the big bad world that actually cared for me.
-z. vega
Jun 28, 2016
Jun 28, 2016 at 1:42 AM UTC
they were all in love with the cartoon eyes and crooked teeth and ginger hair and backwards ball caps
because every time she smiled
they became warmer and warmer until they'd melt, as if the sun was being reborn inside of them.
-z. vega
Jun 18, 2016
Jun 18, 2016 at 9:08 PM UTC
Tonight I saw Orion rise,
And chase the Pleiades across the sky,
The North star shone,
To give direction,
Vega offered introspection,
Ursa Major,
Too much to bear,
Gems of creation,
Everywhere,
Regulas rages in blazes of blue,
So beautiful now,
With the waxing moon,
The only star,
That will not shine,
Is the one,
I thought was mine,
But now you're in,
Anothers sky,
Why can't it be mine?
Oct 15, 2012
Oct 15, 2012 at 5:33 AM UTC
I will be dead
and become posthumously insane
and I will remember Suzanne Vega
every time I hear your name
I will take that look
of Vivienne Westwood's
and I will sing and sing and sing
and sink and sink and sink
and I will not think
of the appropriate things
Because I will be dead
and become posthumously insane
Even though long scarf does not suit this neck
and gas oven does not fit this head
and .38 caliber revolver is not
something a 17 year old girl would own
there is no need to worry
because now I know what loves me
It is not the explosion, not the oxygen
Not the carbondioxide, not the cyanide
It is the water, any kind of water
the tears, the saliva, the seawater
And I learnt from Haruki Murakami
that even a plastic bag would do
Mimicking the deepest sea
The sensation is true, is true ----
I remember; you liked a lot the word drown
You liked a lot the word drown
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 11:11 AM UTC
this longing is legacy
for a girl cut in half
cold currents of knife
astride darkest path
without stopping for daylight
in somnambulant flight
(your 2 a.m. smile is reason enough)
sheets of sound
somber
the womb of an angel
a war goddess unbound
o
a
stasis seraphic
shrink wrapped
in sweet plastic
((the perfumed fields are elastic
with crowned princes dynastic))
this mortal season
on
this perfect day
strikes the hearts of the stolen
in a fugitive way
the clarified fire
sinew and lean
eats the sins
of the heavens
where the ashes convene
the park with the lake
is wooded and pretty
the sky's on the grass
in an underground city
i'm calling from a
subterranean ocean
the shells are all closed
and the waves are all broken
in a minute the tides
will all swell
the gulls will
pack up
and the moonlight will dwell
say hello to
the girls from the sand
they can walk on the water
but never on land
the stars are submerged
all fallen and drowned
the light from the depths
shines upside down
ursa major
orion's belt
ursa minor
ice water vega
reversed ocean liner
inverted looks like the water
twisted so tonal sounds
mother and daughter
sister and brother
packed in blue ice
from the curves of the earth
and the jaws of a vise
in these dragonteeth winter days
you pick your time carefully
endpoints are delays
the decay of such that
they cannot touch
or remove them
erasing straight thoughts
as a means to improve them
sailing seas beneath
the skin underneath
the unrequited life
just out of reach
i'll nevercomplete it
i'll never repeat it
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 11:53 AM UTC
Me gusta ver el cielo
con negros nubarrones
y oír los aquilones
horrísonos bramar,
me gusta ver la noche
sin luna y sin estrellas,
y sólo las centellas
la tierra iluminar.
Me agrada un cementerio
de muertos bien relleno,
manando sangre y cieno
que impida el respirar;
y allí un sepulturero
de tétrica mirada
con mano despiadada
los cráneos machacar.
Me alegra ver la bomba
caer mansa del cielo,
inmóvil en el suelo,
sin mecha al parecer,
y luego embravecida
que estalla y que se agite
y rayos mil vomite
y muertos por doquier.
Que el trueno me despierte
con su ronco estampido,
y al mundo adormecido
le haga estremecer;
que rayos cada instante
caigan sobre él sin cuento,
que se hunda el firmamento
me agrada mucho ver.
La llama de un incendio
que corra devorando
escombros apilando
quisiera yo encender;
tostarse allí un anciano,
volverse todo tea,
oír como vocea,
¡qué gusto!, ¡qué placer!
Me gusta una campiña
de nieve tapizada,
de flores despojada,
sin fruto, sin verdor,
ni pájaros que canten,
ni sol haya que alumbre
y sólo se vislumbre
la muerte en derredor.
Allá, en sombrío monte,
solar desmantelado,
me place en sumo grado
la luna al reflejar;
moverse las veletas
con áspero chirrido
igual al alarido
que anuncia el expirar.
Me gusta que al Averno
lleven a los mortales
y allí todos los males
les hagan padecer;
les abran las entrañas,
les rasguen los tendones,
rompan los corazones
sin de ellos caso hacer.
Insólita avenida
que inunda fértil vega,
de cumbre en cumbre llega,
y llena de pavor,
se lleva los ganados
y las vides, sin pausa,
y estragos miles causa ...
¡qué gusto!, ¡qué placer!
Las voces y las risas,
el juego, las botellas,
en torno de las bellas
alegres apurar;
y en sus bocas lascivas,
un beso a cada trago
con voluptuoso halago
alegres estampar.
Romper después las copas,
los platos, las barajas,
y, abiertas las navajas,
buscando el corazón,
oír luego los brindis
mezclados con quejidos
que lanzan los heridos
en llanto y confusión.
Quisiera ver al uno
que arrastra un intestino,
y al otro pedir vino
muriendo en un rincón;
y otros, ya borrachos,
en trino desusado
cantar a Dios sagrado
impúdica canción.
Y mientras las queridas
tendidas en los lechos,
sin chales en los pechos
y flojo el cinturón,
mostrando sus encantos,
sin orden el cabello,
al aire el muslo bello.
¡Qué gozo! ¡Qué ilusión!
1.3k
back when summertime
sadness was hip.
beating hearts felt like butterflies
trapped in a plastic water
bottle trying their hardest
to get out and bodies of water
that were frighteningly black but as clear as
broken glass and
worn down cowboy boots
and perfectly fragmented
scarlet and burnt orange
canyons
and crushed
beer cans by the firepit
and isolation and
inescapable infatuation.
the world was so beautiful and
almost ethereal but it wasn't
familiar. like it had been
taken apart and put back
together differently than before.
-z. vega
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 3:17 PM UTC
Sparks, imperial journey to the great gold
it's day for shining
dark for crying
and pining
deciding
where to go? in this great blue world
I see lines
better to remove the dust and
grab whatever's floating
How would we stay alive for ourselves?
Tell me what a real person is.
Ask me what a real human is.
Green, I feel green
in the face and the toes
because green grows
what the heart knows
Safety is gone
but i feel alright. Just because it might go away doesn't mean I have to hold on harder, or bite down stronger.
Everything slips, because
everything slips.
Hang me on a string
and rid the town of my modern making
They wanted a puppet
but they gave me the wrong color
the mismatched wood
uneven cards and googly eyes
that see too much.
Maybe the sun could bleach me
back to a perfect dolly
on the windowpane
for your pleasure and my disdain
We could avoid the mess
of dancing under Vega
Aquarius is finally here
and it only talks this way
in the summertime
But I've learned to listen:
love sets in after time, and distance is quickest.
I sent a letter admitting that it's partially my fault
for losing myself in the hanging orb
but internally I knew that distance is quickest
I sense a change above our hearts
and it wants
an audience
Maybe the stars know what to do?
Down here it's not true
to say we have any clue
If there only was a way to learn that Sparks in the sky
are opportunities to try
and lie less
to be great and honest
Learn that distance is quickest
Green: the spaceship of our baby dreams
and quilt seams
begging us to replant
and re-pot and re-hash
for a brighter future
a lighter day
Wringing on my knees in the end
to believe that distance is quickest
and harmony's not already dead
Finally.
I know that Sparks exist
for me to recharge and rebuild.
They're green and they live in the sky
that we filled
they live in my art and the world's heart
so if safety existed: Sparks would not.
and the distance would look like time.
So tell me why I should be human
when I run so much better as a
shiny
porcelain
battery
backup
mind
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 1:50 AM UTC
Paseábase el rey moro - por la ciudad de Granada
desde la puerta de Elvira - hasta la de Vivarrambla.
-¡Ay de mi Alhama!-Cartas le fueron venidas - que Alhama era ganada.
Las cartas echó en el fuego - y al mensajero matara,
-¡Ay de mi Alhama!-Descabalga de una mula, - y en un caballo cabalga;
por el Zacatín arriba - subido se había al Alhambra.
-¡Ay de mi Alhama!-Como en el Alhambra estuvo, - al mismo punto mandaba
que se toquen sus trompetas, - sus añafiles de plata.
-¡Ay de mi Alhama!-Y que las cajas de guerra - apriesa toquen el arma,
porque lo oigan sus moros, - los de la vega y Granada.
-¡Ay de mi Alhama!-Los moros que el son oyeron - que al sangriento Marte llama,
uno a uno y dos a dos - juntado se ha gran batalla.
-¡Ay de mi Alhama!-Allí fabló un moro viejo, - de esta manera fablara:
-¿Para qué nos llamas, rey, - para qué es esta llamada?
-¡Ay de mi Alhama!--Habéis de saber, amigos, - una nueva desdichada:
que cristianos de braveza - ya nos han ganado Alhama.
-¡Ay de mi Alhama!-Allí fabló un alfaquí - de barba crecida y cana:
-Bien se te emplea, buen rey, - buen rey, bien se te empleara.
-¡Ay de mi Alhama!-Mataste los Bencerrajes, - que eran la flor de Granada,
cogiste los tornadizos - de Córdoba la nombrada.
-¡Ay de mi Alhama!-Por eso mereces, rey, - una pena muy doblada:
que te pierdas tú y el reino, - y aquí se pierda Granada.
-¡Ay de mi Alhama!-
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*She is the most attentive person
That I know. So I am winking
At her.
I do not really know
Which star at night
Reminded me of her
Just like before.
Sirius, Rigel, Vega, Aldebaran--
I do not recall a star that--
That does not look back,
She cannot see me anymore,
Just looking, staring at her,
This way. God,
She's so beautiful.
She is the harpist of my life.
She feels more than ever.
She longs for shapes, sizes, and textures.
What a cute baby...
Her hand is fond
Of my hand, memorizing
The intricate lines and features,
Telling my future.
You can tell what she really is.
She smiles despite of.
She is literally wind, monsoon,
Literal dark and light,
A soul, a window.
She is literally blind.
She is literally love.
She is the most attentive love
That I know.*
© 2014 J.S.P.
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 6:11 PM UTC