Wednesday, August 31, 2016

Paper Man




Paper Man


Welcome!  My mountains are shattered
look at your kisses stuffed in the gallery
welcome to the map of my horizons
your nakedness      your laughter pour down on me
welcome to my pocket
where I keep verses, wisps of echoes
of your bodies
welcome to my ashtray of hopes
where your stem pours its bitter blood
and I pay for your hugs with deaf pagan prayers
welcome to this garden of houseleeks

Paper man
locked in his steam cage
the servants
arrive with golden trays
as he hides in the corner and moans

I heard your rain voice
on my paper streets
and all I could do was smile
while the ink dripped
blackening my heavy feet.
In our conversation, we pretended
the casual existed in a wall of salt.
I kissed the salt and here I am with thirst,
tense, muddy in my absurd size.
Stay with me while I dissolve
with tears, saliva, sweat,
our painful distance.

The salt wall closes
and the paper man walks away
into a new vastness.
I breathe in trash, whatever is foreign.
and long for the courage
to turn this paper into fire,
to witness my world ablaze
but there’s no fire in my hands.
Incapable of burning,
castrated for the igneous,
another other light surrounds me.






Monday, August 29, 2016

If you come to see me




If you come to see me 


at nightfall
at the hour of my magical fatigue
and you hold me in your arms
make me recall
the flavors of your mouth,

the echoes of your footsteps
the source of your laughter,
your kisses… if you come
when I’m handsome and wild
and my lips are utter sweetness
and they’re made of red silk
and they laugh and sing

when my mouth is as full
as nail in the sun when I close my eyes
because they’re so heavy with desire
I won’t            know              what to           do! 

A Barren Wilderness



A Barren Wilderness


He fills my chest  
with a sorcerer’s charm,
the thrill of painful things.
There are bougainvilleas  
under the burnt heather.
What I bring inside?
Hallucinations, murmuring voices.
a fallen pallium, the gold
on my coat of arms stripped
and I’m no longer love.
I’m barren rue in bloom.

Saturday, August 27, 2016

In morning twilight




In morning twilight


Night is a thirsty trap
whispering the chill of omens,
a ball of fear falls down the stairs
of countless poems
stuck to the roof my heart.
It’s thundering rain,
cats make love in a great-big orgy.
I can’t focus, everything’s becoming opaque.
I find no compass to indicate the way.
I wander blindly inside your bed sheets.
You move, bite
lightly suffocate me
and place impatience
our on a thrown.
You exhaust sound,
calm tides inside my head
descend
kiss
smile
and own me.




Friday, August 26, 2016

Your Breast



Your Breast


perch on my lips ©
and challenge my tongue
in a swaying of saints.
That’s it!! They’re
the holly chalices of nacre
holding up your neck
refracting into upright rivers
that run high. My teeth
lose their edge.

The distance from me
to your night lips  
evolves in tablespoons.
Men and lonely women
read our story, plagiarized
our sighs and you’ve begun
to hate that so and so Gregorio.
It serves him right

for being such an asshole

Wednesday, August 24, 2016

Nur of my dispassion




Nur


of my dispassion…
you jumped with your back
towards my face.
I adored your back sprinkled 
with kindness!
I don’t want for your eyes
that are so crammed pins
to scrutinizing my eyes
coloring them alkaline
in a face to face farewell.
Do it in front of our friends
so I don’t kiss you.
May our embrace rush the heat
of this mid-day hunger
before the world becomes toxic,

but remember to give me your back.

Monday, August 22, 2016

Cocaine



Cocaine


We’ll call this consumerism era
love making us a dose of powder
           
            let’s plough the devil’s property
            until the day of the golden ring
            and the cloying gala
            with an anthem to the Blessed Virgin

At the market of love
—buttocks paralyzed with rubber
to be desirable
—whisky, gold, and assets
so that you drift in my direction
and you’re not short of goods in your old age

You’ll open your eyes touching your husband’s back,
he’ll squint touching your backbone.
You’ll both load fingers and hands smelling of drool,
saliva, and lies.

Fruit of the devil’s property
this is how you’ll sleep.
Devalued currency dulling the trip,
devaluated gestures ending without meaning.

Two separate lines on a glass made of dreams,
you think, stir and join, disengage
images of your days of silence.

This is how they wake up,
attracted by the roll of bills that time despises
and uses to consume them.




            

Sunday, August 21, 2016

First poem in seven day challenge: "Monologue" by Sergio Sergio Antonio Ortiz, thank you for the invitation Chinedu Jonathan Ichu



Monologue



One word explains another.
Take "loneliness", it’s a gap
or a stone falling into the void,
even the air hurts and walking
is not enough, sleep dies
but you sleep. Loneliness is to search
for your height, your exact size, in others,
or rather it’s to divide yourself
to form a broad chorus of nothingness.
What horrible loneliness
is in the one who begs for affection
by blemishing tenderness. Let laughter
be laughter and hatred be hatred,
and a man be a man
above all miseries.

Friday, August 19, 2016

Fatal Surge




Fatal Surge


You tasted the salt
of my inner thigh,
dunes of fine, smooth skin
strung my most intimate garments.
I found honey in your rump
from where I drank its last fiber.

I followed the crescent moon,
the swell of the sea swallowed me.

Celebrating Lorca's 80th year of disappearance - Celebrando el 80ta aniversario de la desaparicion de Lorca



Madrigal a la ciudad de Santiago


Llueve en Santiago
Mi dulce amor.
Blanca camelia del aire
brilla su tiniebla al sol.

Llueve en Santiago
por la noche oscura.
Hierbas de plata y de sueño
cubren la desierta luna.

Mira la lluvia en la calle,
queja de piedra y cristal.
Mira el viento desvaído
surco y ceniza tu mar.

Surco y ceniza tu mar,
Santiago, lejos del sol.
Agua de mañana antigua
temblando en mi corazón.




Nocturno del adolescente muerto


Iremos callados a orillas del vado
para ver al adolescente ahogado

Iremos callados a orillas del aire,
antes que ese río se lo lleve al mar.

Su alma lloraba, herida y pequeña,
bajo los aromas de pinos y hierbas.

Agua despeñada bajó de la luna
cubriendo de lirios montañas desnudas.

El viento dejaba camelias trilladas
en la hoguera mustia de su boca triste.

¡Vienen mozos rubios por montes y prados
Para ver al adolescente ahogado!

¡Viene gente oscura de cumbre y de valle
Antes que ese río se lo lleve al mar!

Lo lleve hasta el mar de cortinas blancas
Donde van y vienen viejos bueyes de agua.

¡Ay, cómo cantaban árboles del Sil
sobre verde luna, como un tamboril!

¡Mozos, vamos, vengan, ahora a llegar
porque ya ese río me lo lleva al mar!

Tuesday, August 16, 2016

Sombra que duele



Sombra que duele


Cuando una caracola invade
el Mandir de tu corazón sin decir Om
ni quitarse los zapatos,
y no enciende el incienso
para rezarle
a tus muertos y el 
espacio se deshace
en tu cuerpo
como una ciudad en tinieblas
doy vueltas en esquinas
donde nadie—ni un solo hombre,
me espera
hueco de amor,
indiferente a la ternura.

Last Train to Nowhere - Ini adalah untuk Irwan, menikmati!



Last Train to Nowhere


I used to like crossing boundaries
with you, on you, tell you everything
like that flower-vine that grows
fast-forward. But we no longer
have those conversations.
The after-party’s over, lights on,
the dance floor's full
of passed out drunks,
men who lost the last train to nowhere.

Saturday, August 13, 2016

Rio 2016 - Monica Puig won gold in Olympic Women's Tennis for my country Puerto Rico


Te sigo escribiendo poemas desde el paraíso


Another beach in Puerto Rico

Te sigo escribiendo poemas desde el paraíso  


Eventualmente encontraras
tus mañanas…
lo cierto es que yo
no las tengo
las palpe de vez en cuando
antes de que orinaras mi cama
cuando fuiste campo
de margaritas
fue entonces
cuando busque tu oscura piel
de espanto y reviví mis Andes

ya casi amanece
mi sonrisa es amplio cuchillo
carroñero vendiendo lagrimas
en el caribe 

Ini adalah untuk Anda cintaku - There goes the man that was my lover




There goes the man that was my lover - Ini adalah untuk Anda cintaku


there goes the man
that was my lover…

what else can I say
if not even my moaning stirs
the fella who heaves   
his back on rocks
with me in arms

even the ashes remember
when he was nothing

I made water from the rocks
so we could bath

when he comes back                                           regretful
my memories
will unchain his neck

The Meaning of Light - I finally finished writing this one. It took me for ever, lots of interruptions


Puerto Rico, Bioluminescent  bay in Viequez


The Meaning of Light


The beast drinks water from the shallows
while the blossom sleeps where death awaits
on unavoidable nights. It translates voices
that it does not understand, and hopes to ask
about desire. Its deciphered imprints follow
the course of a scented field, it’s going
to overwhelm the printed hands
that rise above it blindly — created
to misguide. Trees will be the waves and boats
of fireflies setting sail in view of wind,
symphonic seeds navigate to other lands.
A storm plants death ruins on the plains.
After the time of bones, new grass grows,
a cloak of fear and loneliness waits in twilight
dimensions. A man blinded by rennet
in streaming light bites his rage, chews
the curd of false expectations, rates
desert paths. He does not stop offering
dilapidated visions, the challenge
of kissing gannets in an empty sea.

Thursday, August 11, 2016

A tiny bit of heartbreak



A tiny bit of heartbreak


You wanted 
to play 
so you opened 
my mouth
inhabiting me 
like a sulfur storm.
Each kiss 
made me different.
I couldn't go 
to sleep.
I stayed in the silence
of your perfect lips.

Where is your home
now that I've said 
goodbye?

Un poco de quebrante



Un poco de quebrante


Quisiste jugar
y por eso
me abriste la boca
habitándome
como un tormenta
de azufre.
Cada beso
me hizo distinto.
No pude marcharme
a dormir,
me quede en el silencio
arruinado
por labios perfectos.
¿Dónde está tu casa ahora
que te he dicho adiós?


It doesn’t matter anymore




It doesn’t matter anymore



You were a little
of what is forbidden
in fairytale stories,
extravagant hobby
seducing uncertainties,
little of what you said
you were.

I used to dream
of walking you between the lines
of your previous lovers
without worrying how full
of footsteps your body was,
I had your skin,

drank slowly from your scares,
imagined you walking
through the neighborhood
in the dark, the moon
dwelling on crystal glasses,
refurbishing the mind with memories
that everyone already used up

Wednesday, August 10, 2016

Surf



Surf


I loved, was rejected,
and slowly vanished,
but I loved again
and eventually returned
to the photographs
and the sea. Today
I am the surf. 

It’s winter in Paris



It’s winter in Paris


There’s a man singing
to me on the street.
He wears an elegant smile
and leans against a wall
like a question mark,
one who lives in a house
where no one sweeps away
the sadness. It’s as if 
Lenard Cohen were in my room 
describing the weight of melancholy
encrypted in the rain.


if it’s not leap - tanka



if it’s not leap
a year is made up of
three hundred sixty five
stumbles…
I’m testing the fall

Monday, August 08, 2016

Hombre de los ojos diminutos



Hombre de los ojos diminutos


Si no fuera
por la arcilla cocida,
las cuentas bancarias vacías,
y el temor
a mantener a un vividor,
me habría hecho pequeño,
insulsa ráfaga cansada
de aire erguido,
gran soplo
arrastrado por una cara bonita
Barbie Super Star
en el bulevar de los sueños rotos

You don’t have a name, you're what's never explained



You don’t have a name, you're what's never explained


crystal chamber
the sea
pale bedroom
where I wonder
in tears
cellophane planet
tumulus fishbowl
autumn fog
and more
shipwrecked
in the mysterious dance
of a smile

Saturday, August 06, 2016

Acentúas los pliegues de mis ojos



Acentúas los pliegues de mis ojos


Mi viejo hechicero,
lento desgarrar
de mi tibia negrura,
golpeas tu cuerpo sobre
mis costillas mientras
me desdoblo
y te miro desde la esquina
de mi cama mordiendo
mi espalda, acariciando
mis pezones, acabando
con mi rio, fatigado,
arropando en mi noche.

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