[x]

AstrologicalI have lost myself to
Venus & Mars,
tangled in their mismatched limbs.

Just dream dust & shattered prayers
begging for a new set of skin
(she can't remember where she orbits).

Pluck these fractured wings;
neither the Sun nor the Moon no longer
ache to see me fly in their luster.

XXXXXEven now,
part of me
(my hands)
want to
pull out
that glass
she lodged
in her neck.

Pull it out
and drop it
into pieces,
or keep it
in the back seat
of my car.

Where it can
lay a while
and stare at me.
Part of me
(my chest)
is not afraid
of demons.

It is far less
dangerous
than girls with
haphazard knives
and other
monsters.

Chasing Butterflies

I believe in starry nights writing timeless songs
of all the yesterdays and tomorrows yet to come.

I believe in hearing the voice of love in rhyme;
I heard it as a child in my mother's lullabies.

Let's go down to the river now
and chase the butterflies.

I believe in playing, absorbing life's full sun,
dancing through the day until the night is done.

I believe in wishing wells never running dry,
granting us the time for a tender, slow goodbye.

Let's go down to the river now
and chase the butterflies.

Should I cross to the other side,
don't you worry; don't you cry.

There you'll see where tomorrow I'll be,
forever chasing butterflies...

Death of the PoetDear poetry,
This is your challenge,
my eternal chore,
to restate the truth
like never before-
but I’m imperfect
at my very core
and hypocrisy
is what I abhor
so you may expect
my work to be poor
enough for me to
be crushed into gore
with failed attempts
to take wing and soar
when all I wanted
was something much more
than emptiness and
inherited war
and pointless details
of imagined lore
which most of us tend
to simply ignore
at the piercing sound
of a lion’s roar
or the convenience
of a nearby store…
what am I truly
writing these words for?
Let’s merely pretend
that this isn’t me
but the voice of God
or L. Ron Hubbard
or whoever you
wish for it to be
since facts remain facts
no matter the source,
no matter the cause,
since the trustworthy
are also humans
prone to failure;
so prone to a fault
that we hold dearly-
the sum of our faith
measured in dollars-
rewarded by credit
and paper money…
for some odd reason
I find this funny!
So I conclude

False ProphetsPoems and love songs breed dead dreams,
strangled by weeds, face down in the ground
with no roses to mourn them.

Singers are poets that croon
(if you happen to lose your little heart to their tune)
and poets are false prophets -
true love will last forever
if they care to write it,
but not if you swallow the lines...

yet, they always do.

We all have a place
set for us in the shade
in our own private garden of weeds.

False EternityDisillusioned youth was less common in those days,
I assure you, the people even more set in their ways,
murderous and unforgiving, yet unaware of the lie they were living
convinced that faith is stone, they cut faces into gods, they thought
ignorant that being made rendered useless the very gods they wrought.
Shiny carvings into stone, faces, figures, blessed unknown,
Murders, slaughters, sacrifices of the weak, preaching sins and what they seek.
Forgiveness is not for all, all who do not have will now fall!
Greed consumes the mortal mind, rage is all that's left behind!
Amidst it all I rose and found the sun, disowned him for the moon
then sought the horizon, again and again warned my father that doom
would befall him if he didn't seek a better way to live and be
I wasn't willing to follow the dark and deadly rules,
trying to bring some light into the lives of these fools.
Guilds of anti-gods were formed, wars rose higher, nothing to atone!
They all represen

False eternityDisillusioned youth was less common in those days,
I assure you, the people even more set in their ways,
murderous and unforgiving, yet unaware of the lie they were living
convinced that faith is stone, they cut faces into gods, they thought
ignorant of the fact that being made rendered useless the very gods they wrought.

Shiny carvings into stone, faces, figures, blessed unknown,
Murders, slaughters, sacrifices of the weak, preaching sins and what they seek.
Forgiveness is not for all, all who do not have will now fall!
Greed consumes the mortal mind, rage is all that's left behind!

Amidst it all I rose and found the sun, disowned him for

VoicesDo you hear the moan of morning rhymes
By the people in their endless time
As the morning dew breaks the day
Back to where the city-lights once laid

The lamp-posts are filled with black starlight
As the children run in their flight
With cries of sorrow, cries of pain
The old houses creaking with disdain

Acidic puddles of blood-wet tears
Remain on the street through all these years
As the cracks have hid the crumbled dust
Within these roads of bone and rust

The melody of the birds is lost
To the screeches and screaming loss
There are people cowering in the dark
Murmuring, whispering their tortured remarks

Flames ignite the world in fire

Within A BoxIt's a prison for the minds of haunted souls
an odd prison, not large enough to contain its prisoners
and yet it encompasses every fiber of their being
in silent, silent spaces.
Haunted souls are searching for the key
there is no key, but they don't know any better
and what harm could it do? Hope is better than nothing
here's an unlocked open door for you.
Little trinkets haunt souls with their questions
and we want answers, but they won't give
anything away. Very smart,
you know the world is ending soon.
(The best of which are only
crude descriptions of the magic
they are looking for.)

On The Collapse Of Modern Society"I've never seen so many folks
putting their hopes
in packaged air,
as far as I'm concerned,
and from what I've observed
misplacing material worth while
rushing back and forth
to get nowhere."
my Grandma said,
shaking her head.

Evolution of life

child, we dream
teenager, we have ideas
adult, we have a bar code encrusted in the nape

we evolve to finish in the matrix

HollowHollow
Is her chest.

She feels around for emotions;
Sadness and anger is what she has mastered the best.

World moves around her
In top-speed rate,

While she stands still or get maneuvered around
Like a dense grey stone in the rapids of fate.

Erosion shapes her outsides
As a rough unapproachable being;

It builds up the pressure inside
Where she's really quite more softer than what you're seeing.

But don't expect for there to be a heart,
It's already shattered to pieces and is reformed from charred coals;

Even now and again it is crumbling apart;
Life has filled it with so many holes....

Hollow
Is her chest.

She feels no emotion,
Exce

EqualityEquality

Today my rainbow flag
Stands proud next to
The American flag.

Today my flag is counted
Equal. Represents equality
To our nation.

Today the rainbow flag
Represents the gay
Community not as a

Separate any longer
But as a whole. As
My state Minnesota
Legalizes gay marriage.

Watercolor PainWhen you smile,
I turn colorblind.

It turns into a somersault
whenever I gain contact
with your skin,
bare back touching
bare back.

But I'm not hungry
for bedposts.

I just want to
savor each moment your arms
lock into mine,
the romanticism of
the moons in my eyes
and the skies in your words.

There's smoke
behind all those hues
of hazel and your fingers
are porcelain,
but I still love you.

Lovers and assassinsNight
walk

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ExorcizareUneori mă văd înfigându-mi degetele
adânc printre coaste
şi smulgându-mi carcasa pieptului
Povara aceasta scârbavnică a unui trup
pe care nu mi l-am putut alege.

Încerc să nu mă văd ca pe-un străin printre voi
Dar uneori mă simt cu totul altceva
Scuipat aici de vreo putere maliţioasă
să vieţuiesc ascuns în straie omeneşti
precum o jivină ori un penitent absurd

Uneori îmi amintesc de viaţa asta zdrobitoare şi tăioasă
pe care o port în spinare prin deşert
dar asta numai şi numai nop&#

CeataNe afundam într-una în ceaţa aceea groasă, cenuşie, ce înghiţea zările. Drumul se desluşea abia la câţiva metri în faţă, în rest totul era estompat într-un singur nor dens, atotcuprinzător. Din când în când, câte o maşină mai rapidă ne depăşea pentru ca scurte momente după să nu mai rămână din ea decât două puncte roşii, din ce în ce mai palide. Podurile veneau ca o surpriză, prinzând brusc contur, apoi volum şi dispărând în zbor peste capet

MiopieMi-am dat jos ochelarii.
Ce s-ar întâmpla dacă ai cădea cu ei din pom,
Ei, Alexandru?
În spatele capului meu, maestrul Brâncuşi strigă:
Piatră! Aduceţi-mi piatră!
Funeste văgăuni în care să păstrezi un sculptor...
Băiete, ai milă de mâinile astea
Şi adu-mi piatră!

Şi timpul se învârte ca o roată de bicicletă
Întâi încet, apoi mai repede, tot mai repede
Urmând ca odată, ori poate niciodată,
Să se stingă.

DezinstalareMi-am dezinstalat sufletul
Infestat de troienii cuvintelor lor tipărite
Şi de trădările lor omeneşti,
Abjecte erori ale sistemelor de operare.
Mi-am deşurubat instinctele primare
Cu şurubelniţa electrică.
Nu tu ură, nu tu dorinţă
Doar un fel de zen 2.0 demo version
Antifonând zgomotele lumii
Într-un gel incolor de senzaţii difuze
Şi de atunci, încet încet
Analizez şi şterg sectoarele de memorie
Într-un algoritm haotic
Şi ineficient.

Zi de toamnaEra o zi de toamnă. Îmi puteam da seama de asta după cum furnicile se înşirau în coloane paralele, cărând în cârcă stârvurile arborilor. Galbene, roşii, cafenii.
Magda era răcită rău de vreo trei zile. Întreaga cameră se transformase într-o galerie de artă modernă, cu zeci de şerveţele mototolite şi lăsate pe oriunde. Încerca să zâmbească dar chipul ei era blocat într-o expresie palidă de om bolnav.
Străzile în schimb erau vii, curate, răspândind o sănătate u

Portret cu soneteSclipindu-i pe buze praful de stele
Stătea tolănită în iarbă
Şi crengile-alene lăsându-se-n dans
Îi cântau foşnitoare sonete

Surâdea ca râurile mute spre izvor
Şi numai vieţile erau de vină
Că în fereastra caldă de lumină
Plângeau degetele-i ude

Pe umeri-i inele curgătoare
Se împleteau cu asfinţitul zilei
Chemări domoale la război
Prin aerul fierbinte

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[x]

paratraznetul paradisului si alte pasari cu mujdei

by ~nr137, Nov 30, 2011, 5:18:56 AM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

câmpia getică
loc bun să îți renumeri oasele palmelor
mereu cu soț

călătorind ca o infecție
sub pene de păsări
sub solzi de pești

trăiești avantajul că greșești

nu am să cos, să țes, să leg leșuri
să-mi fac plută valută redută

adesea se prăbușesc peste mine tavane
stâlpi și structuri de rezistență

să mă scoți din moloz cu câini
cu oameni cu lopeți cu târnăcoape
cu excavatoare

ce naiba?!

îngroparea de viu este altceva
și nimeni nu se întoarce chiar la fel și în același loc

de aceea, fiule
nu mai ești al tău și al mamei tale
ci al apelor curgătoare

paratraznetul paradisului si alte pasari cu mujdeiby ~nr137

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

cu pupilele dilatate
cu mucoasele iritate
cu cuvintele dezlânate

pasărea paradisului se face roată

~Sa-fie-coerent Dec 1, 2011

nu mai zic nici ps...

~nr137 Dec 6, 2011 Writer

câteodată mă gândesc că tot ce fac aici este să mă pregătesc

~Sa-fie-coerent Dec 6, 2011

intinderi de degete?

~nr137 Dec 6, 2011 Writer

uneori de-a dreptul.
dar uite exemplul de față.

~Sa-fie-coerent Dec 6, 2011

călătorind ca o infecție
sub pene de păsări
sub solzi de pești

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paratraznetul paradisului si alte pasari cu mujdei

paratraznetul paradisului si alte pasari cu mujdeiby ~nr137

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