dumb poet

poetry and wine

It is no hard task
to sit with a book
& glass of wine
all night
waiting perchance
the end of all events;
patiently becoming
dumber by the words
and wiser by the wine;
serene and slumberous
in the certainty
that all things will perish
today, next morning
or in a thousand years.

Poetry Blog

la sombra del olvido

sombra del olvido

Toda la realidad
se contrae en
una gota

la bebo
la lloro

empiezo a olvidar
que tengo ojos,
el movimiento que veo
se torna en el eco del olor

empiezo a olvidar
que mi piel siente las cosas,
lo tangible se torna en acordes
atrapados en el claustro
de mi brevedad

empiezo a olvidar
que los oídos tienen voz,
solamente veo las huellas
que deja el viento
en la arena de mi orejas

empieza a nacer
una borona de tierra
debajo de mi lengua,
suelta raíces con sabor a cielo
y despliega una flor
que la protege
el techo de mi voz

toda la realidad
se encoje a una esencia

la sujeto
con mi

olvido.

Poesía Nihilista

the last moment

bright face poet

within the
last moment

when you lift
existence
as a weightless
fish in your hands

when the road
becomes your tail
shivering
as the endless
echo of the earth

when nothing else
shall come
and the eyes dance
as flies in the darkest air

within the last
pause of perception

when
the blood becomes
still as the shadow
on the ground;

a white butterfly

leaves your mouth
to be carried away
by the gale of

silence

Nihilistic Poetry

a realist

élan vital poetry

I found
the shadow
carpeted with
ache

I couldn’t
leave the
island of my
skin

unable
to break and free
as a sky without
zenith, I sunk
into a low and
blue tear

then morning hung
as the erotic
fluvial voice

this mouth is a gash
that never heals
thrusting verbs as blood
in the bloating thought

I look down
to find my shape
covered in otherness

I was there
alloyed WITH
the world

like
the élan and heart
together

in immeasurable desire.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Existential Poetry

el reflejo de las imágines

Reflejo de imagenes

Las palabras de un poema
están diseñadas para evocar
las cosas y hechos del universo
visible e invisible.

Si escribo: pájaro rojo
volando en un cielo azul;
podrías imaginar un tipo de pájaro
de algún tipo de color rojo
en algún tipo de cielo
teñido de algún tipo de azul.

Si escribo: la raíz de mi felicidad
está arraigada en el recuerdo
de que nunca existí.

Probablemente recorrerías
las venas de tu memoria
y abarcando toda tu vida
concluirías que se trata de un
sueño.

Respirarías profundamente
y soltarías una risa inaudible,
como la del pájaro rojo
que vuela en un cielo azul.

 

 

Poesía Moderna

futile breath

field of futility

They say
I should kill
myself.

I could
disguise my
sadness, dress it
in irony
let it seep
softly out
as dissatisfaction.

But I can’t. I
become vociferous
about the meaningless
rotation of the earth.

. I keep
pushing them to see the vanity of all efforts,
the relativity of all aspirations and the futility
of all achievements.

I love them. Because they are blind
angels still clinging to
an extravagant illusion.

They need not change.
But I’m getting drunk
and foraging through ancient doubts
closing in on the certitude
that nothing can be known.

I bring back from the books
the inevitable history of death.

I speak and they say
I should kill
myself,
or be forever miserable.

I say no;                                           I’ll write poetry.

Nihilistic Poetry