Author: Pablo Saborio

mental impairment

Dead_Animal_Slaughter

Blood
what is it?
we spill it
in the sea, land, air,
it moves: shoot it/sell it
my eyes
retreat
their swollen veins
as synonym to animals
I feel the guilt
here in cluster city
army by determinism
the sapiens beast
beasts of language
consuming and plunder!
irradiant ecosystems
Judge,
I plead guilty
punishment: stupidity
yes,
bereft of innocence
I walk towards the sea
with suicidal venom
leaving behind
the machinery of pain
I fueled;
for what am I
to say what’s right or
wrong.

the way of the poet

21st Century Poetry

I call this
my turning hour
the imperceptible motion
from a fifty-nine
to a double-zero
I live this instant
in the streets
the cold cave of Europe
here, I wander aimlessly
I wonder incessantly
my stomach is turning too
hungry and drunk
let’s rock and roll
in the zeitgeist
that no history
will ever
record.

 


21st Century Poetry

hum along

middle_finger_poem

Hum, hum, hum
metronome
numb, numb, numb
here I am gone
she flakes off
blue nail polish
thus we glide
in underground
tunnels
bum, bum, bum
my bore-dom
wrong, wrong, wrong
I’m undone
rum, rum, rum
I’m no fun
alone in the world
I am on the run.

catharsis begun

Fetus Hand Poetry

The days have expired
if I was once a shadow
now I am smoke
tomorrow?
perhaps the empty pause
between two despairs
the sky is black tar
my distant vault
stained by the vapor
of every perspired minute
I made my hands cups
the recipients of beauty
but it would not rain
clear skies with
excess of stars
dizzied by this overhead
backdrop
I made up posthumous names
for my fetus hands

tomorrow?

a lie
a song
a purposeless
flight.

 


 modern poetry

¿Dónde está mi ambición?

Ambitions_Acrylic_Painting_Detail

estoy enfermo
dedos tiesos
como tarántula momificada,
el brazo extendido
un puente de la cama
al inaccesible vacío
a mi izquierda,
en soga
una flota de pelo
el polo septentrional
de mi cuerpo
esa masa resignada fútil endeble deleznable
flotando yo absolutamente
como sustancia inclasificable
sobre la región
donde el humo
y la muerte
se mezclan incesantemente
como los años y las mentiras

 

las repúblicas de mis verdades
vencidas
sin banderas ni gloria.

 
 
 

 

 

poesía moderna

neon break

Neon Yellow Beer Morning

This wide open
sky
an echoed moon
on barely born hours
my couch
sitting watching
half moon, half
sky
half azure
half self –
light advances
neon
on surfaces
gilded by miracle
this pure instant
when no one
is watching.

at risk

Drunk Nihilistic Poet

I had to be prepared for anything,
I knew well my predicament
of being the embodiment of some rebellion
without a cause, or possibly,
a very vague one,
I was set to play this role
till the curtain of my life
would set and finally be able to rest
from such a demanding performance;
nonetheless, I had to be prepared for anything
this urgency to be sporadic, risky and insane
would take me tonight into another dark alley
another hidden hour in the middle of the night,
wherever I would end, I had to be ready
since I had no choice
but to follow through with the command
of fate,
even while I see the strings over my head
puppeteering me to go here or do that
I cannot resist
for the strength of the strings is greater
than my awareness of them,
so I bid farewell
I leave into the end of the night,
as you could say,
to the disfigured events of nighttime
the ghastly stars
the only witnesses
to my rampant
behavior.

 


contemporary poetry

accidentes extraordinarios

Sky of Indigo

Hoy vi
el cielo
vestirse en índigo
nube y granizo
simultáneamente
sus murmullos
entraron en mi
como una espada
hecha de existencia
desangré en asombro
inventando aleluyas
para mi transparencia
por la cual veía
el contenido frágil
con el que se
llenan los días
tiré mi escudo
en rodillas
me declaré perdedor
cautivo
de lo efímero.

poesía siglo XXI

I must be mad

Everything you do
begins with a silence

you can traverse
the distances
that keep you away
from the divine
but you look back
and the starting point
is blurred
I have been pilgrimage
traveled far,
but
in relation to what?

all is opinion
the poet is a collector
of fragments
the pieces of modernity
scattered mercilessly
over the ruins of decay

the theory emerges
the broken data
a human heart
halfway down the
spear
I threw to infinity

an attempt to coexist
with the rational
and the irrational

landscapes of words
not yet
conceived

I give you the stars
for the constellations
you’ll hang
over the lake
of your
core.

 

 

nihilistic poetry