contemporary poetry

I imagine a day

I imagine a day
when young rose vowels
uttered from my mouth
brimming with the perfume of laughter
that joyous I’d be
still full of falsehood
but arms around strange folk
like they’d be the secret
truth of the age, we’d sing
and sit like tired twigs
leaning on the inside of a whirlpool whose
destination does not amount to too much
but neither does the apprehension of it
so that day comes
my pen on the edge of the table
my pipe curling arrows of smoke
but truly my eyes fixed on
clouds with no purpose

 

 

nihilistic poetry

if there were

If there were something
to unify
I’d build a bridge
between partial reality
and the wholeness of nirvana;
had there been
something to rescue
I’d make an ark
from the planks of essence,
letting in, one by one, the species
of the invisible –
if there were something
with purpose
I’d carry it on my shoulders
till I could set it free
in a new meadow of illusion; –

if only there
were there something
other than me
around here.

 

Nihilistic Poetry Blog

tiny epoch

Street poetry

what was that?
the color of the wind
or the order of the lips,
my hand in contortion
touching the intangible surface
of fiction;
I left the building
out
there
the night pinching the street
like a hungry jaw
the naked trees
as real as
the limbs of insects,
I wanted to remain
prostrated
on the sidewalk
like the dim casting glare
of the streetlamp,
nameless
in that minute
with all the beauty
of fact –

no longer possibility
but plain actuality,
a happy yellow leaf
in its autumnal decay
enduring its
tiny epoch
of death.

 

 

nihilistic poetry

portals

Portal cathedral

I came for the evening

the portico

and the shade of cathedrals

 

         —-

 

            a dialogue

with a candle

            and

the riddle of smoke

 

           —-

 

a flicker

the effortless certainly

that I’ll never

wake up from the ambiguous

 

            —-

 

I came for the rust

and the leaves of autumn

            perhaps

 

 

 

mystic flowers

Mystic flower poetry

I let go of the beard
and eyelids of God.
It will rain, the eyes of the earth
will go blind, white breathless turmoil.
A boy with books and grand prophesies,
composing the sadness of the final silence.
An epoch to remember what I wanted.
The river of visions carries skin and mirror,
a noise of nowhere and nobody’s scent.
What beastly ache to be a fleeting universe
with no country except the island of thought.
I have no beard and the nausea of mountains;
I have in my mouth the salty meat of the soul.

 

 

Nihilistic Poetry Blog

al camino

el_camino_santiago_pablo_Saborio_poeta

That there are tiny creations
origins from stellar elements in the psyche:
reborn in the minute.

That in the pursuit of ancient bones
this foundation of dreams that is my body
will rest in one eternal sleep:
like grass midway.

I have no doubt.
I have been wrong. The road
is the answer, obscure
and incomprehensible.

To the camino.
Pursuing the weight of the earth
… humility.

 

 

 

 

 

(See you in three weeks...) 

I have the world

aarhus giant kid -

 

I have the world
like pulp
inside my fist.

The juice that drips
like concentrates
of dream.

Wait!

I refuse to describe you.

 

World you are in my grasp,
but I refuse to recite your
casual contents.

I have eloped with silence,
my petty pet.

 

 

Nihilistic Poetry Blog

black wine

Wine Poetry 2011

I have closed my eyes.

In a mouthful of wine
the afternoons like throngs of mice
running hungry and wild down the gullet of
my absent body.

I taste in a nook of wine
oblivion- as a room
where existence breeds
in orgies of secret (and sweet)
mechanisms and laws.

It is all there with bubbles and stain.

My eyes are shut.

The coasts of my routine
full of drunk mist…
the departure – a breath – as a gust
of feeble constellations.

The sip.
Abrasive but fleeting.
Like the burn of a glimpse of sun.

My eyes are melting in black wine
while I drag the contours
of the untouchable world
into the invisibility of my sleep.

 

 

Poetry 2011

cruel

Cruel sky

The words smell each other
leaning against the tempest
an odor of absurdity
as the world mechanism
smashes your
head
against the window of
a satanic sky –
oh cause and effect
or the inevitable
question
of:
are we alone
in infinite shallowness
of thought?
the teeth of sky
grinding skulls
like mustard seeds
– a sigh –
the memory of light/anonymously.

Absurd Poetry