contemporary poetry

counting the ideals

Sleep Modern Poetry

Now that I have
a can of soup
I have been guaranteed
a few more lingering hours
perhaps days

 

my ambition is to do nothing
because everything is worthless
and by knowing this
I can stay peacefully alone in
the alcove of anonymity

 

my ideals
were a roll of bills
I accidentally found
on my way to sleep
unmarked and eager
to be poured into
the greedy hands of the city

 

I have spent them all
while meticulously counting
the days to my impending
poverty

 

now I have a can
of soup
and all the time in the world
to be
sound asleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

contemporary poetry

arms to mornings

morning poetry

the arms are
stretched
hold me
great morning
the light is pure
the doors are open
my rectangles are artificial
your dimension has room
for one more Quixote
charge!
towards the white
puff of atoms
slow and immature
middle dark hour
I am the drunk
in your scorpion arms
let me sleep
in the absence
of all
purpose.

faking pleasure

political poetry

lands
boundary
relative to
infinity and vacuums
my passport to being
in a Rorschach bureaucracy
never mix philosophy
with politics
my motto even whilst
severely drunk
yet

 

I remain silent
don’t
can’t
defend any position

 

let me pretend with
you
that this system
has foundations

 

like the planet
earth
resting on top
of an endless accession
of turtles
till
the end
of
space

 

I see their
heads.

 

 

the 21st century

21st century poetry

the city
is
sun-spotted
the whale’s
eye
is full of sadness
brings to mind
the friend
inside the mirror
we only go to
the rooms
dense with smoke
I don’t wish
to bring this word
to the fore
but it seems
like we are
chasing obliteration
touching the chords
that sound of
rebellion
one though
that has given up
on plans
a seated moon
on three stars
a revolver with six
bullets
but no
trigger.

contemporary poetry

flakes of self

thousand_self_poem

this life
is a flight
that with increasing
accuracy I’ve been able
to determine
is nothing but a free fall
and the sensation of flying
is produced by the lucky fortuity
that there is nothing to crash into
in this way, we drift down
spiraling through fields
of emptiness
and nobody knows
when it will end
or if it should end at all
so I’ve started to snap off
little pieces of myself
and blow them into the dark
till one day
there will be thousands of flakes
erratically swaying
in an atmosphere
devoid of destiny 
 
 
 

contemporary poetry

observations

winter contemporary poetry

Far
again living
awake
aware
standing on cobblestone
streets
where the grey amnesia of the sky
meets the wet mirror of the street
the snow rests nested
in the tucked arms of branches
imperceptibly rocked into a dreamless winter
voices, alien and desperate
emerge and then disappear
in accidental alternation
like those winds that visit trees
and the zoom out of sight
into a hemisphere of silence
the youth, the drunk and the dying
calling out: it’s too late
adding to the noise
that slowly lulls
the entire earth
to sleep.

contemporary poetry

the iceman cometh

We all sat,
staring more to the left
than to the right
our heads slowly drooping
approaching the table
that’ll serve as a pillow
tonight… but then
someone gets up
amongst our snarls and grumble
stands on a chair
grandstand before him
and words somewhat
resembling these: 

 

I’d clothed myself
in all these dirty rags of dreams
I needed them
to protect myself
from the bitterness outside
the hostile quake of accidents
and frostbitten emptiness
just like you
– all of you!
we’re drowning in our illusions
like a matchstick
burning itself
slowly becoming blur and flakes
until one day
truth unattainable
we disappear – like
a wisp of nothingness
in the incommensurability
of the eternal midnight.

 

Someone threw an empty bottle
at him
knocked him out dead
and we resumed our rest
alongside decadent dreams.

contemporary poetry

motions

Motion contemporary poetry

the walk
curled smoke
released
like a hallelujah
a modicum of light
on her eye
that stares infernally
at you
 
 

 

aging with the pulp
a journey whose
voice praying on ash
gains no wisdom
 
 
 

the want
disseminating doubts
that coil around the flesh
but no soul
 
 
 

 

 
the last moment of the day
a cello
in the air
charged
with collapse
 
 
 

 

 
ambulant timekeeping
wayfaring in delirium
still listening to
the living
clouds.
 
 
 

 

contemporary poetry

approximations

Guesses
wide awake
yet engulfed
in bottomless dream
guessing
how to undress
be raw, nakedly raw
while the great wave of tomorrow
usurps all my vain hypotheses
the crystals in the air
swirl in entrancing patterns
I’m guessing
undecided
whether to cross this street
or return to the wreckage
that floats over the nothingness
of the world
then the mist descends
and engulfed again
in that sewer full of the debris
of revolutions and broken sciences
guessing
how to plant my heart
far away in the fields
where light
touches
light.
 
 
 

21st century poetry

superhero stuff

I wasn’t going to give up
I stood up
probably looking like a fool
two steps back
and then a great leap
alighting on the nearest
caprice
that would fling me forward
in speeds unknown to men
far beyond the perimeter
of predictability
in amazement I was already
roaming the streets
the night crackling like firewood
in the midst of an entire
careless crowd
blind with mad desire
running through
the streets
and the smells
the drool
the sweat
I could taste everything
nothing could stop me
like a superhero of despair
that would not
give up
relentlessly swerving
through the eternal succession
of labyrinthine alleyways
I ran
ran
and ran
laughing
like a fool
because I would never
give up.

 

nihilistic poetry