2013 poems

the swamp of volition

strange_poetry

There must be
a method
to turn off freedom.

To waste motion in a curve
and glide down the city
as cascade.

To be sunk in the fumes
of machines or dance
in front of a choir
without any bullshit.

To undress in the cold
sensations of the crowd.

To chew the furniture of words.

To fall into the sound of water.

The idea of thought
would be framed
in museums
and memorial sites.

Like an ancient artifact of struggle.

All the small things will float in the air
and we’d decorate the problem of life
with the husks of memory;

without choice
life would be a nail
deep in the crust of flux

and language      moss at the rim of our lips.

Contemporary Poetry

and the emptiness of

poetry of despair 2013

A weak wind
being bent as silent structure
on the margin of the hours
by the beach
a walk through the empire of rock

after death

love sits
with legs cold
and the storm of the sand

every crash
is wrath
looped in symbol

of being alone
with others
older in the corner
of mosaic

mystery is a heavy mist
pounded on our eyes

love sits
with cold legs
and the emptiness of the sand

those fingers
to carve in the skin of this earth
the folded name;

the forgotten
labyrinth of him.

Contemporary Poetry

from above

poetry_of_future

They found a bulge
between Amaliegade
and Esplanaden
and it was in the news

and the hearts
shook with dread

a long sack of skin.like flesh
growing from a thin string
into an enormous
bulk

a man stood drinking the ship
in a circle of dizziness

the lights of police
and the endless of an image

no one could understand the revolution
and beauty of the bulge

it was hauled off the street
like a rainbow
as a miracle of the flame
as heresy from our pedestrian slopes

factories puffing shades
roaring with flags and chords
of iron ringing
in the suburbs

it is pronounced that this age
will collide with the pillar
stumps of science

and melancholy is a growth
like tumor
in the heads of those
that gaze             with wonder
from above.

 

 

Contemporary Poetry

Memory has become an uncomfortable lump in my consciousness.

poetry_of_memory

It quivers
constantly and endlessly
ripens into new peculiar
shapes.

Needless to say
it increases weight
every minute,
often requiring immense
exertion to fit it in a corner
so it does not overshadow
the timid appearance of
the present.

It branches out
like a gluttonous tree
in all directions,
wavering disparate aspects
of itself without logic
or internal organization.

A primeval adolescent kiss,
a manure fight in the fields,
a quote from Montaigne
the location of masking tape
in a storage room, all mingle
shamelessly like an orgy
of bacteria in the Petri dish
of my mind.

Language is forced to perform
extreme feats of lucidity
to convey the peculiar manifestations
with which memory
fuddles the intellect.

I imagine a day
when consciousness of the present
will be completely drowned
by the swelling tsunami of memory,
leaving the brittle instant of now
floating like débris
on a flood of lifelong reminiscence.

 

Contemporary Poetry

19A

Avant-garde-poetry

A saint is a stain on white monotony
aloud he thinks: I
am a strange dot among the government of lines;
a mystic is a calm slip into abyss
all joking aside he says:
above the city leaps into tower;
a shaman is a subject under the tyranny of wholeness
aware of segments he asserts:
a fraction is mind lost in the order of totality;
alone in the world every man wonders:
afraid like a leaf in autumn my life
amidst the rain;
a poet is an absolute ark of air
abstruse and above all
a little puddle of reflection
at the end he writes:

a full world and its aura
asleep inside a shoebox
an allegory for barefoot monks.

 

Contemporary Poetry

any wall

berlin_poetry

I am a man
that learnt
at an early age
that I cannot
hold in my hands
the entire world
like a little lovely thing.

I could have had that thought
anywhere in the world,
but it came to me
while I stand here against
a random wall in Berlin,
any wall.

I am a man
that not long ago
considered Thales
the first theoretician,
but fundamentally
wrong as I saw
everything behaving
as smoke.

After a while
things seem sad
fading like a cloud
the world is like a ghost covered in mud
and all our words are pointing at it
like guns
and we’re watching
waiting
for the ethereal blood.

 

 

Contemporary Poetry

This is not an experiment.

postmodern_poem_about_mortality

This is not an experiment.

This is an animal
slowly dressing itself
with a garment of stone.
This is a shadow
shedding its bone
in a camouflage of change.
This is a sister
opening a drawer
to hide a wonderful thing.
This is antiquity
growing thick with mighty
buttresses of steel.
This is a mouth
inhaling sweet
movements of moonlight.
This is a perception
flapping in the silence
of the air.
This is a drunk
stealing a plume
from the waitress’ perfume.

But above all,
this is another hand
clinging to the edge
before the fall.

 

Contemporary Poetry

terms and conditions

postmodern_poetry_blog

why don’t

YOU
walk down history
as through a great avenue
to deliver the good news
to a decaying world

why don’t

YOU
speak a language
whose every word
is a cup filled
with beatific light

why don’t

YOU
become
the blossoming bud
of fire that will consume
the wasteland of the earth

why don’t

YOU
release mankind
from its immemorial shackles
and carry the heavy light of truth
to the eyes of every man, woman
and child

why don’t

YOU
reveal the gates of salvation,
or the ultimate purpose
of our petty lives

why don’t

YOU
add up all divinities
and multiply them
into one enormous entity

why don’t

YOU
unite all opposites
sensual and ideal
material spiritual
past future
life death
into a totality of all
totalities

why don’t

YOU
wrestle from the grip
of science and religion
the meaning of all
being

why don’t

YOU
lift the veil of illusion
and disclose the essence
behind this all-
embracing chaos

then, only then

I will follow you.

 

 

Contemporary Poetry

no memory of shine

touching_light

I must convince
you of the truth
that I often
see soften
the beam of light
that unites the things
of thought.

I must have
you agree with reality
which evaporates
desire on skin’s petal.

I ask you to slough
opinion – nakedness in
the water and nebulae,
all after these
layers of years and
emptiness then.

All is firm glimmer
in loud ambiguity
this instant is cold
shredding the world
in absence
to the strangeness of the gods.

All is there to see,
I’ve added nothing new to this
box of history and often speak
as a flattened mirror
carving the light in no memory of shine.

I must convince you
of boundless disappearance
and this awakening toward
death has the taste of liquor
in the mouth of a man
that knows he’s
alone.

 

Contemporary Poetry