city

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

in an abandoned city

This is the first step
into a wide open world
the toes stepping on frosty ledges
in an abandoned city
with closed eyes everything is ownerless
then the wispy breeze
then the last leaf of the last tree
then your hand in your inside pocket
hopelessly seeking the tobacco pipe
and the curled tobacco tatters
that will accompany you through
the long twisted journey of smoke and ash;
and while this can be a dream
another broken dimension of subjectivity
you can still feel the rubber of the shoe
stepping on the frigid pavement without cars
the shadows of street signs
wrapping around angles and grayness
as the horizon grows dim with sudden silence
the eyes watery, glorious, unbelieving
of the eternity of being lost and free
in an abandoned city
hidden somehow
in a wide open world.

nihilistic poetry

A chinese poem

chinese tree poem

The street light turned red
two raindrops rest on someone’s shoulder
 

a stream of cars down the slopes of noon
I and the minutes, parts of clouds


the far-away phone rings November
these business suits still smell of rivers


shadows born from high buildings
all is peace in a busy day.

 

.

Nihilistic Poetry

City Walls

urban_hermit_poetry

I have abandoned everything
  like a monk with weary eyes
I am a hermit within the city walls
Tall towers of light are only columns of dreams
I have fled from the horizon
            to study the core
I am tired of all the signs –
  In a falling leaf
        the whole universe is summarized.
Don’t wake me up!
Let me sleep in my rich delusions
   Let me be like dust
        that never had a name
            it never spoke a word.

Lonely Fisherman

geometry of our world

Have you ever felt that things are not going right
traveling on a train, hours turning long and hollow
the geometry of our cities, bizarre and strange
grey clouds manifestations of our discomfort
  A world asphyxiated by man-made senselessness
 
From a lighthouse humankind is a lonely fisherman
pulling up his nets from the side of his boat
hopelessly unaware of the colossal orb and suns
encompassing his insect-like labors and concerns
  Our insignificance engulfed in an universe of mystery

The riddle of death

Stand, paralyzed
Under midnight’s neon
The wind is cold
Your lungs filled-with fear

The voices of the city silent
But yours angry and desperate
                             Then you say:
I was not meant to live
For I know not how to die

Silly mortal questions
Burdensome and disquieting
Aching uncertainties
Interrupting your sleep

How serious can it be
To die and nevermore be
Have we trembled for naught?
Expecting a snake
               Which was only a rope

Sleep has come, today is born
Lost in duties, whatever follies
Unaware of future’s scheme
Nothing matters but this instant

Strangers in the city

As strangers in the city
Their eyes meet briefly in a terrible gaze
In the depths they see the emptiness

A hungerless abyss – terror inexpressible
As the pieces move on the chessboard
History, its strategy unknown and obscure
Layers of reality unfold
As strangers that we always are
Appendixes to a greater immeasurable reality
Suspended in our lonely ignorance

Sharing fleeting glances in our anonymity