contemporary poems

projections

Modern Abstract Art

what kind of poems
will I write
when I’m fifty
and have outgrown
this adolescent existential
playground
 
 
 
what insect
will I become
that creeps through
the routines of madmen
and slithers past
the bars
wistful
of the first
days
when all was violence
and hunt
 
 
 
what kind
of
outpouring
will my language
pretend
when all it has done
is clothe
the only sacred
but forgotten
word
 
 
 
what hour
marks the descent
not unlike this
slow motion snow
that takes me
down with it
till I’m all
bliss and abyss.

 

 

contemporary poetry

 

 

possessions

What do I have

What do I have
a book
and no convictions
perhaps
all I have is
this:
exiting a subway station
going up the steps
squeezed between
too many pedestrians
I hear every shoe
scrape against the cement
and stare at the spit
of punkasses
frozen at -13 Celsius
a night that howls
like a monster
but does not eat me
steps
aimless steps
driven mad
like the man
without a thought
that laughs
at the joke
of
eternity.
 

 

nihilistic poetry

the here

contemporary_poetry_of_nihilism


The drops have gathered
on a window pane
the cactus has a plethora
of thorns
we’re basked in rays
of murky light
geometry used to be here
the man
naked
used to be sitting there
I saw the fractions
together with the entireties
the floor is cold
and we’ll never get
what we want,
and he’ll walk
over his doubts
like the last train
to disappear in the fog
with the centuries beginning
to smell of poetry
in bed
with the unbearable
possibility
of another day
to descend upon
him
and smother
the fragments
of the mind.

contemporary nihilistic poetry

the tunnel

Tunnel_nothingness_Nihilism_Poetry

pain rains
on me
like sleet
shaken off
the grey clouds
by a bored god
careless
in his steps
a punishment that
comes to me
for being a murderer
of silence,
interrogating
the rows
of bartenders
pleading them
to help me set up
a light
at the end of
the dark tunnel
of time
a beacon
so the alienated crowd
could finally
stop the frenzy
when they
see
it’s only a tunnel
and nothingness
at the end.

 

                          contemporary poetry

Natural Law

Suddenly, dawn
succinctly brightening
      the paradox of your eyes
my finger measuring
      the metaphor of your lips
my breath all over
      the aphorism of your neck
slow, as years
my hand goes further down
to caress timidly
      the analogy of your breasts
carefully, I excite your heartbeat
as the mischievous palm enters
      the axiom of your venter
inevitably, I draw a line south
to reach tenderly
      the plethora of your vagina
but I do not stop there
for my next desire is
      the doctrine of your legs
and further yet
between sunrise and noon
I reverently kiss
      the premise of your feet.

Contemporary Poetry

(dedicated to M. R.)
 

true living

What I call true living

is found at the periphery of all modality

after a week of uninspiring tragedies

petty, yes

small unrecognizable anxieties

a tiny indulgence

like a return to a temporary home

that is true living, to say

“I am a great sufferer”

and drink the bottle

to curse the others

after a nagging narcissism

pretends to obliterate a reason

to go on breathing. 

 

That is true living

to hold tight to the street

wayfaring, intoxication

denial

a great wide hole

alive alas

at the bottom of any common asphyxia

true living

is the edge

  the final wound.

Nihilistic Poetry

Hope on my hair

Hope slithered down the wall to my left,

she had two long antennae and whoosh

she jumped on me or so it seemed

at first I couldn’t tell exactly where she landed

my left thigh was my first guess, but looking closely

she was not there.  Finally, I saw her

not on me, but at the base of my office chair

playing, gliding from one side to another,

I raised my sight to keep writing this, now

I look down again, Hope is gone.

I look around, she moves swiftly and likes to fly

she is green and fragile like a crystal, so I am wary

my clumsy feet could crush her to death; at length

I see something move, far off near the window… but

no, it’s just a fly preying on an old leftover.

So, I stand up with hands on my hips,

I look up, down, to the side, my back, my feet,

she is nowhere to be found.

I come back, write a few more lines and I spot her

next to my ear – she sits at the chair’s top,

she’s playful and hops on me

she is walking all over me, it tickles.

After a while she seems to settle on my mess of a hair

I can feel individual fibers twitch at each of her steps

where will she go, I imagine you asking,

into my ear, into my skull?

I’m going leave her alone, playing, wandering atop

my jungle hair.

I will probably slowly forget her, get accustomed to her

pranks and romp. One day, tomorrow perhaps,

a gushing wind will break my gloomy meditations

and I will, in shock, gently touch my hair

to find Hope,

still sitting there.

The beautiful irrelevance of language.

Limitations to discourse and knowledge.


The undeniable reality of language,

the sounds inside our heads,

the discourse within our skulls,

the rigorous mathematics of our technologies,

is a matter of great uncertainty.


The fact that we rely so deeply in the functions of language

seriously undermines our attempts

at concrete knowledge.

The discovery that knowledge is portrayed by language

or symbols

and that linguistic symbols are inappropriately

capable of representing perceived reality

is an astounding obstacle to our assessment

of an objective reality.
 

 

 

In more simple and human terms,

the realization that we obtain “acceptable” knowledge

in any form by its communication

either by mathematical symbol or linguistic form,

already makes it clear that we are submitting ourselves

to an established norm.
 

 

 

This norm is adopted,

valued

and protected

by the establishment,

namely,

Science,

 

but once this establishment is submitted to the scrutiny of doubt,  

we realize that Science or concrete, irrefutable knowledge  

depends, and in fact,  

survives on language and symbol,  

thus we can begin doubting the certainty  

and accuracy of its claims.

 

The first undeniable doubt is the perception

of the incapacity of language

or any symbol

of portraying reality.

Language is by its own nature, rigid, stiff and linear.

 

No matter how prodigious the scientist

or philosopher is,  

the fact that he or she describes reality  

by communicating a symbol,  

already contributes to our suspicion:

the use of a rigid tool (language) to describe  

a fluidly ungraspable perceivable reality.
 

 

 

The proof that language is inadequate to describe accurately reality  

is in no way possible of being proved by language itself.

It must be realized, perceived, experienced by the thinker.

Just as Science seems to be the absolute truth to the world today,

we must never forget that Science is not an entity by itself;

it is preached and believed by humans.
 

 

 

Any human, no matter how committed to objectivity,

will still be influenced by subjective impulses, personal past experiences

and biased ideologies.
 

 

 

Science has by this account two main weaknesses.

It utilizes linguistic symbol to portray an un-symbolic phenomenon;

and secondly, it is sustained by humans which are never unbiased.
 

 

Nihilistic Poetry