dreams

this raw piece of paper

this raw piece of paper
in this nostalgia
I place existence
entirely as a dream
as the fragile body of
a newborn
reposing on the page
it is unique and vast
like plain confession of passion
this piece of paper is all
I have this very moment
a solitude of twilight
in the horizon manifest pain
I touch life
and the memory of it
escapes
like the smoke
of this flaming
piece of paper. . .

more heavens

It dreams, sounds, quivers like a barrage

drenched in nostalgia these figuratively unknown

release the hungry words to pillage the earth out of its meaning

left with the questions that have already been answered by

above-the-clouds, silences-drawn-by-the-desert, light-colliding-water;

a definition that can be caressed and departed from

words that came so close to smelling of life

puny insignificancies that were almost a secret under the skin

my hand, these verbs and the kill

pogroms and a consequent silence

I surrender

due to bluest aim

as a truth that defeats

a heaven in me

 

 

the great civilization

The Great Civilization

where’s the off switch
for all
endeavors

the icicle of reason
has melted
leaving a small puddle
of fictions
at my feet

and we will build
and build
assemble great systems
to the outer edge of the milky way
and back

the civilizations, the civilizations
with its civilians hooraying
     their democracies pushing
the sciences inventing
         the artworks embellishing
the museums and the highways accelerating
     the capital erecting
              the monuments
of the great laughter of achievement

while the black smoke of reality
swirls
into nothingness dreamt.

 

 

 

Nihilistic Poetry

absence of essence

Poster smoking boy with eagle

perhaps waiting for
that god to return and play
me like a
machine

who can I address
they all still believe in something
and I have this runaway course
poetry is my SOS cry!

I am not creating a worldview
I have an assembly line of doubts
working day and night
in the sweatshop of my
irrelevance

if you see me one day
half-dazed under an adjacent
shadow
compare the intangibility
between that shadow and me
compared our borrowed existence
the shadow merely the absence of light
on an extraneous surface, I an absence of essence
for a superficial world

if you see me one day
near the docks
you’ll see that my dreams
are not voyagers
they are seagulls
suspended in dead
air

 

nihilistic 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

Nothing ever happens (Part 3)

Bar Poetry

At last, alone
a new bar
quietly staring
at the incongruities
of a Friday night.
A whole sofa for myself
noise and smoke
chaos in small doses
— slowly letting the booze
sink in
as I begin to feel
like an invincible dragon
ready to scorch the night
in one terrible yawn
of boredom.
Not much later
I got up and headed home
to drown
whatever was left of this life
in the substance of
dreams.

nihilistic poetry

down south

Nihilism Poetry

I’ll erase the ifs
on a one-way street
to perdition
till there is no more
ground to roam
crossing the enigmatic landscapes
whose symbols
remain incomprehensible
while the incandescent journey
coils spirals south
towards the dead-end;
then – a look back to
the effluvia of decisions
an impressionism of the past
of equal value
to the hallucinations of dreams
I remain dumbstruck
such as the puppet
performing an unlikely role
before the theater
of the night.

contemporary poetry

excerpts of reality

Poetic Scenery

What is there in this cave
a view to open lands
an earth, deranged and full
but an earth nonetheless
where nothing belongs,
above the expanse
full too of this emptiness
a quiet eternity
lost of words
almost a loose world
the mote of dust
under the murky ray of a sun
unreachable by time,
fragmentary boundless
as the white untrammeled snow
over the excerpts of reality
retreating
with its history
of the purest subjectivity,
with its wishes
of weightless dreams,
in this cave
on human thoughts
with an excess of time
and the open lands to forever
left untouched.

 

More Poetic Scenery: Nihilistic Poetry

The nihilist

A true nihilist would remain in silence, write not one verse or statement, would speak concisely the bare minimum needed for survival, short ambiguous phrases. Such a person would greet and live amongst people only in so far as he sees them as intimately unreal as his bubbling dream-thoughts, as his dream-desires, as his dreamed dreams. The true nihilist would be amazed by everything, from an ant that crawls over the index finger to the cold hairs of despair; every thing becomes an unknown appendix to a greater unfamiliar reality. He would have his coffee and smile because he is a passenger of time, or perhaps, he may consider being suddenly born into the suit of a wholly grown man that conducts his thinking through the agency of amputated words. The nihilist, if one ever existed, would come and go with the tides of the ordinary, would probably visit too landscapes in consciousness that a believer of truth could never reach (truth being an ten-ton burden); that nihilist, if so much can be said, would render all things possible and would make of contradictions and paradoxes household items with which he interacts daily.

The nihilist takes his coffee without sugar and life without objections.

Nihilistic Poetry

madness

 

 Madness is the
irrevocable

like the powerful sun

shining waste

over 40 blocks of metal
 
 
 

 

strings that form a braid

braids stitch  on us

thirsty loneliness

a mile machines

cannot reach

 

find me a gulp

of eternity, an inch

of Godhead

I’ll stop the soft drugs

coffee, sugar, TV

if you promise twenty

forty years ahead

I will encounter timelessness 

 

madness is the irrevocable

     a table

with all the books of genius

and a noose
 
 
 

 

to sleep!

where my wakeful hallucination

finds its soul mate: dreams

 

madness the

  irrevocable

two hours before two

      more hours

 

 I shit and eat
and fathom the origins
    of the universe
tears come because I am
    trapped between
centuries
       amongst idiots
 reaping nothingness
 

I cry because

madness consumed

all intelligence and determination –

the endless parade of perception

       of one day

exchanged for 24 hours

60 minutes

seconds of oblivion

 

and eternity

that never kills but

transforms

 

madness is the

   irrevocable

a hopeless trap

within the miracle

         of existence

 

Nihilistic Poetry