joy

mammal joy

mammal_joy

how can I evaporate
the pearl of clitoris
these hands that are fat
clusters of touch
and render shine
like a drop of moon
my crash that rubs against torment
strung and the column’s
fresh pound
strikes upon the amalgam
of velvet
I have forgotten where
this clump of noises
originates
the moan scrapes morning
and the last mammal joy
escapes from
this splatter of skin.

 

 

Contemporary Poetry

black earth

black_earth

That once I found mirrors
sprawled on the floor, and I
looked for the mountains
of my eyes.

There were many
but lightly had I
taken flecks of skin
to cover the mirrors;
that I wanted to see
no more my reflection
but only feel the caress
of silence,
it was about blood
that trickles like a mute river
around the architecture of bones.

An aura,
myriad of angles,
a hollow breeze trapped
but circulating from one
morsel to the next,
the opulent scattering
of cavities and memories.

I would never comprehend
the purpose but once
inside I could walk
counting the domes
of each mystery
like beads in a rosary.

I could even step upon
the slabs of shadow
for I was only
an invisible thought
measuring the joy
of the black earth.

 

 

Contemporary Poetry

The horizon alights like a dormant lip.

swollen_cloud_poem_21st_century_copenhagen

The horizon alights like a dormant lip.
The most important thing of the day
was not seen but felt.
Joy was not in me but around me.
Like a pool of emotion, I drift from
one spill to another. Joy. Boredom. Dread.
I’ve been wandering the whole day. Looking
at things as if they were rocks covered in moss.
The clouds were protagonists .
They are immobile, the city below balloons in ripples.
The line between the lips swallows the light,
the waves and the purpose.
A delicate gulp. Swollen with twilight.
One single nerve aches.
The one whose function
is to sense life.

 

 

 

Nihilistic Poetry Blog

to the end of days

end of days poem

careless evenings
youth, dream, iron
with a fossilized joy in my face
I put on the chains
to await bitter destiny

it is freedom
far beyond art
it is an activity with no ideal
that I pretend to know

one day the hand that writes
transforms into rock
rock turns into sand
and that sand prolapses
into nothing

and a silent
gaze
is vestige
of vacuous past

in that haste
of a gamble
I fooled around with desire
noise and love,
reckless towards
the assemblage
of oblivion

 

Nihilis
tic Poe
try

A view of happiness

Child Happiness

Happiness
is the fly
on the tip of my nose
that with the slightest
twitch
flies away

 

Happiness
is my beard
made of many individual
studs
always shaggy
thus never uniform

 

Happiness
is rebound love
a one-night stand
after I met Joy
before I knew Grace

 

Happiness
is my tongue
quiet and sparing
but drooling
for the divine

 

Happiness
is happiness
a rare antique
from my childhood’s
sleep.

 

 
Modern Poetry

pieces and failures

Irrational Tree Sky Poetry

Call me the hunted man
I’m the stranger in your claws
the convict in your laws
I drink the poison of your bars
but I’m not the drunk as this life
inebriated with pursuits
I toast to immensity and curiosity
my life phenomenon strangest consciousness
painted beauty on the orbits of seconds
ideas that have misspelled their democracy
dreams that disinherited their syntax
love for your lost eyes
too shy to reach the earth
I’m the Nostradamus of the irrational
unable to predict the literature of the collective desire
in the mouth of September twenty ten
we will drown in the saliva of tedium
then, BANG!
in the glory of being
a tsunami of heartthrobs will flood us
our voices in unison
     my lord the white blue green yellow of joy
     has painted the flag of my new devotion
     let all creation be the mathematics of ecstasy
I’m the comedian of impossible utopias
jokes for the philosophers of tears.

modern poetry

just arrived

21st century poet

It was the simple joy
that comes
when struck for the first
time by the world
the world and my ideas!
the world and my expectations!
the world and my darkly routes!
it was the joy of stepping out
on the limb of the 21st century
underneath the lamppost
and shivering in the cold air
altogether free and set loose
with the world
as my own personal halo
the world and my inconsequential philosophies!
the world and my dreamlike body!
the world and my lyrical noise!
– the joy that comes
from an unexpected encounter…

Isolation

 

 

Isolation.

Breathtaking isolating metaphysical estrangement. I am the voice of a prison, an oasis of consciousness locked up in a bottle that is floating on an ocean of beautiful nothingness. There is nothing but myself. But “myself” isn’t human. Consciousness is the moment of absolute silence before sneezing. We are the void that is never heard, we are the undercurrent of a stream that can never rise to the surface; we are motion without name. The unreality of it is not a punishment – it is a promise that nothing – nothing can condemn us to eternal misery. Every pain is a thorn, every joy is a petal: but there is no rose to eternalize them. Life is a dream that will never surrender the mist of its illusion.

We are a particle in that dancing mist,

                         flashing in the light of time,

                                   vanishing in the darkness of boundless sleep.

Liberation

Free wanderers of the spirit, you astronauts in the lost space of indecision, all of us that have noticed and condemned the irrationality of our age, yes, you passionate survivor that in the mist of these nonsensical years battle through the current of conformity in search of a justification, a raison d’être, a simple satisfaction that will overshadow the ever-lasting presence of frustration.
We are the inheritors of a struggle that has pervaded all of history. Our efforts so essential in the field of human potential must never come to an end. In these complex societies that require even more complex solutions to cure the collective madness, our perseverance must not wane. Even if most attempts to heal the wound of civilization have failed throughout history, the spirit of the rebel will live on as a child of that irrepressible force that commands human existence: an energy that will ask of us to emancipate man from his self-imposed shackles.
Our mistrust in human conventions, ideologies, and reforms should not stop our search for an immediate liberation, a source of enlightenment, a spring of contentment. In peeling off all boundaries we still have a chance of finding a secret treasure in nature, beauty, art, brotherhood, work, love, poetry, even in the darkness of suffering or the maniacal passion of a philosopher, somewhere within these and all inspiring things we may stumble across a beautiful sensation of peace, a harmonious agreement with what is most essential in life.
But what is the most essential?
This each wondering mind must seek but I am sure that with sufficient honesty and perseverance we can find that basic need and satisfy it sanely. Then we may watch our torments wither away and vanish as our reality elevates itself into a more exciting and promising realm.
Allow this vision to settle in:
Long, unanimous cries and shouts into the open sky, not from another fascist’s Holocaust but from an inexplicable mad ecstasy, the long-awaited contact with pure joy.