A noun is a thing that serves as a vehicle for the quality of its adjective

2013_poem

In the sky
whiteness
travels like a passenger
inside the cloud
I have seen it journey
across the blue
until it reaches the golden
arc of horizon
where it suffers
through a whim of fate
a mutation
from pure whiteness
to the brightness
of the gold;
but abruptly
as a bullet
entering a vein of blood
the vehicle cloud
turns red
in the throb or throe of twilight
and whiteness dies like a sigh
in the expanding gloom
of purple tinge.

 

 

Contemporary Poetry

Unlikely and nevertheless

modern_poem

A flower is
a knot of chiaroscuro
enlightenment entangled in a coil,
finely spread seasons of spirals,
long mournful curves
chained to moment or cycles,
it is sense in a state of song,
desire dense in dew,
a phase suspended in façade
electricity distilled in feature
a flower
is essentially unknown
some element
in petal passion perfume.

 

 

21st century Poetry

from iceland

Iceland poem

Morning

wild tai-chi circles

hunch and then roar

 

two eyes open in dawn

red melancholy –

the only earth

for the heart

 

vermilion sun

to shine on the memory

sudden within a rock

four petals of essence

anywhere

 

a moth joins the horizon

curtains of light

from punctured clouds

in the expanse of sand

only one stone is fully awake

 

many have gathered

in syrups of time

 

anything could happen

while my youth is

still dying for black illusions

 

four hints of essence

 

somewhere

 

white sorrow

resting as sweetly

as snow

on the solitary fields

of my thought

 

the beautiful

wrinkled chaos

that left a scar

on the softer skin

of a black revolving rose

Modern Poetry

how beauty is just a stepping stone in the process of dying

twilight sky

twilight is glistering
over these rooftops –

always coming around
in the evening hours

bare in the natural sky

under a shadow
or behind a dream
the underside of silence
a fetus
in that momentary womb

phantasmagorias of blue
naked over the kingdom
of artifact

how is twilight
that reeks of eternity
a bird’s medium

and our casual joys
within walls.

 

 

nihilistic poetry

day #9 (from el camino)

Still mountain

I begin to salivate
with the thought of dedicating
an entire life to poetry,
a voracious appetite to eat
the great voids of nature and spirit;
that while indigent
I can still satiate mi hunger
with the stillness of the mountains
and the spring of the sky
that runs sweet
night and day.

 

 

poetry blog

outlandish

 

I envy the rock
I want eyes as deep
protruding shadows
hair as wise tilting winds
combing the grasslands of my thoughts,
I envy the nose rising into the perfume of sky,
the mouth savoring the elusive spring snow,
I need the sleep of a mountain
to command my skin to roll down stones
as dreams down a fatal abyss;
at the bottom touching rivers of intricate twine
my feet would play with the fish and the shimmers –
but my illusion is not merely physical,
I need a religion of transformation
similar to all these millennia of erosion
and above all,
to participate imperceptibly
as a column that touches a heart
like the summit of mineral
descending to the center of the earth,
I need to intertwine with rock, mountain, pinnacle –
something of the power that
envelops me.

 

 

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