poems

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

Nothing ever happens (Part 2)

Bar Poetry

Then, suddenly
I’m sitting next to
a Lithuanian, a Turkish and a Palestinian
the latter dressed in sweat pants and barefoot
the middle is big-boned and not shy about it
the former eager to raise havoc over any trifle —
a heavily drunk balding man gets up in front of us
slips on a step
only to land in an acrobatic display
and then challenge the step
to a duel of masculinity
moments later he is throwing kisses
to a seated woman
and is thrown out politely by the bartender.
the two girls (the Lit and the Turk) are discussing loudly
something in German
the Pale leaves for the bathroom.
I follow after a couple of minutes
only to find him washing his bare dirty feet
in the sink.
I return to my seat
finish off my beer
look around
and I keep saying to myself
nothing ever happens.

nihilistic poetry

Nothing ever happens (Part 1)

Bar_Poetry

I’m sitting alone in a bar. Again. It’s one of those nights.
Waiting for something
to happen.
Moments before
walking, beer in hand
no destination
no subject to develop
pure whim
an attempt to submit
to the greater forces
that control this life.
They never show up.
Now I sit alone,
beer in hand
waiting for something to happen.
 
 

nihilistic poetry

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

 

 

starvation

vanishing time

I was born
    starving
and the world
could only muster up
a colorless blanket
     of Time
in which it wrapped me
…while I’m slowly
fainting
in its folds.

nihilistic 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

deepest

snowy streets

I release a deep breath
unawares of anything
I’ve been away
weaving dreams
like a curing madness
the petty circumference of my desire
impels me to
move
not one finger
an inertia comparable
to an everlasting god
that has lived a thousand infinities,
in the deepest streets
in the coldest thoughts
I am a reckless survivor
dreaming in poetry
as a small pebble
tucked away
under the entire
weight
of the universe.

 

 

I turn my head
finally
after days:
the streets are covered with snow.

 

 

I’ve been unaware
like the boy
quietly placing a dot
after every sentence
of lyrical self-absorption:
the consequence
of being
irrelevant.

 

 

nihilistic poetry

nihilistic loves

nihilistic nihilism

Narrow
split sensuality
the arrow of an orgasm
thrusting forth through the tugged
claustrophobias of a deserted capitalist
and in the end of this unending moment
surfeit with the agony of every pleasure
the subtle residue of erroneous streets
and these nihilistic loves
cosmically lost on a sidewalk
becoming ready to cease
a Sunday lost and irrecoverable
like the black dream of tomorrow
in the wintery existence of an elliptical life
these all these fortunate routines
some of the death
that whispered in the ear
of the mute man that
no longer wanted to see.

nihilistic poems

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 being almost here…