over days

21st_century_poem_2018_pablo_saborio.jpg

I stretched light
into knife
to cut the cloud
one strong drop
of eternity
ensued.

What hand
faster than sun
to slice illumination
into tool
and then apparently
disassemble time.

Answers
like feathers
suspended in that dream
after pillows exploded
and silence so hypnotic
it resembles symphony,
the feathers and your eyes
vibrating like strings.

Then back just minutes
before the tree
enters the sky
with dark veins
into the night’s
quiet body.

That was suggested
by mind
whose story is pinched
from the perfume
illusion prepares
from time.

Was the world
a seat
old me
weaving yarn
after yarn
light, sea, dome, thorn
bit by bit
thing after thing
into a language
of surface

once
spoken
the saga of silence
returns
deepening as strata
to cover
the hills of the toes

and the eyes
those shores
curling back
to their source.

entwine

entwine_poem_pablo_saborio

 

Light
defended
its destiny
by falling
featherlike
on my
hand.

The black
coat observes
how this hand
rivulets into
the floorboard’s
fissures
like water
thirsty of rest.

The floor
wakes
as flower
opening its meat
of wood
unleashing scent
birthed to rye
the air with its
good body of bread.

The wind
feeds
the trees
with salted
ferment
as it fattens
the leaves
for incursions
into clouds.

The eye
rains its
weave
almost waves
of mist
are visible
in the sky’s hair.

The hand
returns remade
to rake
the light

and bundle
its path
into
this knot
of cosmos.

delicate delusions

delicate_delusions_poem_pablo_Saborio_2018

 

Man
climbs
the scaffold
leaving the arc
of his head pressed
against the blue horizon.
The world pulls calmly his hairs
until clouds are wet winds of white distance.
The hand organizing, playing the music of meaning
in strong steps, structures of size, rooms the shape of moons.
The man sleeps with the night tightly wrapped around his naked arch.
The street was pixelated with the yellows, crimsons and cadmiums
of thin leaves that clung like things leaving their mother’s veins.
The mouth took in the morning and the air snoozed a minute
before it rose, a wisp of paper infinitely exiting the world.
The day held its edge lightly above the lake
where swans wrote delicate delusions
on the waters’ smoke; the clouds
glitched, errors on the screen
once the eye caught serpent
moves on the silk that was
almost as blue as the sky,
the lake, the eye
all being
one.

the signs

contemporary_existential_poetry.jpg

 

Perhaps slow age
was ignoring
the signs.

The signs
that came
very quietly
to dismember
the rhythm.

At first
they were pockets,
diaphanous moments
where magic appeared
to gently comb
the rye fields.

They became
more obvious
when light evolved
into heat
that could burn
memory
and bestow
endless ripple.

Somehow
at some stage
the stage
dissolved
leaving the plot
unhinged and atomized
like motes
without purpose
in the air.

At some point
every point
was connected
and any thing
could cause
everything.

The mind
became a boat
a vessel pushed
by the pull
that the tides
tied to the ideas
of time.

Then it sunk
but nothing died
the wave continued
busy with bubble
and burst.

Nothing but songs
instead of signs
were heard
the ear was as good
as any door
facing the journey.

arterial aerial

modern_poetry_blog_21st_Century

Cleave to that place

arterial

the vessel no the aerial

where fading flight merges

with being and life

is no longer

an only particular

thing

but interior of great

continuity

of circulation density

dripping

in center toward

multiplicity

and radiates back

into blood

the skin, your eyes, your hands

the fur of the world

at your fingertips.

Contemporary Poetry

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

near everything

new_poet_modern

Maybe the air is vertebra
only you walk home
bending the muscle
of time,
a drunk man leaves

on the pub’s counter
the fire of thought
nothing changes

we can amass anguish
into a dragon
and see it writhe in
its halo

find a way knower
comb a molecule at a time
to be handsome

for destiny
that now dissolves in your honey-
dripping cupped hands

perhaps we hang immense
with city at our roots
what matters to be
draped in cloud

when age has a swollen
idea buried like a spine on
the morning soft

earth
step on pure grass
who leaves this animal
to sow in structure

the dream the
struggle
the science

of being such
near everything.

Contemporary Poetry