poetry blog

man within the man

I became an observer
a type of man within the man
not in the act
rather somewhere between
the meaning and the purpose,
I see him from abroad
I am always in another land,
he often follows a plan
making haste and waste
of the hours

I don’t talk to him
he’s too busy feeling down
or doing the dishes,
I let him run
the government of duty
I see his fortress of pain
from my tiny exile

I have visions,
seeing him old
brittle like flakes of rust,
confounded
not sure of what’s to come;
I pretend
to be dreaming
and nothing more

that man
is my only friend

like a good old book
I peruse in my
wayfaring days

like a star
in the night sky
that’s been dead
for years

 

 

 

nihilistic poetry

172

Dream Poetry

There was only a narrow slit
left between these eyes,
to survive and nowhere else?
the prospect was a sort of madness
somewhere in that peninsular solitude
my lands would become addicted to dreams
with half-shut eyes, looking out
attempting
as vaguely as objects are
or the motes of continuance;
these visions were freed as wealth
in sinister currency,
the mind is sleep
these eyes drugs
hello
expanding monuments
with the last man
sober in your
granite
resembling
an arching
 thick empty
emptiness

 

 

nihilistic poetry

from the bottom up

Poem on clouds

my mistake was
to make a philosophy
out of the gurgling sound
when hope
sank to the bottom
of the pond

I invested too much in clouds
they can hardly break
the rapid fall of my words
as they crash into
solid stupidity

I have to return
to the meaning
of stone

I have to tip over
my dreams
as boulders on summits

that wreck
below
could hurt like
a sudden
birth.

 

 

nihilistic poetry

I saw a sun today

Sky Poetry

I saw a sun today
it was like a specter
belonging to unsolvable fiction,
it had a wide abyss
as a mouth
made of the purest light;
the naked trees
as deadly as knives
daggers defending the earth
from the intrusion of the sky,
it was worship
in the eyes, veiled by sight, bathed in perception,
drenched in mind;
it was like my whole life
was meant to be scorched
by this sun
and I would fail at everything
hereafter
except this rhapsody of
surrender.

 

 

 

 

nihilistic poetry

finality

Finality Poetry

 finality
run by a strength
gathering in every bouquet of fire
that my lungs take in
in the crushed earth of my heart
with the noisy smoke of the blood
running stronger still
digesting the night as the sweetest charcoal
drunk with fire, hot demise
swimming in the lurid steam of desire
making love under the encroaching moon of suffering
the hand sloughing the disease of touch
the temptation to feel,
my goodness,
the strength that has gathered
spewing boulders as wild bullets of despair
impossible to even begin telling
about the layers and the failed anchors,
such force
is a miracle of the body
an outcome of the rocks and veins
a mistake of the mind;

finally
nothing can be revoked

 

poetry blog

killing the air

Photography Poetry

I have tread many countries
but the distances that
have furrowed
my brow
have been traveled
along the course of a spiral
leading my wandering thought

I am intent on killing the air
merely by breathing in it
rending asunder
the many horizons
that lead us back
to this
moment

I have placed an ear
on the gravid belly of sadness
a heartbeat of melancholy
has spawned in me
eyes

a finger has severed
the surface of the water
the cold ripple
is my only
faith

I cracked open my skull
slid my hand
in its cup
by the raw emptiness
of this touch

I was delivered

 

 

poetry blog

on decadence

decadence
is not simply
squandering away
the last remnant of this life
– for all that’s left are remnants –
the art of demise
is hardly only destructive,
it is a destruction following creation
a long struggle
to create something pure
in us,
yet once the new
has been achieved
desperation sets in,
necessarily we strike
a deathblow –

making all the
necessary room
for newer
catastrophes

 

nihilism poems

abandon poetry

Former Poet Eye

I have to get away
from poetry

need to stop
focusing on the
details and the needlework
of perception

need to live the gross
average
collision course life
of the
rest

need to rediscover
minutes
as meaningless
traps

need to make routine
again an instinctive
straightjacket

need to somehow
buy a house
and stock it up
with liquor

need to begin
worrying
about that silly
little race
that goes by
the name
of
happiness.

 

 

nihilism poems

dirty soul

If I could do something
with this mess inside
do something similar to what snow
does to the argentine sky
constellating it with the falling
flakes of a weeping
chaos

I would be swarming
with zigzags of pleasure
and pain
collapsing under the weight
of
chance

then whatever remains
would melt
find the lowest cavity
of my dirty soul
and stagnate,
quietly
so quietly
dying
down

there.

 

poems

chance

Window of Love

This is my chance
to render existence
beautiful, justify it all
this is my chance
to leave a mark
in the thicket of irrelevance
that encircles life
this is my chance to create a gem
of poetry and longing

the universe
I see
is but a sketch
an attempt
the purest game

miracle comes in between
the things that are by chance real
I love its
magic

I am touching
the soul with silence
– that art thou
stargazing the mind

this is my chance
to suffer
the wisdom of solitude

my only voice
to reach out
to
you

 

Modern Poetry Blog