Posts for June 15, 2018 (page 2)

Wrought upon thy flesh
a meticulous malice
of parasites wrath

Bleeding out the stone
sacramental fallacy
condemned with grief

Synthesized in guilt
a ritual observance
servants of the leech

Tampering with the heart strings or maybe it was that other thing no one wants to talk about. I saw you walking I don’t remember where because I’m making this shit up. It was November (isn’t it always?)
and dogs were barking at crunching leaves under their feet. Which made you smile:
A lavender laden lady ten miles high and never coming down. I saw you gliding on a trip of? I know not.
I fell for your sins. Your shins. And your whims. No, not even
the nicotine cascading down your teeth ever drew a flinch from my being— On A bullshit day when the stupid dogs were barking at leaves. I fell in love with lavender. And Mephistopheles.

I was the rocky cliff, you were chiseling away at with your waves 

Hear a thousand pops in your ears, and wait for the words to come in.
  You’ve lived your life, seeking joy in others eyes.
  You’ve given your soul, and let your blood drip.
  Written meaningless words, true half the time.
  Waited for a grand decree to drop from the sky.
  Written on thousands of pieces of paper.
  Now in the time you’ve lived, it is nothing.
  Your worth shown only after your days are run.
  Looking into the grave, a mirror in the ground.
  You’ve sought light engraved in the life of others.
  Interpretations purely in the eye of beholders.
  The death of your artist, the death of your friend.
  The lost way of life, come round again.
  Every evening spent babbling at the sky.
  Madness creeps into your soul, and hollows it as it finds a home.
  No more answers given.

Note: I’ve been revising the English-language version of this poem off and on since 2007. I wrote the Portuguese version (which is slightly different due to language differences and a poetic decision with the last stanza) on June 13, 2018. For the convenience of LexPoMo readers, the English version is posted first.

Elementals

I.
Hold me down,
Solid ground,
One with the dirt,
One with the rocks,
Welded to you.

II. 
Help me float,
Whispering words,
One with the breeze,
One with the clouds,
Hallucinating you.

III.
Scorch my intellect,
Floating smoke,
One with the heat,
One with the pain,
Prone to burn.

IV.
Push me down,
Waves don’t sway me,
One with the damp,
One with the fear,
Riding its current.

Os Elementos

I.
Me segure,
Terra firme,
Eu uno com a sujeira,
Me uno com as pedras,
Soldando com você.  

II.
Ajuda-me flutuar,
Palavras sussurrantes,
Eu uno com a brisa,
Me uno com as nuvens,
Alucinando você.  

III.
Queimando meu intelecto,
Fumaça flutuante,
Eu uno com o calor,
Me uno com a dor,
Propenso a queimar.  

IV.
Me empurre para baixo,
Ondas não influenciam-me,
Eu uno com a umidade,
Sim, estou com medo,
Mas estou ainda montando
o ciclone de sua vida.

We love to watch Portugal’s Ronaldo, to see
how hard he’s willing to work to stop Spain

We wish we were the girl in braids walking onto the pitch
with Ronaldo, of the diamond-studded earring

We want to feel as fit and fierce, fast and free
and fearless in the scrum for the aerial pass

To be the one who scores a hat trick
in the first match of his fourth World Cup

In all probability, the assumption
of parents does not appear
to be mentioned.

There are, however, a series of facts
about the name on the lips
of an anonymous crowd.

There is no Joseph
until a decade later, drawn from
the reference to a suggestion.

This same theme believes
the genealogy, traces the line
of the most desperate moments.

We turn in search of ancestral
mothers, women known
for their stories.

Moon tumbles over waterfall
briefly held by branch and canary/
marmalade/mottled leaves.
Their fluttering down
precedes the slow slick
slide of orb
from tree grasp
to roiling waves and foam.
Yet moon never bounces
but scuds across water
as caps cut into it
soften it with froth
and swarthy swans
take a bite from it
with their silhouettes.

~inspired by Hiroshige’s paining “Moon over a Waterfall”

Here’s a link to the painting itself if you are interested:  https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=2057223731192321&set=gm.797068554014860&type=3&theater

there is a box
in my closet
high on a shelf
back in a corner
imprisoned in cobwebs 
and a layer of dust

it is filled with you
in pictures and paper scraps
a watch a pin
a yellow shred of sweater
condolence cards and shells
dried spots of tears
a scoresheet from Scrabble

one day i will pass this box along
to someone who was too young 
when you left
and you will live on
in another closet
back in a corner
high on shelf
beneath a new layer of dust

Bird on a High wire
Wings rest, guileless
Eye of the Journey

poor man stands in line
waiting for yesterday
eye on a dollar

Brain eye of Woman
Sees a bare table top
Tears of a Mother

when the drunk man falls
a dollar if he rises up
clothes on a body

        clothes on a body
        no one’s home
        sound the alarm
        some help will come

needles tell him to settle down
snakes and earthworms chase him around

        High riding Bird Kite
        Falls as a Coffin
        Shatters on granite rock
        Splintered open

        Clothes on a Body
        No One’s Home
        Sound the alarm
        Some One will come