PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I know I got nothing right

I know I have nothing left

I can take all the right roads

and still be left spinning.

I can take all the left roads

and end up at the right kind of ocean

but not the right state of mind:

I have left you behind and

this is the right kind of leaving.

sometimes when I write

I use the left pen instead of the right one-

that is to say

the wrong one instead of the real one.

the one I have left you

it lays in our bed face down

so the pillow gets the ink smear.

that is to say that I am the ink smear.

I am never the right path to follow

I am left handed always wrong always right

I am the engineer with the right tools

but stuttering left behind

I am the constant

I run into walls that have been left unattended

and I leave you stranded when I make the right choice

to climb them or smash them.

baby I am twelve lights always left on

and never the right thing cooked for dinner

when you have left work and woke me from

the only time I have closed my eyes today.

so I write right

I write long

I write chapped

I write bold

I write shivering

I write lonely

I write small and messy

I write left handed

and hope it comes out-

left.

sometimes I am more

human than being.

a car crash heart

on a freeway

having all my best breakdowns

when time goes missing

and I can’t feel my

skin cage anymore

my atoms are reverse explosions

and I don’t have a countdown

just wait for the

tick tick

boom that doesn’t end

hold me close like

something breaking

sometimes I am more

being than human.

stillest statue

drawing in all the colors

sit here with a face full of fists ready to swing

but I can’t stop existing to do it

so I will hold them until

the human sets in,

midnight launchpad ready to set me

all the way free

I can reach the rope

to touch the skylines

holding someone and

I won’t let go

I can dive so deep

you won’t find me

sitting in this Be

in the darkest sand

and then when my breath

catches at day’s end

make it to the surface

just in time to curl

into the smallest ball

you’ve ever seen

empty all of me

trembling

onto shore

so you can’t pull me apart

Le jour on la trouve drôle, adroite

La nuit elle frotte ses pieds blessés de ses mains moites.

Le jour on l'entend chanter, on danse

La nuit vers la lune elle pleure en silence.

Un masque noir, un chapeau bizzarre

Au cirque on la voit jongler les soirs

Sur la scène en équilibre sur un ballon

Dans la vie chancelante sous le baton.

Elle a des ballerines à carreaux, des collants bleus

Dans ses rêves une robe, une couronne

Et des jolis souliers mousseux

Dans ses rêves c'est à elle qu'on donne.

Non celle à qui l'on prend tout

Celle qui craint l'effrayant loup

Qui brandit le baton, donne les coups

Brise la jeunesse pour trois sous

Du rose sur les paupières, des ailes dans la tête

Elle est acrobate et magicienne

Elle est belle, adroite, experte

Mais rêve parfois d'un pull en laine

On l'appelle "idiote" la journée dans l'arène

Mais la nuit dans ses rêves on l'appelle ma reine

De jour dans l'estrade on la trouve grandiose

La nuit dans ses rêves poussent les roses

Un masque noir, des souliers bizzarres

Des bijoux en or, un diadème d'ivoir

Des coups, juste un peu d'affection

On retrouva un soir de pleine lune

Dans une ruelle une paire de collants

Et sur les chemins des forêts, en écoutant, 

On put entendre un chant.

C'est une petite forêt tranquille

Epargnée par l'hiver, baignant dans l'été

Le soleil inonde une clairière, petite île

Ou s'achève sombrement une épopée

A l'endroit ou se croisent les chemins

Les regards haineux se croisent

Et pour un joyau rouge, l'un y perdit sa main

Ainsi que la source de son extase.

C'est une petite clairière silencieuse

Où l'on pu ce jour la apercevoir,

Scintillant sur des cailloux d'ivoir

Des milliers de petits rubis

Tombés de celui, qui, tantôt

Perdit l'un de ceux-ci, ainsi que sa vie.

Il naquit un beau soir de novembre

Et l'on cru voir le rejeton de lucifer

Il n'eut dans sa vie de sa mère

Qu'un petitarbre taillé dans la cendre.

On lui interdit l'accès à l'église.

Au marché, on hurlait:"file, sale bête !"

Au cirque, on hurlait: "quelle tête !"

Il n'avait de plaisir que de sentir la brise

Il fascinait les biches prudentes

Charmait les papillons craintifs

Et cueuillait parfois les fleurs des ifs

On lui arrachait avant qu'il ne les sente.

La nuit il comptait les étoiles

Le jour fuyait la foule comme la gale

Un matin on retrouva dans une ruelle

Une petite silhouette toute frêle

En silence, recroquevillée dans le noir

Comme il fut abandonné un beau soir.

Have you ever thought the reason why volcanoes exist on the earth?

They say that he would warm us from the bottom of our heart

And push out our faltering courage to outside the world.

A broken glass               

pointed angles all over

giving off its light dimly

Waiting for a trigger.　　　　　

The broken glass may be a piece of Diamond　

Creating Aura from its universe

Strength from its nucleus

Fragility in shadow

Silence in clearness

Words in color

Beauty in balance

Passion in calm

Reflection from darkness

See all these sincerities appear on his surface

just exists for someone to find

From the coals of sacred texts, brought fouth from ancient whispers of a circle of unbroken time, dipping and acendinding its change state, as the one constant in unending continuity. Therein lies a simple truth, corrupted with gentle persuasion. 

The state of being, the being of state and status of beings. 

There are three main laws for us to purview and avail here and now, or in past and future possibility. There is one rule that seperates, yet, reconsiles and is master of all truth; ugly or beautiful it renders life in death, death  into life and life into death. 

to live evil live to  - live.d.evil

to Evo L ovE to 

The cycle that never alters its identity making Its mood known in all forms and states; the All as in the We collective; and as the I; AGAPI, the known mystery of presiding over both and the first of the third.

Go.d  and evil.

Live with the hidden truth in plain sight. Felt  with intense realness,  hidden in semantics of languages  long lost and forgotten,  but none is needed to unless seeking to corrupt the incorruptible what is known and fails in explanation.

For  this very reason,  the logic of AGAPI (love) in all its moods, colours, ugliness and beauty fail to be described. And still, the poets' pride tries in vain to capture the whole.  Ever so often though, glimpses resonate and we can see a temporal portal with the promise of the indescribable known.

Blessingss

I just want to be

With the night.

Quietly write.

Just float in space,

And feel misplaced.

Weightlessly fly.

Gather letters and words,

Sounds that taste like rain.

Voicelessly sing.

Carefully calculate

Senselessness.

Condense the expansion.

Melt it into an ice cube

And swallow it whole.

Shut in the out.

Turn on the dark,

Greet each subtle whimsy,

As I dangle from the edge

Of a crescent moon.

...and swoon

I want to be with the night.

Alright?