Poetry

That mood

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Another time, another misplaced promise
At the end of the day, I was still in that mood
I don’t understand how everything works
But I do. Sometimes. Without much thought I know

I wish at times I wasn’t able to perceive so much
I wish at times I was wrong more often
Some inner working getting broken
So I wouldn’t anticipate so brutally

Spare me nothing but your lies
Don’t lead me on then float above my own high
Words cost nothing but are worth my world
I’m broke, I have said so much

There is nothing between your lines
That I haven’t read before
And in these silent bursts of lucidity
You’ll come to understand how much I know

Of all the things you haven’t said
One I will always know you wish you had
But time has eased the urgency
And life itself has escaped the opportunity

I can’t turn away, I can’t walk
If only because of how you smiled
A thousand thoughts, a million tears ago
But for a glimpse into the possibility

That I was wrong

Deeper than the pond

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I will never loose sight of your declarations.

Once, I thought, would be heaven.

Twice, I thought, we died.

Additions could only make them fade.

What is it about the strenght in words, that never quite make it in reality?

“Quite frankly, I’m a little lost right now”

Monologues, masquerading as conversations.

Each on their own island of contempt for life and what it hasn’t brought us.

Half assed attempts at building rafts made of cum.

There is no salvation in your skin, nor in mine.

I will drink from your body, the last drop of hope I drew from your smile.

You will eat from my heart, the last crumb of will you drew from my soul.

We will fade. But remember.

A Crunchy story

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From a comment came the idea… Why not? Why not offer you a little bit of my translated self? Here goes, for the first time.

From my previous post, Conte.

Here is the result from my translation tool:

—oOo—

Story

He was once an a bit lost girl
Which brushed the wrong way way in every junction
Which searched dead end streets
Where it was more facile to stop

He was once an adventuresome girl
Which had basted between trees
Which had blown all candles
Which searched the black at all costs

He was once a girl who meant goodbye
Which had realized that between trees there are dead end streets also
Which had roused himself eyes to be moved forward in his forest

It sits down the girl
It stops
It sniffs little
And ask to be never found

Here is my own:

—oOo—

Tale

Once upon a time there was a girl who was a bit lost
Who backtracked at every crossroads
Who was looking for dead end strees
Where it was easier to stop

Once upon a time there was girl who was adventurous
Who slid between the trees
Who blew all the candles
Who was searching for darkness at all costs

Once upon a time there was a girl who wanted to say goodbye
Who realized that between the trees there are dead end streets also
Who tore out her eyes from moving forward in her forest

The girl sits down
She stops
She breaths a little
And prays never to be found

—oOo—

The translation tool made this a completely different story, which I like. The perspective of course. But it did translate the tone, something I find amusing.

It’s very hard to translate a poem. Even some other posts, that are of a narrative nature. Whenever I start to write, the language has already been decided. And to put the words in an other one just takes out the meaning, I feel. But I enjoyed the exercise!

Broadcast

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And let me stay
I can be small
I can be invisible
But let me stay

—–oOSOo—–

I’m so tense these days, I can’t stand still. I blog for a while, then move to the couch to read a few pages, then go tidy up the kitchen, then come back to the computer, then watch some tv. Spin cycle. Yet everything is a mess.

—–oOSOo—–

Fickle. Too many pulls. Not enough will. Even this post tears me apart. A mountain of words. Can’t seem to settle for one. I want to say, write, sing, chant, whisper, implore for fuck’s sake. I belong here. I belong here.

—–oOSOo—–

It’s not block. It’s confusion. About every single stupid decision I’ve made. I’m not second guessing myself all the time. But I feel like I forgot something at the crossroads. Nothing, no one can bring it back for me. Because every one has moved on. What’s left behind is my bad judgement.

—–oOSOo—–

I’m hungry. Again. Always. I have to be fed.

Incubation

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I write my posts in Blogger. Never use spell checking. Never save a draft. Never go back to change. Anything.

I sit, I write, I post. I don’t work the sentences. I don’t rearrange the paragraphs.

I do use dictionaries, sometimes for help, sometimes for inspiration.

I don’t ponder about, I don’t think ahead.

I sit, with a worry, with a pain, with a smile, with a desire.

I write, I fly, I live, I breath.

I post, I give, I surrender.

——-oOSOo——-

I read my past sometimes
I have regrets sometimes
I am happy sometimes

——-oOSOo——-

A very generouse writer showed me the beauty of working with words, the movements of inspiration, the pleasure of constant company.

I just can’t explain the abouts and hows. I can about the whys.

Hello! My name is:

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Once I was in a NFB (National Film Board: a government owned film production agency) movie. They threw a post production party and invited all the participants to a viewing and cheap buffet.

When I saw myself on the screen it was the biggest shock of my life. I started crying. Everything, everything. My face 20 feet tall showed everything. All the things I was working so hard to hide were there. And all I could think of was, when the lights come up, people will look at me. Because they have seen. I couldn’t follow the movie. A loop, playing. They see me, they see me, they see me. Of course they didn’t see.

My layers, through the years, have grown thicker. Have melded. Made a heavy coat that at some point I thought was comfortable enough to wear all the time. I could run, jump, dance, fuck and never break a sweat.

Everything gets done slower now. My shoulders are bent and my knees are about to give. My name tag flew off at some point. I’m not even sure that coat belongs to me.

Individuality is a bad excuse for disguise.

Mantra

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There’s always after
There’s always tomorrow
Right now is already gone

Right now is a war raging
Yesterday was a prelude
The second between the two was a breath

The moment in stillness
The stillness of moments
I can’t stand unsettled ripples

I heard: I am here I am back
Wallowing in images from a flash of light
I thought it held the truth

Does lighting make you blind, even for a moment?
Not an imprint of reality
But the emptiness of absolute whiteness

Alone in its clarity

Famine

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The night air is cool and I want to cry. My skin calls the shiver of a kiss, the warmth of my hips in your hands. I would. Anything.

Erotica makes my throat close and my eyes burn. The characters hate me. Hurt me.

Ripple through me in waves I’d rather not know existed.

Love stories don’t do anything for me. I couldn’t care less about their endless embrace under the stars. But when they take off their clothes in haste, to feel… I cry.

I cry the wet grass on my back. I cry the echo of my gasp of your whisper. I cry the leaves in my hair.

Twenty fingers locked.

What it means

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I wonderthinkdream about. I hope. I hope not. Did you? Have you? Will you? Why don’t you?

Fill

This will not happen. It happened. Fickle thread between stances.

Steps that I know by heart yet fail to remember when it’s the only thing that matters.

Wrongs that I walk around pretending they’re rights in need of repairs.

Air

Moving within the space where I was. Sucked out of my backtracks. Remember to breath.

Particles. Fragments. Pieces. Huge chunks. All in. I take it all in.

Anything you want to throw at me. Or flood me with. Don’t push me under the shelter. Please. Just let it fall.

FIlled

With air

Empty of meaning, consequences, decisions uncalled for, arguments, strike.

Strike. The thread broken by a single letter that brought our lips together.

Haul

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And move, and transport, and carry
Evidently, I enter these moments when I see

What do you see? What moments?
One or two, no more than that
Many I’ve created, craved for, willed
Right before blowing the candles

I cover my body with soft, gliding visions
Textures, smells, tastes, tendrils of reality
That lingered once
But are no more

Playing alone in your shadows
Shadows of shadows
Dissipating with the fog
That rose from the moments