December 2010
88 posts
4 tags
Let's make a deal tonight ...
Let’s make a deal tonight … let’s not being too realistic. You moan and sigh, I hear while my mouth explores you like crazy floating on surreal moons.
Let’s make a deal tonight … ephemeral is the flesh that seals us. Time stops while you undress. The world crumbles when you dress. Love me before prudery rips you like a knife.
Let’s make a deal tonight … tears...
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A+long+side
Together we stay Like two birds, Quiet, In the tree shadows, nested, To protect ourselves from the rain
Together we are Like two strollers, Weary, On the same path, resting, To shelter in our silence
There is no longer flew… just journeys There is no more flee… only discoveries
And among our empty We are together As if we were alone
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Eye to Eye
When you left me, baby You told me to be happy and farewell I wanted to die of jealousy, I almost went crazy But then, as usual, I obeyed
When you want to review me You’ll already find me remade, believe me Eye to eye I want to see what you do When you feel that I spend without you very well
And I come up rejuvenated I find myself singing, for nothing, for no reason Much water flowed How many...
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“(…)
I can’t ever read your verses entirely … There’s too much...”
– from ‘Salute to Walt Whitman’ by Fernando Pessoa
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Words
There are words that we kiss As if they have a mouth Words of love, hope, Of immense love, crazy hope. Naked words that kiss When night loses its face Words that refuse The walls of your grief. Suddenly colorful Among colorless words Expected, unexpected Like poetry or love. (The name of the beloved Letter by letter revealed In distracted marble On abandoned paper) Words that carry us Where...
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It’s inevitable to have you in poetry
It would be strange if it was not poetry Each foolish attempt to describe you
In every breathe is my vocabulary And all your body is my dictionary
It would be strange if it was not in poetry The satisfaction of having one more day of you
In every verse has an expectation Addressed at the semantics of your body
It would be strange if not ended in poetry Each step deconstructing me of...
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Acknowledgements
Previously, I’ve already had some reasonable notes or comments on my poems, but I’ve never imagined that a poem I wrote with great simplicity and spontaneity would reach so many people that don’t even follow me in this blog.
I really feel that my writing was rewarded by each reblog you’ve done.
The result is that you allowed my humble poem to live on your blogs, and for that I must thank...
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“Who helps me with mind and heart
during this holiday season, between joy and...”
– Carlos Drummond de Andrade translated by Virtutes&Vitia
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Foolish Heart Throbbing
Foolish heart throbbing 160 beats per second In notes of loneliness
Beats this Memories Veiled by dragging Times
Beats this Requiem For an unfinished love
Beats this Epitaph Maddened by missing
Foolish heart throbbing Stop beating And just so…I’ll be happy
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“Syntax is a matter of usage rather than principle. Writing well is to write...”
– Unknown
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Why continue writing for hours and hours and hours without knowing where I am
I’m sure I do not belong here
I’m tired of feeling Without having more to say
And at the end It would be only anguish within me
So I decided to go And not write you any longer But live you
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You can’t say that I forgot. So Merry Xmas...
1 tag
There are the comma, the point and the question... →
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My poetry is full of distances That only your soul can reach With words of you So empty of me
But every verse that I flow I’m still seeking in verse What can only be silenced On your lips
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If you feel you need to come back, come back! If you feel you need to follow, follow! If everything is wrong, start again. If it works, continue. If you miss, go after it. If you lose a love, do not get lost! If you find it, hold it!
by Fernando Pessoa
One of my favorite writers and in my opinion the most versatile and complete poet.
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“You must be a realist to find reality. You must be a romantic to create it.”
– Fernando Pessoa
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At the end I always ask myself
The reason for such feelings
Has never left me
When silence falls.
And on a brief moment
I find myself thinking
If that passion is not
Only excess
But Feelings.
6 tags
For here I also suffer In each expression My speaks hide, Or so it’s tried
And l lose myself
In the same tricks
And I get trapped
In the same delusions I can’t resist the senses In all its appeals I try to escape, Or at least I’ve tried
I do not care
And then I grab
I do not care
And so I give myself
i-am-you-deactivated20110420 asked: Desert Rose
Find Me
In the chaos of me
Pick me
Destination
That love has done to me/
That's how Google translator translate your poem ! :)
Sounds beautiful, like magic spells ! :) I hope, it will help you to find your Rose :).
I will write you tomorrow about Latvian culture, this is not so easy... :)
Elina
Find Me
In the chaos of me
Pick me
Destination
That love has done to me/
That's how Google translator translate your poem ! :)
Sounds beautiful, like magic spells ! :) I hope, it will help you to find your Rose :).
I will write you tomorrow about Latvian culture, this is not so easy... :)
Elina
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“EVERY INDIVIDUAL OUGHT TO KNOW AT LEAST ONE POET FROM COVER TO COVER: IF NOT AS...”
– Joseph Brodsky
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Inspiration!?
Precious moments of inspiration What actually are you? A compendium of sublime words Or the great anxiety before bedtime
Maybe, just maybe …
If I had the missing note of the great symphony Or even if I had seen the smile of the sad girl Just so, I would know the answer And the prize of glory I would have drank
Ah who knows, who knows …
Please, whisper in verses and ballads What...
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Let me be the first to Love
But not the last
To be Loved
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Reading Room / Lasītava
Tu lasi mani. Es lasu tevi. Acis, augumus - mūsu kopotos rakstus. Foliantus, kas smaržo pēc pīšļiem un vīraka. Sējumus, kuros dīgst sēkla - ziema vai vasara, pavasaris vai nāve. Tu lasi mani. Es lasu tevi. Mūs lasa laiks - kā avīzes - pārlaiž virsrakstiem acis un aizmet.
You are reading me. I am reading you. The eyes, the bodies - Our collected works. Folios with the fragrance of ashes and...
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River Styx
At the banks of this river and in this morning mist all my memories awake with the water sparkle and our moments arise
Then your voice slowly return to my ears as a psalm that echoes in temples in moments of grief
But the omens hidden in the shadows suddenly appear at the river edge and your face vanishes at the ends of the dawn getting lost in its waters once more
And the old questions that...
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Leave aside this sadness
because I bring you the gift of hope
wrapped up in these words
I kept to you.
And these words
I’ve just learned them today
while I was looking at you.
But their meanings,
only on your lips,
you will understand.
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“The ‘Enlightenment’, which discovered the liberties, also invented...”
– Michel Foucault (Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison)
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Oh my God, give me courage to live three hundred sixty-five days and nights, all empty of Thy presence. Give me the courage to consider this void as a fullness. Let me be Thy humble lover, Interwoven to Thee in ecstasy. Make sure I can speak with this tremendous void and get as an answer the maternal love that nourishes and cuddles. Let me have the courage to love Thee, without I hate Thy harm...
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Life Weaving
Gradually, the fabric of life appears To weave under my eyes With light and dark wefts Of your warm face By a delicate trace of stretched lines That never seemed to end
And this loom, never stops weaving On the rhythm of my dreams Through the embroidery of your lips And on the amber knots of your eyes Until the course of your hair Where I’m
finally
unraveled
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“So, the Poetry call me
Then I will
To fill me up, hold and lose …”
– My need to be Virtutes&Virtia
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The world gets frozen to the eyes The words stop at the mouth Shaky hands, cold sweats Tingling chill up the spine And the body starts to claim This incessant feeling And then it believes, swears and vows That life was made for two
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This morning I found your name This morning I found your name in my dreams, your perfume sweats on my skin. And the body hurt me where your fingers were summer birds and your mouth left a trail of songs.
In the night shelter, you knew to be the wind in my nightie, and I stripped it to you, giving you a heart that was the rest of life - as a fish breathes on the more exhausted net.
Not even...
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Tell me your name
Tell me your name - now, that I lost almost anything, a name can be the beginning of something. Write it in my hand
with your fingers - as the dusts write, restless, in the paths and the wolves stain the snow sheet with the signs of their hunger. Blow it on the ear,
as you take the words from a book to another - thus winning the wind the tympanum of the caves and comes the summer breath in the...
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You could feel me more Even when you do not expect me In modes and times That not even verbs would conjugate Within these light words And long sighs Emptying me from life
You could have me more Even where you do not earn me In moments and places That not even minds would dream Within this sweet arpeggio And deep regret Coming out of my heart
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d-_-b Just listening Semisonic - Closing Time
...
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What is the color of desire When you feel my lips on you When you get my hands on you ?
What is the color of a melted heart When I’m with you When I look at you ?
…
No need to search Not even know or believe Only need to live Them
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The Book of Solitude by Cecília Meireles
All of you know the famous question universally repeated: “What book would you choose to take with you if I had to leave for a desert island…?” Come those who believe in famous examples and naturally say: “The Napoleon story.” But a desert island is not always an exile… It can be a hobby… Those who never had time to great reads, they’d think of many...
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d-_-b Just listening Plushgun - Let Me Kiss You...
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“Who are you
whose profile vanishes, whose sweetness is lost
in the confines of...”
– José Agostinho Baptista
“Tumblr, our mockingbird!!!”
– My Impatience moments
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What's your book of solitude?
After reading a prose from one of my favorite writers (Cecília Meireles) about this famous question: “What book would you choose to take with you, if you had to go to a desert island …?” Since I can remember the last time I answer it or even heard…
Unfortunately, I’ve been influenced by her response… thus, I have two answers: the before reading her prose and after it.
...
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On and on
I’m losing the threads of my mind
Every step I take to this path
Each step closer,
Further away from reason I am
There is no way to think of anything else
I can only give myself to this journey
Without guide; map; company; or destination …
Despite everything on my way, you still make me go on
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“If you tell a beautiful woman that she is beautiful, what have you given her?...”
– Ayn Rand (Atlas Shrugged)
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I remain in you under the influences of words
And on them I still alive hereafter
For it’s only on them I remain in peace
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The Good-Morrow
I wonder by my troth, what thou and I Did, till we loved ? were we not wean’d till then? But suck’d on country pleasures, childishly? Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers’ den? ‘Twas so ; but this, all pleasures fancies be; If ever any beauty I did see, Which I desired, and got, ‘twas but a dream of thee.
And now good-morrow to our waking souls, Which watch...