Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Where All The Wild and Feverish Ideas Hop About

The grayness of the days has dulled my lens...there where all the wild and feverish ideas hop about, it is cloudy and they can only hop like turtles and complain. I need the SUN.

With my face to the sun....

  • I blossom, my excited face grins and I can not speak fast enough to get it all out.
  • tension melts away like butter on the stove.
  • I am content.
  • I can find the beauty of the day.
  • Ideas swirl, roll and evolve and I want to try a million new things and then share them with you..
With my face to the sun...
  • I am transported to my youth...I can smell the geraniums, and the dusty books, and molasses cake as I sit on my grandmother's porch reading and basking in the sunshine.
  • I can almost smell the roses and the lilacs.
  • I am kissed by the sea.
With my face in the sun...
  • I am renewed...
Please come back, Mr. Sun.

1 comment:

Kraxpelax said...

There's much in the world that you can't explain.
It's revealed for you to remember
by the whispering voice of a distant train
or a midnight rain in november.

Horizon within! You can always find
the keys to Enigma. Let's mention
one basic Truth: of spirited Mind
Is Nature naught but extension.

Internal expanses! In dreams, ridden
by fear and longing you roam
that deep Southeast in your soul hidden
...on your random journey back home.

Single Swingle

Casualidad sopla la sangre
de alguno señor desconocido
durante los pocos restantes
momentos del resplandor de faroles

que se vislumbran tras el follaje
flameando de las obsesiónes
igual efimero como gotas
del cinzano de la soledad –

En aquel tiempo me levanta
dentro uno incidente avejentado
que en seguida palidece
al camouflaje de abstraccion;

chica, nadie conoce que tus grisos
ojos significan aún; con todo
el sueño que hube evacuado
tu escudriñas nuevamente.

My Spanish poetry!


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