Verso clásico Verso libre Prosa poética Relato
Perfil Mis poemas Mis comentarios Mis favoritos
Cerrar sesión

Farewell, proud world!

Farewell, proud world!
I'm going home,
a terrible festival of dead leaves,
the last shelter of trees that talk quietly among themselves,
as a refugee.

Hunger into madness,
shrinking forests,
thunder harsh and dry,
gleams and glooms.

I travel by your side,
you lead me through a dark hope,
hope beyond hope.
Waiting for someone to show me the way.

Through the waves and the barbed wire,
one of us is sobbing.
You and I will never see again.
Who knows when you'll be dead.

Lines I'm writing for the last time.
Nothing else
have I to give you,
but respect.

Farewell, proud world!
I'm going home,
a terrible festival of dead leaves,
the last shelter of trees that talk quietly among themselves,
as a refugee.
4
sin comentarios 35 lecturas english karma: 34

Senryu (drops from heaven)

From heaven those drops,
tears in the sky of your eyes,
your tender sadness.


@AljndroPoetry
2018-ene-15
leer más   
14
10comentarios 79 lecturas english karma: 52

January 2

New lines,
blooming parade of words.
Returning hours
to poetry heaven.
Exquisite sound
of vowels and breath.
Stolen fantasy
flickering from your heart.
I belong there,
in the endless peace
of the written.
8
4comentarios 55 lecturas english karma: 47

The great clod

"When the Dao dissolves, it becomes rivers,
when it coagulates it becomes mountains."
Sun Ch'o



Staring at my brushes
the inkstick turns to thick black blood
from burned dead pine trees.

Broken clouds of smoke
like mountain tops
sadden my heart.

Shrinking forests,
shrinking life:
human waste.

Feathers on the wind,
empty mountains:
human sounds echo.

Rain of blood.
We, mercenaries, forget our knowledge of nature,
but endure.

Modern cities:
anonimous walking shadows,
brush strokes of blood.
You are not my friends,
I am not yours.

Mountains and rivers,
the horizon,
the call of the wilderness,
a reminder
to save us from attachments.

Obey your heart,
brighter than the stars of the sky.




"The space goes on.
But the wet black brush
tip down to a point,
lifts away." Gary Snyder
5
1comentarios 100 lecturas english karma: 57

Tonight

Passion lays next to me.
I look at you,
in desperate need
of your arms.
Weakening breath
swirls around
shaping desire.

You are my sin tonight.
leer más   
5
2comentarios 34 lecturas english karma: 53