05/28 - 06/21
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These are two of the many poems I wrote on my trip to Europe. Any "her" or "she" in these refer to whatever city in Spain that I was in. There are more, but they're in french and so I don't really want to be uselessly insulted over posting such profanity.
05/28 - 06/21
IV. façade A wall of anonymity arises as faces withstand the gazes of onlookers, amazed at the message of a commodity: that free art for free could be a desire of the people; was a desire of the people in a place afraid of the crimes carried in the perfume of her redolence - regular passerbys molested with eyes that could sit idly by in a culture still asleep to its discrimination of its daughters or yet pilfered by the mindset which impoverishes this country, her country, through the free reign within the free market. IV.II. Her breasts adorn beaches of desire the silk of her vendors stacked along streets her streets, like idol worshipers congregated around the skirts of her temples. I wander, wanting, already lost in the endless thread of her hair hoping to end up on the cusp of the little isle where her sylphs go; and this, inside of them, is my fantasy. Her tongue drives sanity from its throne a distant cousin to every language and yet unspoken - the passion it contains swims ever so lucidly, deeper into the murky depths on my mind. the little waves follow behind, leaving an inescapable relish a certain lullaby of sleepy wanton wonders. V. La plage des nues Nudity in such abundance that what clothes there was seemed seethrough: limbs at times awkwardly together in their march of the body's will and at others, lagging like twisted branches of decay. Borne in their copiousness a certain disgusting beauty about the body's fragility - a secret that sits right before us, daringly. On sand, corpses writhed and simmered left in a great exodus by their minds, left behind in a fickle pursuit of recreation. She fancies the attention the ripe abdomens of men with no greater worry than spending their allowances. V.II. Silver abode, turquoise loins and golden flames rolling down smooth sculptures and hidden ivory. Dare I see dragons and butterflies mate where hands could only caress in adoration and veneration of skin, flesh and their haphazard union with fresh tones of light made thin enough to be captured anchored and crowning a divine sight... an angelic sign, emblem of deliquescent infatuation? The sun kissed parchedness of her lips drive mine to moistness. |
Submitted on 2012-06-24 03:28:57 Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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| Silver abode, turquoise loins and golden flames i wish you'd used the serial comma here. it killed the whole poem for me. | Posted on 2012-08-20 00:00:00 | by squeezebox | [ Reply to This ] | Wow, with the concept of "she" being cities, it helped bring this alive. It's almost as if with every word written you can hear the bustling of busy people or see those who sit and stare at those who pass by. | "Already lost in the endless thread of her hair" That brings to mind endlessly turning streets, that within each bend of her "curls" a new adventure is within reach. Almost as if you could transport yourself to the beautiful days of the 1800s and see how the buildings stood then, to this day...(i think I'm going off track but I'm sure you may somewhat know what I'm trying to say :D) "a certain lullaby of sleepy wanton wonders." I could almost use that as my favorite quote on here (if only it would allow me to update). "V. La plage des nues" instead of copying that whole stanza I'll just use that as a basis of reference. I love how that stanza brings to mind the thought of mortality. It brings out thoughts of laughter and overly exposed tan skin on patrons who are overweight or even toned to perfection. It brings to mind naked buildings with their eyes busted open through rotted shutters...I love how your poem twists things and allows you to expand and contract in different ways. Almost as if each person will walk away with a different view of what you've written...breathtaking …beautiful… "The sun kissed parchedness of her lips drive mine to moistness." I have to admit you may have found yourself a fan. Though an oddly weird one at that, I could almost feel sorry for you. I have a love of history, from architects to anything abroad. What lies outside my window and far out of reach, either by time or space fascinates me. I've read a book called "The Historian" and you've seem to capture the senses as that book as done. I can't critique, even if I tried (as of now I'm not bothering). I'm impressed, though being as a specter behind a monitor, it may not mean as much as if I was someone you knew personally. Either way, I'm in love with this piece. ~Rosey | Posted on 2012-07-16 00:00:00 | by ARoseyTint | [ Reply to This ] | these are masterful in metaphor...the "she" the "her" referring both to cities and an enticing woman--- | being turned on by the sights, being engaged in romantic interlude with teh beautiful towns... being driven to moistness...in tears but also aroused by the surroundings, spending money like we would on a woman in order to gain her attentions and affections... a love affair with the environment produced some really clever, visual and passionate reaction in words. as with a beautiful creature walking by, i took more than one salacious look. this is why i like this site so much...i find so much inspiration in the words of others--- i feel there will be a reaction to these pieces happening very soon.. thank you for these. jacob | Posted on 2012-06-24 00:00:00 | by jacoberin | [ Reply to This ] | |
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