Thank you so much Bukowski On Wry and all your readers , all the best
Tag Archives: ποιητής
Leon de Grieff – Song of Dinarzada / Canción De Dinarzada
You were mine, burning Dinarzada:
your whole being handed my supplication
your whole being is important to me Nothing!
everything your fire melted into my fire!
You were mine, burning Dinarzada!
Because I care what the grim blind course!
fire for me is desolate
barren plain! Lightened sailed
under the disheveled storm!
All your fire melted into my fire!
Your big heart, your ecstatic soul,
your fine spirit, I beg
surrendered: Nothing donáronse my!
Overnight: give me your arms only,
Dinarzada subtle, dream night …
You were mine, burning Dinarzada!
Everything your fire melted into my fire!
and in original Spanish
Tú fuiste mía, ardiente Dinarzada:
todo tu ser se le entregó a mi ruego!
todo tu ser se le rindió a mi Nada!
todo tu fuego se fundió en mi fuego!
Tú fuiste mía, ardiente Dinarzada!
Ya qué me importa el torvo rumbo ciego!
Es lumbre para mí la desolada
llanura yerma! Alígero navego
bajo la tempestad desmelenada!
Todo tu fuego se fundió en mi fuego!
Tu grande corazón, tu alma extasiada,
tu espíritu finísimo, a mi ruego
se rindieron: donáronse a mi Nada!
Noche: en tus brazos únicos me entrego,
Dinarzada sutil, noche soñada…
Tú fuiste mía, ardiente Dinarzada!
Todo tu fuego se fundió en mi fuego!
Gyorgi Petri – Hanging Question
Here I’m sitting on the bed,
I can see all the way out to the doorway,
I can see
my wintercoat, my hat,
my scarf
on the hanger.
Why not
my wintercoat, my hat
my scarf
sitting here on the bed,
and me hanging
on the hanger?
Would they watch me?
and you know how to bake
around the mouth
cakemix stolen from the bowl
a taste of the unbaked
sweeter than expected,
holding back the urge
to lick lips noisily ,
washed it away
as a drunkard would
bottle sloshed whiskey
turned burnt caramel,
bowl slipped from edge
of table with enormous shatter,
pieces glazed
spread as his foot got cut
spilled as a sacrifice
for he was a prophet
born in anticipation
growing to expectation,
the world full of paraphernalia
that only a poet mends,
blood painted in circles,
scratching balls in shorts,
where was the thunder
to his profanity,
his stem to water
those fragrant vaginal daisies
errors and promises,
love had entered an interval,
trumps inflated cotton,
she came to see
shaking head
ash fell from her cigarette,
they had binds
beyond gold bands
and a chapel promise,
no atomic desolation would separate
leave it she would say
taking his hand
led to another room
more doors away from
the violent splatter on the walls
best to ignore
her voice sleepy not unsound
sat limply hung out to dry,
she stood adjusted nightgown,
it would be clean,
and wounds heal
maybe the interval was over
dVersePoets
Sunday Whirl
A poem for dVersePoets and Sunday Whirl , dVerse needed a beat sound and i hope i hit the notes
concupiscence
he fled those vicissitudes
and hid in the parables
that spread like marmalade
over his life,
as an intrinsic alchemist
transforming the jewels
that drew light into her eyes
nymphlike was not always,
she kissed his lyre
and lingered on the notes
crouched mouth to mouth
the dust of longness
passed between them
hands often released
and time again became frail
his tremors sounded as trumpets
with impossible sobbing
a deep reconciliation
a finger of saffron stained
the tongue
and wafted in embrace
yet he could no more
and neither she
amazed at speech carnivals
that wound words over
rolling track
pirouetting horses dance
to an inconvenient truth,
he listened to the stars
and read long passages
delirious now that it was
divisible,
tomorrow became perpetual
sinuous flow
word of the day your favorite word i got carried away again so i hope it works as i have not been functioning so well recently , all the best
incredible saboteur
bones where our fathers sleep
forgotten beneath the stairs,
theater of the virgin daughter has begun
left the abyss
rode naked beneath a harvest sky,
flowers once cast upon the river
caught by rising fishes
their illiterate world
tensed and sure,
this has to be the darkest season
of blood not drawn by knife
but fear of the morning hill,
normal day without monsters
forged on sleeping mental despair,
no amount of her is aimless,
violets had been crushed on the lawn
buzzards had become trapped in
rivers sediment,
wrapped in fabric woven with
delusion and anagrams of what
love should of brought,
bands of gold encircle retinas flourish,
she has found a new way
more than chromosomes shared with
other mammals,
she raises a visible alarm,
society dissected under assured touch
and found the moon wanting,
no more to be buried side by side
eternal would be joy and dance,
then we sleep
velvetmedia 