Alejandro Jodorowsky – Dancing Poems (in English and Spanish)

The senses continually give what they receive / The world is modeled according to the way you think.

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Kind act pleasing perfume / glass of water poured unmanned / pure liquid is like the soul / created by the thirst of another benefit.

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The reality is embodied illusion / Birds sing because we believe in them / produce the melody between the two / eternity without them is not.

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I speak from the darker / Site Lamp From the river / takes the magic of life is the encounter with the countless deaths.

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Things are from the moment that we call our / discard them possess is / is in giving that you get.

phantoms from a shotglass

crushed bullet amalgam

would never ease the nerve

raw taunted,

mouth spoke sore words

unrefined as love in three acts,

barefoot bluejacket

you were not the trash

he put you out to be,

sawdust blonde balance

to a natural face,

you liked the Dodge

and sat beside

in that vacant vinyl caress

of a hot summers day,

gravel churned

tires burned dark streaks

towards the center of town,

how could she cheat,

love was like tentacles

suctioned about your every part,

nothing more would be said,

slowing close to a rusted wire fence,

a gathering

barbecue sausage and steaks,

pain eased that moment

no notices given

what you brought her here for,

it was the brick

that found it’s way into the hand

a scream

she grasped his arm

that lashed the brick

across a cheekbone splitting,

falling ,

people running from the house,

let it go she cried

bullet powdered jaw ached

fleet embrace

behind dust and exhaust

a man lay

pouring blood,

did he deserve ,

he was unsure

but when you love

in darker ways

it has to happen

 

 

 

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

 

 

poignant limitations of sorrow

jeweled tombs of once visionary eyes

that had lost fiery lightning and the moon,

withdrawn no supernatural

accomplishment,

as symbols of obscure hours

watched with a disdain for light

becoming soiled by the soul

with august sorrows,

mankind knew of many merciless rulers

who used terror as supreme power,

rebellion awakened from stubborn sleep,

imagination of those

seeing a future others had not

next morning would have many suggestions,

vanity would not nurse emotion

bullets would not be kissed by lips

that spoke of treacherous dreams,

music of voices spread over cities

and blue skied landscapes,

plans conceived with  tears

and women taking widows veil,

television messages and distortion

vulgar external eyes

hands folded on lap

pretend subtle debate and interest

whilst buildings burn

assured rocks thrown

defiance not disguised,

all interior tragedies have those warriors

the fallen and fables,

but all endings are not the same

for that you have to wait

for winters grasp

burning crooked roses

coyotes yip !

as i walk through baby cyclones

up the stairs to the sky

as she remained

on sweating rocking horse

deeply sea pearl glint in eye,

oh is there anything else other

than immortality,

reward and wisdom,

have i become the dog

that runs through muddy rivers

to wash the gasoline of brutality off,

i will never see an algae

covered stone coffin,

horse keeps rocking

travelling this

unremarkable earth machine,

stairs behind me

as are leaking babies

and crushed beercans,

no cloud castle

old vagrants song rings softly,

weeping in whitman’s embrace

i have left human shape

finger shadows reach

as frozen spider would,

my once and fevered love

rides on

elephant looks in a broken mirror

when a thought becomes a fraction

divided into memory

and everyday fatigue

it settles not happy to remain

will divide again

into dreams and realization

long cerebral passageways

cluttered with electric snapshots

of a life lived long,

thinking was a process

started in the morning

after rinsing mouth and bathing

combed and prepared

opened the mind

some fractions found division harder

and became elongated spools

of tension and agitation

hands that tremor

ever so slightly

as sipping a glass of lemonade,

beneath this mass of

seething activity

normal had almost resumed

old fractions worked

looking at a photo album

your son found in the loft

other debris of a life in one place

gathered and divided

and will be when your

gone