Difícil

And in continuing with spanish month, and with my apparent angst-y poem trend. i feel like it’s been a rough time, and as much as I try and forget, it gets harder sometimes

Es más difícil la noche,
la oscura jornada
el momento de sola y
callada tensión

Los recuerdos me inundan,
las visiones me asfixian
y los ecos distantes
asaltan mi oir

Es más difícil la noche
ese momento de paz
las estrellas diamantes
en un manto irreal

A veces cierro los ojos
al tratar de olvidar
o me escondo en mi manta
para huir de mi ayer

Es más difícil la noche
cuando apago la luz,
imagino tu risa
tan cerca de mí

hasta en sueños me escondo
y me intento escapar
pero a veces mi miedo
es lograrte olvidar

es más difícil la noche
pero por más intentar,
no puedo olvidarte
ni lograrme sanar

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No recuerdo

I’ve been on a poetry kick lately, and an even more specific spanish poetry kick. I’ll post a translation as soon as I can make a translation that doesn’t sound terrible. This poem is about heartbreak, and how easy it is to forget. 

 

No recuerdo tu rostro
se me olvida tu faz
lo perdí con mis últimos
recuerdos de paz

 

Se me olvidan tus ojos
no recuerdo el color
si antes eran azules
ahora son gris de dolor

 

Ya no veo tu risa,
ya no escucho tu voz,
y cuando  cierro mis ojos
no nos veo a los dos.

¿Qué pasó con tu rostro?
lo perdí en el ayer
¿Y donde encuentro tus ojos
si no los puedo ver?


Of Goodbyes and Beginnings

After living in a couple of countries in the past years, it’s inevitable that I’ve had to say goodbye more than a few times. So I wrote this poem about all those people who’ve walked in and out of my life, and hopefully they won’t think it’s crap.

 

Tonight I drink to you,

My friends

I toast to friendships,

I toast to ends.

I raise my glass

to short goodbyes,

I drink a drink

to times gone by

I’ll pray and hope

we meet once more

and be all together

as before

Tonight I drink

to once more start

To reminiscing

before we part

I drink once more,

To my good friends,

and know our paths,

will cross again.


Segundos

a short (very short) poem i wrote in spanish. Really just a verse i thought up about how time is always leaving us (translation follows)

 

Un respiro, Un suspiro

Un latido más.

No te pido una vida

ni una eternidad

No te ruego por horas,

ni días de más,

ni te lloro minutos

que no me darás

 

A breath, a sigh,

a single heart beat.

I don’t ask for hours,

or days at your side, 

I don’t weep for the minutes 

that i won’t receive


Welcome the Night

a short little poem I wrote about, well, the night

Welcome the Night

That star-covered goddess

to enter our world

and fill it with darkness

 

Wlecome the peace and the silence

to cover the world with its veil

to fill the nights with embrace

while the moon up high ever so pale

 

Welcome the stillness,

the nightingale song.

the echoes astray

as they flutter along

 

Sleep now my love

and welcome the night

and visit sweet orpheus

as our dreams take flight


The Circus (Introduction)

So I’ve had this idea for a book that I’ve wanted to write for maybe the past 6 years about a man who walks into a mental clinic, checks himself in, and is interviewed by a doctor. When asked what’s wrong with him, he begins to tell the doctor a story of a trip he took to the circus as a child. I finally started (if that’s any way to call this) writing it, and have come up with about a page long introduction to the story. So here it is, the beginning of a (hopefully) very long and good book.

The lights are dimmed. The last of the spectators are taking their seats. The smell of dust, popcorn, and cotton candy hangs heavy in the air. A quiet excitement starts filling the massive tent, coursing around like a growing electric current. Behind the curtains outside the tent the anxiety is palpable. The performers are getting ready for the show. They’ve done this a million times, but tonight, like every night, it feels brand new. Different city, same act. Make up is touched up, preparations are finished. It’s time.

Inside the tent the lights are completely cut out. Nothing is visible in the dark. Children stand on their seats trying to see if they can make anything out in the pitch black. A spotlight is turned on, pointing squarely at the center of the middle ring. The talking of the spectators slows to a quiet murmur, and then to nothing at all.

From behind one of the curtains struts out a man in a funny suit. His pants are purple and black stripes. His Tuxedo coat is brightly colored, and he is wearing a comically large rose on his left breast pocket. He carries around a brightly colored cane, as if to conduct a parade of Technicolor birds. He walks with a calm swagger, owning every moment, confident with every step. He wears a black silk top hat, tilted slightly to one side. He steps into the spotlight, and everyone holds their breath with excitement. He begins a slow turn on the spot, inspecting his audience, slowly building the anticipation, milking the moment for all it’s worth. There’s a sly grin on his face, as if he knows something no one in the world does.

He stops on the spot, and loudly bangs his cane on the hard dirt floor, once, twice, three times. He takes a deep breath, and opens his mouth to speak, finally:

“Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls! Allow me the honor of being the very first to welcome you to this fantastic adventure. Prepare dear guests to meet surprise, shock, and awe at every turn, to see the mysteries of the world far and wide, and to embark on a journey of human possibility. Let us take you, dear friends, to the farthest reaches of imagination, to the places of wonder and joy, and let us, finally, entertain you, for it is what we most seek.  So now, sit back, open your eyes, and enjoy the show!”

He stops. The silence is palpable once more. He bangs his cane once on the floor, and there is an explosion of lights and sounds. Performers, creatures known and unknown stream in from all sides, forming a bizarre and wondrous parade inside the tent. They converge around the center ring, surrounding the master of ceremony, and amidst this cacophony of lights, sights, and sounds, the circus begins…



The War

My first real attempt at using rhyme in a poem. A poem about the losers of a war

The day was dark, the birds still slept

The children hid, the mothers wept

They knew that it had come

They knew that soon, they’d have no home

We manned the lines, we brave and bold

And stood in ranks until we could not hold

We battled and fought, we murdered and shot

But alas, we could not find what we sought

We fought bravely, we fought hard

Battles worthy of the bard

But our women, all alone,

Knew that soon, we’d be undone

Our walls, they could not last

The cannonballs and blasts

Our hearts, our souls were worn

Our flag unceremoniously torn

For years we’ll sing the song

Of how our best laid plans went wrong

And how we stood, and braved, and fought,

But alas, we could not find that which we sought