Friday, October 14, 2011
random thoughts to make a poem.
of endless nights.
the only thing that saves is the sweet satisfaction
of sleep.
sleep to dream of my love in the cold cold night.
hold me so i can sleep
so i can forget the day.
so i can be in my mind.
my mind. free from the troubles that set us apart.
the fiery distance.
the smoldering of passion that is oft mistaken
mistaken and misplaced.
use it. use this time.
time and again.
lets sleep to dream. dream of sleep. dream of better days.
wake up to the buzzer.
refreshed for another endless night.
waiting. dreaming. wishing.
then doing.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
‘The tree is here, still, in pure stone’
XVI: From: ‘Las Piedras del Cielo’
The tree is here, still, in pure stone,
in deep evidence, in solid beauty,
layered, through a hundred million years.
Agate, cornelian, gemstone
transmuted the timber and sap
until damp corruptions
fissured the giant’s trunk
fusing a parallel being:
the living leaves
unmade themselves
and when the pillar was overthrown
fire in the forest, blaze of the dust-cloud,
celestial ashes mantled it round,
until time, and the lava, created
this gift, of translucent stone.
‘In the wave-strike over unquiet stones’
IX From: ‘Cien sonetos de amor’
In the wave-strike over unquiet stones
the brightness bursts and bears the rose
and the ring of water contracts to a cluster
to one drop of azure brine that falls.
O magnolia radiance breaking in spume,
magnetic voyager whose death flowers
and returns, eternal, to being and nothingness:
shattered brine, dazzling leap of the ocean.
Merged, you and I, my love, seal the silence
while the sea destroys its continual forms,
collapses its turrets of wildness and whiteness,
because in the weft of those unseen garments
of headlong water, and perpetual sand,
we bear the sole, relentless tenderness.
- Pablo Neruda