Poesía

2018-07-04 12.33.06

Poesía

~

What is poetry but liberated emotions running wild

infusing every word with our deepest dreams

and fantasies alike, we become lovers and kings

travelers across the galaxy and with imperfect rhymes

we seduce beauty and make slaves out of time

living forever and ever with every word compiled.

~

What is poetry but a moment of clarity in the mind

captured flashes of sanity translated into phrases

forgotten memories that time and pain erases

and return in moments stripped of guilt and shame,

poetry is our passion setting hearts aflame

with our deepest desires in every word entwined.

~

What is poetry but  a love affair hiding under covers

romance cascading down every line into the stream

of beauty found that softly entice to read and dream.

Poetry are kisses left in between for strangers lips

to taste in every word and gently touch with fingertips

the keys that make us friends, poets and lovers.

H.O.

October 2015

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Like Leaves in the Fall

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Like Leaves in the Fall

~

Like leaves in the fall slowly kissing the ground

words lost in the pages between spaces

filled with whispers of a lost muse-

Where did you go? I used to visit those rooms

you tendered well,

now dust covered rhymes adorn the tombs

of long gone dreams I found

belonged somewhere inside my own-

And I wonder if the same we are doomed

to fade into nothingness and alone

leave behind painful traces

of desires we so carefully forge

and once broken they slowly fall

into dust,  binding to places

we once nurtured into a beautiful garden-

H.O


“Out of the red and silver and the long cry of alarm to the poet who survives in all human beings, as the child survives in him; to this poet she threw an unexpected ladder in the middle of the city and ordained, ‘Climb!”

― Anaïs Nin

Life Stream

stream

Moki

 

Life Stream

~

Where do you begin in the stream of life?

It feels forever is lost inside the beauty

of impregnated words I find

between rhymes that you easily invoke-

May I love you without knowing your face

or the tone of your skin, without ever being mine?

I can love with the heat of a sun setting passion aflame

or the flapping of wings of the Adonis blue,

I can love you in my clumsiness or my grace

with every exhale casting spells in your name

and every gesture reserved just for you

through the times where you always begin

by the endless words in a stream of your life-

H.O


“I would hurl words into this darkness and wait for an echo, and if an echo sounded, no matter how faintly, I would send other words to tell, to march, to fight, to create a sense of the hunger for life that gnaws in us all.”

― Richard Wright,

Musa

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“Musa”

~

Words exhausted cease to exist

twenty six in shapes to choose

if my tongue pronounce insist

then I need to check my muse.

What is there for me to write

when no love is there to see

where no one to kiss in spite

of my search from land to sea.

I could write about temptation

and the swing of silk like hips

or just search my imagination

for the perfect pair of lips.

Only words not hard to find

if twenty seven in my past

for a life so much entwined

in the words my passion cast.

H.O

Time’s Way

Time has a way of diluting my dreams

and making my hopes and wishes falter,

as I walk through life with a quiet saunter

time has a way of diluting my dreams.

 ~

Time has a way of making me forget

the faces and stories keeping me alive,

as I try in vain all my dreams revive

time has a way of making me forget.

Time has a way of leaving me alone

in the midst of all with no one to hold,

as it all runs out and I’m getting old

time has a way of leaving me alone.

.

H.O.  1/28/13