DREAMING OF ANGELS / SOÑANDO CON ANGELES - POR, BY CARLOS MIJARES POYER. DEC. 2020. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

-DREAMING OF ANGELS-

 

The apocryphal thought of the Bible burning

But did you at least turn the pages?

A jester coughing blood unto the pallid snow

and the archangels with black hair awestruck, descending

never the vultures so close, white snakes in beaks,

warbling

or are they people in the new garden

looking for food in trash bags

like poor Santa Clauses under broken street lamps

I dream't of you, and died…

-DREAMING OF ANGELS-

The apocryphal thought of the Bible burning

a jester coughing blood unto the snow

and the archangels with black hair awestruck, descending

never the vultures so close, white snakes in beaks,

or are they people

looking for food in trash bags

like poor Santa Clauses under broken street lamps

I dream't of you, and died...

ALSO PUBLISHED IN THE MELBOURNE CULTURAL CORNER, MELBOURNE AUSTRALIA. VIRAL.

CARLOS MIJARES POYER #poetry #poesie #poesia #caracas #venezuela #religion #angels #dreams

CARACAS, VENEZUELA. NO EDITING WRITTEN IN ONE MINUTE.

(C)COPYRIGHT CARLOS MIJARES POYER, 2020. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

CARLOS MIJARES POYER, MORPHOS MAGAZINE, REVISTA MEJICO, MEXICO, POETRY, POESÍA

https://issuu.com/samiabulhosen/docs/morphos_ed._especial_diciembre_2019?issuu_product=document_page&issuu_context=action&issuu_cta=like_publication

The Great Screaming in my Sigh

The gentile cried in dismay

The eye of the clocks

Upon the shadows
the killer pedestrians
staring at erased windows

And the lights you used...
you lit yourself to see the storm one last time
while darkness shown

Poem by Carlos Mijares Poyer copyright(c) 2016, APRIL 1ST, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

The Great Screaming in my Sigh

Unreal sensors

The pistils of the brain

In bloom

Like the bee’s flight

Afar    the moon

The wave surged utterly pregnant

And the squaw giant

Jumped like a skyscraper
the crescent wind askance
the pink kites in a trance flew
lost to the haze of the horizon

The buildings drowned

The gentile cried in dismay

The eye of the clocks

Upon the shadows
the killer pedestrians
staring at erased windows

And the lights you used...
you lit yourself to see the storm one last time
while darkness shown

 April 1st. Caracas, Venezuela, 2016, CARACAS, VENEZUELA, CALIFORNIA NORTE.

DROWNING IN A POND OF CORN, POEM WRITTEN IN CARACAS, HAVANA AND KANSAS CITY, JUNE 16, 1985-1990

From the poetry book by Carlos Mijares Poyer, "Overland: A Midwestern Postcard and other poems", 1985.  Kansas City through Havana.  The Long Strange Trip from Capitalism to Communism and into the Outland.


DROWNING IN A POND OF CORN
by Carlos E. Mijares Poyer


As children
it seemed fair
that all answers lived within the corn.

The scarecrow's rabid smile insisted
we enter the realm of crickets and dead crows
where hues seemed familiar--
the blonde fibers of gold
a place to pee during recess and after school games,
a warm nest for my growing nostalgia.

           A place to run away
with little or no control,
letting the reeds whistle against my face.

I find freedom
hidden from the human race.

               My friends and I
entertaining games
thrills of hide and seek and other poems.
We grow fresh blushing,
watching gals growing it on blonde
letting the auburn hair spin...
like a windmill seducing the breeze.

                               For hours
the obelisks of maze
become a new home for dreams
and small stories whirling gently
in the bays of imagination.

And from here
the blue clamor of school children
climbing candid in bright yellow buses
to what seems the sky and is the future.

+++

To
the town church hung
by the cameo cross
and the bells rising as spells
towards the wrapped sky
unveiled as a mirage.

A voice says dreaming:

     "Say your prayers young man, it's bedtime."

I dream of indians and placid rivers,
home of the papoose I could have been.
Now at age ten,
I know that what is never was
except death.

The rest home for the silent old
and their wane regrets
as my own.

And, if I can't breathe
I sit still with the rain
eavesdropping in greens and blues
thrown in sprays by the sparrow's wings.

I grip the the cold mud and I sing
with immemorial tears
never thrown from the sky,
only drawn arid like bones,
yellow, brittle and forgotten
in the pages of saddest books
as poems.

And farther above the emerald sky
breathes smile, ample...
need      in the darkest sighs,
like a small part
of something that is or will be
your wan reflection in this pond of corn
drowned by the wind.

______________________________

Note: Finished in Caracas, Venezuela, June 26, 1990.  Written before the apparitional movie by David Lynch "Blue Velvet" and the appearance as a national figure of Garrison Keillor...etc.

CARLOS E. MIJARES POYER, POEM, THE ARRIVAL, PG 59, THE YELLOW CHAIR REVIEW ISSUE 5

http://issuu.com/yellowchairreview/docs/yellowchairreviewissue5

http://issuu.com/yellowchairreview/docs/yellowchairreviewissue5

PLEASE CLICK AND SEE PAGE 59 THE POEM THE ARRIVAL BY CARLOS E. MIJARES POYER, BORN IN CARACAS, VENEZUELA, BRED IN THE U.S.

HAGA CLICK PAGINA 59 VEA EL POEMA THE ARRIVAL, LA LLEGADA, POR CARLOS E. MIJARES POYER, NACIDO EN CARACAS, VENEZUELA, ESTUDIO Y SE CRIO EN ESTADOS UNIDOS DE NORTEAMERICA.

ARCHIPELAGO LOS ROQUES, VENEZUELA: 25 SHADES OF BLUE

(c)copyright By Carlos Mijares Poyer, Oct. 1, 2015

Smooth, soothe the blue sherbet in the hues of these waters azure 

The jet airliner through  -the sky blue    the infinite lapse of gaze...

I saw you under the light gleam splendor
of immaculate oceans
the telescope took me from mutiny to wonder

the derelict of shell necklace
the meddling sea breeze
leaning latinate noons like pendulums

From lightest hues the blues from turquoise to navy

The sailor’ s dream?

The electric blues between the sea and sky
The old sailor´s bell-bottom blues, the dilapidated, tatoo!...

Is not the horizon, it is all in the gasp,

then, until the stars collapsed
the ocean took them like deities
to breathe a sudden moon...

Not knowing if Paradise is in your Eyes, or in the Islands.

and we swam,
we swam...

Antique stanza 1990's to be added to american poem, Overland: A Midwestern Postcard 1987 U.S.A.

(...)... I grip the cold mud and I sing
with immemorial tears
never thrown from the sky.

Only
drawn arid like bones
brittle and forgotten
in the pages of large wise books
as poems. (...)

(...)



note: transcribe from ink marker black long hand writing September 20, 2015. (c) Copyright 1985 and 1987 THE PIPER ARTS AND LITERARY MAGAZINE, GUILFORD COLLEGE, WINTER OF 1987, EDITED BY DEMETRA GATES, SUPPORT FROM PHIL POLO A GREAT AMERICAN POET !!!

THE LOST POEM, EL POEMA PERDIDO

YOU ARE MY
LIFE ELF
ELEGANT IN
SUEDE AWAITING
FOR MY LAST
MINUTE DISGUISED
BOTH OF YOU -AS
DEATH


copyright (c)2015march15, by Carlos E. Mijares Poyer-Caracas, Venezuela.

AMERICAN SOLTICE, POEM BY CARLOS E. MIJARES POYER/SOLSTICIO AMERICANO, POEMA IN INGLES POR CARLOS E. MIJARES POYER, PUBLICADO EN CALIFORNIA, ESTADOS UNIDOS DE NORTEAMERICA

https://silverbirchpress.wordpress.com/2015/01/21/american-solstice-by-carlos-e-mijares-poyer-i-am-waiting-poetry-series/


Two days ago, The Silver Birch Press Publisher, in Los Angeles, California, U.S.A., published in a homage poetry series, in honor of the great american Beat Generation Poet Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Carlos Mijares Poyer' s poem entitled: American Solstice (in its original english), along with the poems of another national and international poets, honoring the Ferlinghetti's theme based on his poem entitled: I Am Waiting. Click the link above to see Carlos' poem in english.

Hace dos dias, la editorial de Los Angeles, California, Estados Unidos de Norteamerica, public'o en una serie po'etica en homenaje y en honor al gran poeta norteamericano de la generaci'on Beat, de la palabra Beatitud o buenaventuranza, el poem titulado: Solsticio Americano (en su original ingl'es), de Carlos Mijares Poyer, junto a otros poemas de poetas nacionales e internacionales, honrando al poeta norteamericano Lawrence Ferlinghetti, bajo el tema del poema de este mismo autor, de su famoso poema titulado: Estoy esperando.  Haga click en el enlace arriba para ver el poema de Carlos.

THE MACHO, AS YOU LIKE IT, AMERICAN POETRY

HAIR SLICKED-BACK
BAD-TO-THE-BONE (BLACK)
-A PROMINENT SNICKER-
HE CARESSES HIS TOOL
LIKE A MIDNITE CANNON
DOLLIES, STARLETS AND DIVAS
PROWL HIM LIKE ANTS
HE IMITATES THE TANGO-
LOOK WITH A JESUS SMIRK
AND MAKES LOVE IN THE
AFTERNOONS,
HE HAS CHILDREN
ALL OVER THE WORLD
LIKE EYES AND SPECTRES OF HIS OWN
PROVIDENCE
THIS MACHO MAN HAS NO HAIRY CHEST
BUT THE EYES
OF AN INFANT...
A LUNATIC IN STARDOM
SEEKING THE LAST BIRDS
AND THAT LAST SONG
HIS HEART-BEAT BROKEN
HIS FINGER SOILED
WITH THE SPERM OF
HIS LOVERS
AND WHAT IS MORE
HIS LASER EYES JET-BLACK
BRING DOMINION THROUGH
CAMERAS AND SCREENS
INTO THE RECONDITE PREMISES
OF YOUR HEART..!


written in Caracas, Venezuela, california norte July 5, 2007.
(c)copyright 2007, by Carlos Mijares Poyer

CELOSIAS, BLINDS, LIKE THOSE ON THE WINDOW

poem(a): POR CARLOS MIJARES POYER, JR.

-CELOSIA-

Me miras pasar todas las tardes

creyendo no verte

esos ojos recorren la calle

como una luz, en la misma luz, siempre.

A veces vengo tarde, de noche,

cuando se deja ver tu figura

que suavemente

hace rizos del bombillo. Lo entona.

Y allí estás...casi desnuda,

tu mirada de nuevo:

Unos ojos escarlata

que hacen trizas

toda esa oscuridad.

Cuando la mañana

abre lentamente, y levanta sus brazos

en la ventana

y tu no estás...

y tu no estás...

TRANSLATION BY THE AUTHOR:

--BLINDS--

You look every afternoon

thinking I do not see you

those eyes cover the street

like light, in the same light, always.

Sometimes I come late, at night,

when your figure allows itself to be seen

that gently

makes ripples of the lightbulb. Entonates it.

And there you are... almost in the nude

your gaze once again:

A pair of scarlet eyes

that rip

all of that darkness.

When morning,

opens slowly and raises its arms

upon the window...

and you´re not there...

and you´re not there...

copyright 2008, by Carlos Mijares Poyer, english and spanish original and translation.

visit:

http://www.solocortos.com/

http://www.nildamijarespoyer.blogspot.com/ (international artist and sculptor, artista plástico y escultora internacional)

cmijarespoyer@gmail.com

RESUME AND CURRICULUM:
ESCUELA CAMPO ALEGRE
PINE CREST SCHOOL, FT. LAUDERDALE, FLORIDA, USA. www.pinecrest.edu
GUILFORD COLLEGE, GREENSBORO, NORTH CAROLINA, USA. www.guilford.edu
FACULTAD DE MERCADEO Y PUBLICIDAD, CARACAS, VZLA.

FORTE

FORTE

 by Carlos Mijares Poyer

Harpsichord touch me not
do not touch me
that soul in the body lost
that violin erased in its notes
like the names in
the wattle row of flowers
or the fountain visited
by the last birds
in this world

THE GIVEN, POEM

THE GIVEN
 by Carlos Mijares Poyer


Will give you only not the love
the enamored tree
and your garden
the moors surrounded

Will give you only no the haste
of that tree
the open womb of desire
has begotten
no escape astounded

In "the rape of the lock" Byron
is touched the ecstasy
I will not give you

the whole lot will give you
pleasure as in the last
of the last memories-
surrounded in the late candle-light

____________________________________________
*note: If Byron didn´t write it, who could not write the realm he professed?