Showing posts with label love poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love poetry. Show all posts
Thursday, December 12, 2019
Saturday, April 01, 2017
El encuentro
Creo haber encontrado
en ti
el deseo
como nunca un abanico
acarició
el beso
como un abrazo
transcurrió en ese
momento
en que nos hablamos...
La noche ya ha terminado.
Escrito en Caracas, Venezuela el 22 de julio de 2009. (c)copyright 2009 por Carlos Mijares Poyer.
en ti
el deseo
como nunca un abanico
acarició
el beso
como un abrazo
transcurrió en ese
momento
en que nos hablamos...
La noche ya ha terminado.
Escrito en Caracas, Venezuela el 22 de julio de 2009. (c)copyright 2009 por Carlos Mijares Poyer.
courtesy of google images from tumblr.com
Saturday, January 14, 2017
TWO HIPPIES ON THEIR WAY TO FRISCO-for Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg
They had nothing: not one cent.
They knew nothing: A LAMENT.
Their stare meant a delimitation and manifest destiny:
Frisco or L.A.
raised in Tennessee, had never
a glimpse of City Lights, the
American Paris dreamed. A N.York City in
floral blast.
the apparent star
the lost soldiers, sailors in a city concrete
and the waves delight an immense galaxy of cars
California, numb vision, the last freedom
of multifoliate spurts and brittle diamonds in your mouth
the animals pranced the city
the social quilt submerged rational
sciences of rite and ministries
the formation and outright perfect
poetry of social galore
and reminisced ideologies
to encounter new world and new time
in the last millenium awarded.
Never in the history of desire
had fad overtaken system and system
as light... The history of God's design
in the demeanor of your eyes
as you love me
as you love me
_____________________
poem revisited to be finished 11 january 2017 3:00 a.m.
Caracas, Venezuela, South America
LIKE A DREAM COME TRUE.
written by carlos e. mijares poyer, all rights reserved.
They knew nothing: A LAMENT.
Their stare meant a delimitation and manifest destiny:
Frisco or L.A.
raised in Tennessee, had never
a glimpse of City Lights, the
American Paris dreamed. A N.York City in
floral blast.
the apparent star
the lost soldiers, sailors in a city concrete
and the waves delight an immense galaxy of cars
California, numb vision, the last freedom
of multifoliate spurts and brittle diamonds in your mouth
the animals pranced the city
the social quilt submerged rational
sciences of rite and ministries
the formation and outright perfect
poetry of social galore
and reminisced ideologies
to encounter new world and new time
in the last millenium awarded.
Never in the history of desire
had fad overtaken system and system
as light... The history of God's design
in the demeanor of your eyes
as you love me
as you love me
_____________________
poem revisited to be finished 11 january 2017 3:00 a.m.
Caracas, Venezuela, South America
LIKE A DREAM COME TRUE.
written by carlos e. mijares poyer, all rights reserved.
Tuesday, March 29, 2016
The Digital Catwalk of Characters, poem by Carlos E. Mijares Poyer
The Digital Catwalk of Characters
Fashion is a dream
A 1950’s streamliner
The speed of music
In your heart sublime
Thin like a model
The European Starlet winks
An illuminated Fiat unit
And a flash-in-a-flash!
The long hairs on men
The chain mail gaze of the Overlander
Of stewards on an airplane
The sky showed no proof
The ocean hid it
A cookie fell like an idea that is yours
And you devoured the whole thing
Like a conceptual feast
Aghast the tornado curtains
The wind hailed your tears
No man saw you
Descending parallel those stairs
And you fell lol
You fell like the last petal
Sunday, September 20, 2015
MOON ILLUSION -written in English August 1994, Caracas, Venezuela!
IBM ELECTRIC MANUAL TYPEWRITER OF MY PROPERTY TRANSCRIBED FROM WHITE BOND AGED LEGAL SIZE PAPER transcribed sept. 20, 2015, Caracas, Venezuela!
-MOON ILLUSION- (c) copyright Aug. 1994 by Carlos E. Mijares Poyer.
-MOON ILLUSION- (c) copyright Aug. 1994 by Carlos E. Mijares Poyer.
PUBLISHED IN ISSUE SAGE CIGARETTES MAGAZINE, DAYTONA, FLORIDA, USA.
A pebble rippled a pond's immensity
and angered the moon
as the child walked away
dealing a summer cricket tone,
silent palms to his side,
glass-eyed in this illusion of moon.
Then in a silent vestibule
looking into a clay bowl
seeming it to disappear
as numbers in the mind
alienate so many souls.
The child walked about the pastels
and averted the tumid smell
of polished furniture;
how each hair had grown
to be what seemed- a loom...
and reminisced immobility,
as a necessity in the open act
of maturity.
The child was only ten,
in the summer vane.
The moon evaporated leaves and
the flight of crows,
the darkness around the stars
perished blue.
Lately, the illusion moves.
The herd of water roams.
A pebble rippled a pond's immensity
and angered the moon
as the child walked away
dealing a summer cricket tone,
silent palms to his side,
glass-eyed in this illusion of moon.
Then in a silent vestibule
looking into a clay bowl
seeming it to disappear
as numbers in the mind
alienate so many souls.
The child walked about the pastels
and averted the tumid smell
of polished furniture;
how each hair had grown
to be what seemed- a loom...
and reminisced immobility,
as a necessity in the open act
of maturity.
The child was only ten,
in the summer vane.
The moon evaporated leaves and
the flight of crows,
the darkness around the stars
perished blue.
Lately, the illusion moves.
The herd of water roams.
Friday, February 27, 2009
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?
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?
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