Raw

My skin has been grinded out
scraped leaving my nerves exposed.
Instinct, I recoil from touch
and shy from the light and sound.

My head is heavy,
as neurons drown in a dark poll;
And my neck struggles,
to keep my head over water;
As my shoulders hunch,
with unremovable burden;
Along my pale face,
two training weights drag at my cheeks;
Low lids dig my eyes,
within the shade of dark circles.

You ask me if I am ok?
I am fine thank you.

I just wish I wouldn't, 

burst at every setback,

acid lava within shouts.

I just hate who I've become,
I look worst than my grandmother
behave worst than my mother. 

I just wish there was more to me
than the feeder, cleaner, enforcer
the silent listener, lover.

I just hate the world,
not you, not them,
just me in it and thereof.

Mommy will be right back

Her hand grasped firmly the wobbling handrail,
a step further, another crack of wood.

The candle she held but contoured her face,
as she moved the shadows danced ever still.

A light burst through the basement's entrails
drawing a table with perturbing tools,
broken chairs and gimmicks conquered by webs,
only to drawn back to the depths of black.

Followed the rattling of the enraged skies,
heavy bodies of water crash in fight,
shaking her spine the way down to her thighs,
the candle nearly dropped to start a fire.

A foot forward, her free hand ahead
to slowly test for free space between shades.
Her pinky smashes a hefty card box
and the drunken candle vomits hot wax

Then sharp profanity words are exhaled
and she resumes her stroll through the dark woods
shades delineate in her somber mind
while screams of frightened kids reach from above.

Her fingers touch the smooth plate of plastic,
open carefully (it's a brittle lid)
to find a switch in a bow position.
''Found it!'' - She shouts as she pulls it upwards.

Buzzing lights eat the forest from the mess
and chants of joy waterfall down the walls.
She blew out the candle, ran up the stairs
to her spot amid the couch and a blanket.

"Let's watch something filled with suspense! Popcorn?"
Cheers in uproar greeted her short comment.

Twinkle twinkle balls of fire

Twinkle twinkle

Balls of unfathomable fire

In relentless ire

Mighty gods of life.

Twinkle twinkle

Exotic fusion cooks

Recipes to feed the universe

Of fleeting ingredients. 

So, twinkle twinkle

Balls of untamable pyro

Blazing news to years farther.

More, twinkle twinkle

Through this empty space 

Over this flaming kiss. 

Sending little him to school

His shoulders hang low by the weight on the bag,

His footsteps echoed loudly in sore resignation.

His eyes are deserted by the understanding

of no reasonable explanation but "must be".

He knows I must go, I must leave, I must work.

Doesn't get to wonder “why”, “what for” or "if" it is so.

Doesn't get to choose his path, his time or his crowd.

Doesn't get to complain, not anymore, he has grown.

How can I tell him to defy what lies ahead,

if I cannot defend my place in his early life?

Am I teaching to be strong or forcing to conform?

It is not money we require, we are fortunate there.

It is not a habit of ages, my grandmother wouldn't.

It just hurts every day to watch him strode this way.

Tonight We dance

She raised her glass
to a space of fragrance
gifts of perfumers and chefs
bees for our banquet.

"Tonight we dance." 

Her glass rose
and so did theirs.

"Outside this stained window
lose specs forced to shake
water flushed from the sky
as if migration made it light.

Zeus and Thor collude
against our dinner feast
abhorred by its stature
green isn't color that fits.

Nevertheless,
tonight we dance."

And her glass rose again
with them cheering it.

"Youth flee their lessons
burdened with pesky
and serious concerns
long past their tender.

For what of their guardian,
exhausted will she manage?
the pilling of warnings?
of crossroad endings?

Regardless,
tonight We dance."

And her glass rose again,
they're lost at her turn.

"Broken close their eyes
to their fate and its price
they planned for luck solely
but got struck instead.

Their doctors prescribed
but held was their fund
for useless is the mallet
to the insurance wallet.

Anyway,
tonight WE dance." 

And her glass rose again
but gone was their wit.

"Looking-in hands implore,
forsaken howl at our spoils
like wolfs without a den
or a pack to take them in.

They'll surrender to the rain
and recoil to any found dent
of this majestic construction
to remind'em where they stand.

All the more reason,
TONIGHT WE DANCE!
Because we can!"
And she gulps the wine.

Slowly the stunned room,
in its palpable gloom,
was silently emptied.
The extravagants gone.

"Good, only I remain,
let it linger just the same
in their spoiled brains.
For we alone hold the chains."

Night

 I hold you while you gulf

that huge bottle of milk.

Straighten you up to burp

and sing to you quietly.

Drowsy eyes, full belly

soft pjs, clean diaper,

you are rocked slowly

to the land of wonder.

In my arms you will find

the comfort you need might

that is all that I aspire.

Hope in the morning to hear,

that graceful inviting smile

to that I sleep, nighty night.

Betrayal of the working mom

I have worked through pregnancy
when my fist wouldn't clench,
when the nights were left unheld
and breathing was a torment.

I did so because I loved my job,
my colleagues and my boss.
Responsibilities fueled me
with intrinsic need to weather.

Safeguarding our health
I was set to rest prematurely,
fortunately able to insure
the most urgent affairs closure.

Haunting the house aimlessly,
anticipation consuming my energy
the day came glorying my pain
and handed was a world with a ribbon.

My baby, my joy and my focus alone,
for the months to come
was a gift, a miracle
and a brilliant leach of life.

She had my undivided attention
for as long as I could master,
but life caught up with us,
my body barely mine and brain drained.

Eager to resume my functions
got a review from my sympathetic employee,
surprised that I was not my dynamic
and cunning self while making life.

Burst the amazing illusion
of being professionally cherished,
the drive to hand my precious
to another's arms for my job hanged.

Dear Santa, please save Christmas

Dear Santa,
it has been far too long,
not that I didn't want,
I've been belief vacant.

This Christmas I need of you
I fear that we all do, to
save it with a miracle!

My wish is,
as I light this candle,
lightning the feather,
to write you this letter...

"For the word carefully meant
to find its dirt path unbent
straight as only an arrow."

Let the snow,
wash down the raw red stain
of shards between blood
as we join hands for a meal.

Let the lights,
flickering from pine trees
brighten the colors
in our reserved deep eyes.

Let the choir,
guide the tortuous paths
in each others brains
that lead to steep crater.

Let the turkey,
in herbs and juices for days,
carved into silver trays,
sing of our belonging.

Let the crackle,
fire up our sleepy beat
that burned in within
on every other year.

This Christmas, white beard Santa,
heal this countries family
and bring a kind sight our way.

Sounding Silence

"punts tunts tunts tunts"
I turn the key
with a short "click"...
and I go "humph".

Cross my arms into a ring
over the one in leather
my forehead to land over
as I let the silence sing.

I could see her hair float
over her eyes, her nose
in his wet blue eyes boat
as an ethereal ghost.

The dancing of these strings
painted by whispered breeze
the slowing expansion
of an eternal moment.

That he held ever tight
anchored in his deep voice.
Then "punts tunts tunts"
the drawing shattered broken.

Why take simple beauty
and add and add and add
into such obscurity?
Blown this caressing woo
into a summer hit.

Wanted Swiss Cheesed 🤠

A red and blue patterned cloth

folded ties his muffled breath.

The wild dry dust in its swirls

tries it's way in nonetheless.

Drums echoing but he slows

their crescendo deaf beat.

Focuses in the beaming stare

for a sign of hidden unease.

People, well they think the trick

is bein' fast on the trigger.

It is not! To read their fear!

The last air that rushed in,

in a general tightening.

That is when your fingers sing

like your life they are handed.

But this kid is ran by ice,

no heat tears run down his hat.

I begin to feel as the mice

that had the short misfortune

to meat this lusty slick cat.

See fear keeps you in this ride,

now will as well make you dead.

That my cunning friend is why:

He is no longer wanted alive

swiss cheesed preferably instead

and no full wit steps to the task.

Mindless the mouse I trap inside,

won't will me out this snag. 

My mother's color

In my earlier days,

as the sleepy first ray

touched the wooden shades

in my small bedroom frame.

She would slide with no pull,

her lips drawn in a curve:

"Goood morniiing from

the lark to the blackbird"

That was one other quirk

I could not comprehend

that would bring to me glee

no matter where I'd stand.

Under echoes of thunder

I'd be the one visiting,

her square bright room,

with for furniture a

double bed 'n' a stand.

But the sun exploded

shone its nuclear a core,

and its warm a color:

embraced circular lamps,

dripped along the long drapes,

bounced on the smooth duvet,

poured down the carpet

and swallowed you mellow.

The room has since enlarged

symptoms of a good age

but the color remains

her favorite today.

I still guarantee her sight

gets wrong, blue?, signals

when yellow fills her eyes.

Yet I climb to a nest

when those touches mine.

My father had plenty advice

When you hug them by the knee,
they look so high, so sturdy.
Shades hit your sensitive eyes
givin'm waving colored capes.

When they hold you by the hand,
there's no scratch that can't be mend.
Their wise words beyond your smarts
sing reason to rocky waves.

When you part from their clean nest,
you take what straws you found best,
while doubt bends them in tempest
fill your quest the way that's best.

As you get held by the knee,
you re-hear them and you see.

It is Carnaval

It is carnaval,
Been visualizing it for a month.
Drums are getting loud,
Been gathering stuff from all around.

It is carnaval,
Just some more paint and I'll be done.
Such a growing growl,
And I'll be joining the colored dance.

It is carnaval,
Masked my legs sneak from a skirt,
Wrapped in a cape
my powers won't find their end.

It is carnaval
And for three days I am too tall,
I bend to none,
Without the ruling of this earth.

It is carnaval,
My chest can barely keep up,
Music takes me on,
All year long I am a grown up.

Not today,
 it is carnaval
 and today I find my child.

We take too much for granted

Greedy over the sun
a cloud cries silent down.
Into your cup it might
overflow overboard.

Into others not quench
the deserts of their thirst,
but remind'em of such
as the caress of rain.

Bless them all with showers,
the trees and the flowers
the birds and the lovers
as they bow together.

To the maker of life
we cheaply call water.

Love can suck the glee from marry

WE GET IT!
I get it...
You insufferable prik!

You HATE all of it!

You hate your job...

(and somehow... 

that is my fault.)

You hate me...

You hate my family...

But it is Christmas.
Let us inferior
Optimistic fools
Have some joy for the day
And for God's sake
Get your glee sucking frenzy
Out of this place

And take your bitter taste with it. 

I shall open my door
to you
Any other day.

Winterfalls

Winter falls upon you
Like the icy morning dew
That freezes in your surface
A shield of unimportance.

Your back hurts from the frost
Bitten you ignore the sense at last
Shed from strain of polite games
Under that cover that is your age.

But the white fluf speckles that walse
On their labirintic ways to the grounds
Will turn grey as your hair and melt
Before you feel their Christmas sound.

You are free but so alone
In this unforgiving tone.



ps - Full disclosure Winterfalls is not my word.

Getting a feeling out

An actor pulls out a feeling
like a costume in a scenery.

When the tongue dries
and so do the eyes,
when I need to unclog
this lump in my throat stuck,
I pull out a music instead.

The correct bait
fishes that thought out,
that scared child that shies
from the street lights
hungry and angry
growing steadily.

Wiggling,
expanding,
folding
and rotating
owned by a ballads
sweet motion,
the sound of emotion
that ripples invading and releasing...

Healing.

Forgiving gift

She bounces once back twice forward
stiff, her feet on a stretched high rope
that swings teasingly with her weight
at each turn of her feline waist.

She had paved her way into this,
with a small fist full of mistakes
and the other of bad chances,
vanished return in the distance.

The frost of her disposition,
the sharp tongue used for ascension,
I knew the sting of its incision,
also the stake in her motion.

If I draw hand across her back,
a net will shape under her sight
free to fog in a damp release
granting her a steadier path.

Hardest is forgiveness, and yet
it is sweetest to the giver.

Friend don't despair - version poem

I have been fighting for the words to say,
anything that could push you the right way.
And I am disappointed to state
no text could heal your widow grief
so I didn't get that far anyway.

Here goes:

This sucks!
This isn't fair,
nor is it reasonable
and you have the right to hate
everything!...
right now.

Life's a devious bitch!
When you get a little air to breathe
it punches you right in the nuts
and knocks you senseless down
to taste the dust from the ground!

Love hurts!
Love is as hurtful
as living is deadly!
We weren't build to be treated this way,
our fragile existence
is torn into pieces
with the whims
of this treacherous adventure!

Please, please...though
don't forget
how much yesterday felt
worth it all.
Sit on your fingers for just a while,
gorge on chocolates
and as many indulgences
as you can find...
but remember
life will still be here
waiting for your return.
You count many people on your corner,
holding the towel and wincing with the punch
I know you can count on me,
when you decide to fight back.

Remember,
for every present
there was a past
and there will be a future,
and the laws of physics thus dictate
(due to the continuity of state)
that better days will come.

The mist nymph

Two glaucous lights
pierced the dense mist.
A breath of wind,
muffed a voice sing,
pushed violently
the naked branches of bistres
that caged out the moon
and alabaster rags
revealed in a pair.

The air shifted,
cutting icy at my face,
so did all branches,
the rags at me pointed
and I could distinguish:
"Hold him!"

My feet disobeyed
the ticker pumping
in angst to move away.
Down at my ankles
I saw dirt hands graspin'.
I looked up again
to stun at the approach
of this gleam of a ghost
towering over me
like a hologram
of a past unsealed.
"Hold him!"

Her voice brought tears
to my trembling knees.
Sweetened by a longing
that regret imprisons.
"Hold him!"

I heard of the tale
of a mist in February,
he had gotten out for wood
after a love ruffle
over the frost of the moon
and never was heard off
until this day.

She had lost her might
searching the next nights
until her body gave
still dressed in the gown
she wore back then.

Seems she searches today!

Her lanterns recognized
my understanding gaze.
With a sigh of relief
she crossed through me
leaving a taste
of daturas and moss.

In shivers I woke
and felt your warmth,
so I grabbed it tight,
cautious not
your dream to rob,
laced myself at its side
"I held you!"
while you are mine
to find.