Tag: writer

Cycle

Yellow leaves descend

to the Earth

final resting place

awaiting

their rebirth

 

Surrendering to the wind’s carress

Falling like little black dress

blanket of

hopes

possibilities

reflect on abilities

 

be in the flow

moving purposely slow

Don’t think

just go

to decode

what the

wooden block

encodes

 

Book release

Hello! 

I’d like to formally announce that I am currently working on my first book. Many of the pieces will be from my blog but I am also working on pieces that will not be published here. 

Thank you so much to all of you that reading and comment my pieces. You have been an inspiration and motivating force in my writing process. 
Happy writing everyone! 

Words

Construct our world 

Weight, either feather or lead 

A writer’s palette 

Paradise

Perusing Borges
Library reimagined
Timeless thought temple

The Ring

Sometimes
I don’t know
what to write

words have curled
away
in fright
because
they
must
fight
pen testing
their might.

when it’s a
draw,
wounds
open
raw
signs of the unexpressed
reminders of life’s
see saws.

or a lose lose
both walking away
saddened
and bruised
sitting on a corner
drinking some booze.

Words will win
the pen finds ways
to spin
tattooing them
to the paper’s skin.

Barricade

Sometimes
I don’t know
what to write
seems like
words have curled
away
in fright
because
in order to be
on the page
they must fight
testing which has
the might.

Sometimes
it’s a draw
unexpressed wounds
unhealed
open and raw
reminders of life’s
see saw,

Or
it can be a lose
lose
both walking away
saddened and bruised
sitting on the corner
and drinking some booze.

And sometimes
words make the cut
but perhaps
its better if they
refuse
avoid feeling used.

Ink

Poetry brings clarity

in a world filled

with insanity

 

Long time ago

a friendship was born

with a pen

 

whispered words

from worlds not seen

or heard, truth

 

Masked in metaphors

but it shines

bright blue

 

Pen weaved words

bringing comfort

to the soul

 

 

Because it will

get beaten down

and worn

 

Band aids can’t heal

bullet wounds, restoration

found in literary art

 

In solitude, pen proved

to be the greatest

of friends

 

Promised to be

loyal till it’s last

breath

 

Provided a root for

inner strength’s tree

to grow

 

Leaves of creativity

and hope

fountain flows.

Maktub

It starts with a word

A whisper from the soul

Threads phrases into lines

That sometimes rhyme

 

Dreams and reality converge

On the page, poet’s canvas

For word play. Designing

Immortality’s stage

 

Fulfill stardust destiny

Of spreading art from

Sea to sea. Can’t stop

Words keep coming to me

 

Giving new eyes

From which to see

This lens pushes

My pen

 

Looking around

Haikus, tankas, odes

And verse all waiting

To be found

 

 

Transcribing the ordinary

To images and sound

Understanding simplicity

Is profound

 

Studying the greats

Neruda, Storni, y Marti

Their verses hold the

Key of poetic divinity

 

Reading, writing, reciting

Writing, reciting, reading

Reciting, reading, writing

Blissful insanity

 

And so line by line

I’m going to take this

World, and make it

mine

Heaven

My cry into

the world, my

vision to leave it

better than before.

People paint

with the color of

their dreams.

things are

what they seem

Everyone living in

harmony

Love

descending from

the trees

Streets lined,

with mobile libraries.

Knowledge sought

everything free

 

And poetry

poetry

poetry

sheet music

to every scene.

Block

Sometimes there’s a block

Words hit a brick wall

All fall

flat

Keep pushing the pen