Here is a poem I wrote after a heartbeak
Uninvited
Somber thoughts cloud a mind once
full of precious memories.
Harsh and vengeful words have deafen
a hearing meant for soft whispers.
Deceptive sights have blinded a vision
from enjoying true beauty.
No response to my many pleads have left
a voice a faint hollow echo.
Many deep scars from past encounters
have marred a caring heart.
For all these things together as one is why
I am Alone.
The door to my heart is bolted and locked by my Senses.
Please don't feel sadness or pity for me.
But instead wallow in your joy for love.
For I no longer do.
Love walked out of my life and is no longer
welcomed here.
Sigh.......
My newest poem
Locked for love
Dear maiden, the battle awaits.
I must indulge in your beauty some other
day.
My soul lost without you in my arms,
but honor for my motherland calls.
Put aside your gentle loving touch,
your whisper soft breath on my neck,
taste of your sweet nectar deep inside.
I must go and fight for land and glory.
This armor is no equal to your soft,
rose petal skin.
Your arms are more natural in my arms,
Than this heavy bronze sword.
Hush my love....Hush...Do not worry,
I will be back by your side soon.
To keep you safe from barbaric hands
and your heart and soul mine.
This Chastity belt of gold, silk, and
rare emeralds,
will keep you mine and safe my love.
Only I have the key and around my neck
next to my heart it will stay.
Kiss deaply......
Five days in hell. Thoughts of my beloved lead me on.
I have seen death and misery to last
many lifetimes.
The swaying near my heart gives me coureage,
gives me strength.
I imagine your sweet warm lips all over me,
feeling your gentle bites.
PAIN parlyzes me. feeling a warmness,
a silence, blood bathes me.
The culprit is this two foot dagger
through my belly.
Thoughts of my beloved calm my mind
and run off my pains.
I feel your presence as I leave
this lowly plateau.
Old, grungy, bload soaked fingers,
reach for my golden key.
The necklaces is snapped into pieces
off my neck.
I am sorry my love....sorry.. sorry....
In every half-filled glass
a river begging to be named,
rain on a leaf,
a snowdrift.
What we long for
precedes us.
What we've lost
trails behind,
casting a long shadow.
Tonight the music's sad,
one man's outrageous loneliness
detonated into arpeggios of relief. The way someone once cupped someone's
face in their hands,
and the world that comes after.
Everything can be pared down to gravity
or need.
If the soul soars with longing
the heart plunges headfirst
into what's left, believing
there's a pure want to fall through.
What we drink to in the end is loss,
the space around it, the opposite
of thirst, its shadow.
How Do I Love Thee?
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
How do I love thee?
Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth
and breadth and height
My soul can reach,
when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being
and ideal Grace.
I love thee
to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need,
by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely,
as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely,
as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with
the passion put to use
In my old griefs,
and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with
a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,--I
love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!
--and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee
better after death.
If you have some poetry, I would like to put it here and give you credit. Thank You
Drinking Song
In the Faces of Flowers
I see her in the faces of flowers,
her laugh lying in wait
in the sweet white alyssum,
her smiles wide in yellow
marguerites.
In red New Guinea impatiens
I see her tanned in summer shorts,
garden hose in hand,
watering the flower-filled pots
lining the patio, paths, and walks.
I hear her clear, strong voice in
Shasta daisies,
and the love of her sings out in the
yellow rose, the pink rose, the white.
Bright pink hydrangeas:
her full life, her exuberance.
All her garden appears and
there she is, moving through it,
through the random cosmos,
through the waist-high gold of her life.
Hollyhocks, scarlet penstemon,
deep blue ornamental sage
interlaced with the vegetables,
fruit trees,
the occasional grass,
were all her domain.
And, yes, red canna lilies,
rich purple iris,
wild blue speedwell
along the back lattice fence--
is there a flower she did not love?
As I walk among flowers she knew,
in my body the buds of the golden cosmos
open, open in abandon.
GENERATION ñ MAGAZINE Great poetry from Cuban Americans
