I’ve been given eyes to see the world
I’ve been given a chest to fill with air
I’ve been given a heart to love
And a sense of awareness to enjoy it all
And yet I find myself sometimes
As lifeless as a rock
Blinded, choked, aching
Yearning to be free
A throbbing heart,
A set of eyes,
A rhythmic breath
And a sense of existence
Do not need practice
And yet I find myself
A complete amateur in life.
bohemiaspeaks.com
If words are made from stardust
Then every thing I’ve ever said
Is made from light,
Even the bad.
If people are made from stardust,
Then every person I’ve ever met
Is made in heaven
Even my enemies.
If worlds are made from stardust,
Then we all are born
In outer space
Even the ones among us
that lack imagination.
So how best to explore the cosmos?
When here,
In this big blue planet of ours:
Are a million galaxies to explore.
And then those times
Where life like pleasant clouds
Softly moving through the sky
Without a chartered course
Yet never lost to gazers
from below
And then those times
Where life like wine
Poured into glasses
Red and ripe with zeal
Making us soft at head
Yet never foolish
In our choices
And then those times
Where dreamy Sunday afternoons
Ending with a setting sun
Perched atop a golden gleaming sea
Are simple yet magnificent
Without the need
for audience
And then those times
Where magic lost
Inside our hearts
Is filled with madness
Roaming like a ceiling fan
Only to find ourselves
Where everything began
And then those times
Where life has passed us by
Measured by our memories
Smiles and loves and cries
And then those times
Where life content with what
we have become
Heavy oak trees
Rooted in the ground
Still reaching up
Trying trying trying
To be free
—————————————————————————————
bohemiaspeaks.com
Love is
The most powerful
force
on the face of
this earth
Binds us together,
breaks us apart
Like the crackling wildfire
Burning through
Forest land
Melting sky with earth
Trees with flowers
Predator with prey
Into a winged
pitch black
amber butterfly
Set free
Gently floating
Above a brazen inferno
Immune to its raging heat
Aloof
Searching for a new place
To call home
To rest
To breathe
To mend
what has been broken
Yes,
when the summer blaze
subsides
There is autumn
And a long cold winter
But then again
there’s spring. :)
—————————————————————————————
bohemiaspeaks.com
Let me write now alive and well
Roaming in my thoughts
Like I have never roamed before
My heart in pain and soul in anguish
Freed
From all the hubris and make belief
I bear the coldness
of my naked solitude with pride
I will not budge,
I will not hide
But I ask myself:
What difference could I have made?
She’s like a broken water fountain
On a warm day
The thirsty stand in line to take a sip
But all that she can serve them are her tears
And as I stand in line and wait my turn
I’m writing these few lines
To keep me company
I’ll never have her
Although we could have had the world
That’s just the irony of every beautiful thing
It’s always at a distance,
fleeting, beyond reach
But no
I will not budge
I will not hide
I’ll stand under the scorching sun for days
Until her tears and mine
Pour their way into a stream
And share some journey
Towards a setting sun
—————————————————————————————
bohemiaspeaks.com
I walk barefoot,
Not because I’m naked
Nor poor
Nor in need of shoes
But because I’m curious
To feel and reconnect
With clay beneath my feet
And muddy fields
To voyage through
A forgotten world
That’s right beneath our feet.
Now, we walk barefoot
Together
Fields a bit more green to touch
And as the blades of grass
caress our heels,
the sunshine rains
between our toes.
I feel I know you more.
We dance
I witness all your life
Your past and present
and what’s to come,
As your feet sway gently
across the floor.
And in the morning,
Our hearts still cold
From the loneliness of night
But our feet are bare
and slightly touching
anticipating another day
Making shapes,
telling stories,
and leaving footprints
on our way.
—————————————————————————————
bohemiaspeaks.com
(Adapted from my post on October 18, 2013)
A poem is a state of mind that manifests itself through words. But what is poetry worth if we lack the boldness to make those words manifest through our actions everyday. If every blogger on the planet acted on the beauty of their words, we would live in paradise.
—————————————————————————————
bohemiaspeaks.com
I travel the world in metal birds
Wings roaring fire and steam
Lift me high above the clouds
And when I land in some place far away
I ask myself if it is night or day
My heart eclipsed by neon lights
Luring strangers passing by
I claim a vacant room and call it home,
– (For now).
I see the sunlight
Bursting through the hotel curtains
But never seem to have the time
To step inside the sun
And as the world slowly burns itself to sleep
I know my place among the stars
Drifting in my thoughts
To where it’s cold and gray
That solitude of foreign land
That never seems enough
To make you stay
Yet is enough to make you hopeful
For just another day
—————————————————————————————
bohemiaspeaks.com
That which we call life
That which we call love
Serenaded under the sun
Hanging in the air
Dancing in a cup of coffee’s steam
Broken like the grass beneath us
But green
A withering apple tree
Will ripen with the days,
And share its fruity love
With bees and mocking jays.
In snowfall there is hope,
For those of us who roam
The footprints of a deer
Will always point towards home
And scorching suns may turn
A sandy shore to coal,
But wavy seas will rise
To soothe our aching soles.
Those seasons of decay
Will always end in May
And every broken heart,
Will mend itself with clay.
—————————————————————————————
bohemiaspeaks.com
Metal bird
Fly with me
Above the clouds
Take me home
To where the eagles nest
Take me there
With feathers made of steel
Take me back in time
So that this cage
Can sleep again
In mountains, hills
And rivers
Scattered like my heart
A thousand pieces
In a land that I call home
—————————————————————————————
Canon AE-1 Film Camera / Frankfurt, Germany (May 2015)
An African New World invention combining the best of both European and African elements, early banjos made their way across the ocean to an unwelcoming land. In their new home these musical machines unleashed an exotic power that soon became commonplace (ever heard Cotton-eye Joe?). In their transformation from crude tribal lutes to engines of a new folk culture, Banjos laid testament to the magical influence of music. Captors’ hearts were unwittingly captivated and legions of haters were defeated with song. Today the Banjo is relegated to halls of fame as this painful past is dusted under the rug of time and as new Banjo’s leave their mark in history.
Detailed information about the history of the Banjo here:
http://www.musicfolk.com/docs/Features/Feature_Banjo.htm
————————————
bohemiaspeaks.com
Nature is technology
Design is divination
And all our man-made toys
Piggyback on creation
From Eden’s luscious gardens
To the Apple of Francisco
Idols still erected
Some rain-dance others disco
Yet people like a cancer
Spreading with a jitter
Hard-wiring the universe
From Mr. Morse to Twitter
And every tool is searching
For a righteous hands’ command
Our greatest foe –
Our only ally
Depending on where you stand
—————————————————————————————
bohemiaspeaks.com
When you strip down visual art to its constituent parts – paintings, photographs, material installations, movies, concrete skyscrapers, embroidered textiles.. – they all seem to speak the same fundamental language. Just like mathematics is the foundation of all sciences, writing is the bedrock of visible artistic form. A word is more than just a movement with the hand, or a stroke of characters on a keyboard. It is a visual expression of human interaction honed by memory and experience. It is the most basic visualization of emotion and thought nurtured by generations of culture and civilization. When a word is breathed on paper – just like a painter’s brush on canvas – a calligraphic shape soon becomes surreal. The only difference is that with writing, we all have access to this imaginary world. For every true writer is an artist and every true artist is a writer. What do you think?
—————————————————————————————
bohemiaspeaks.com
Mischievous diva
Plant your tentacles here
Let rivers part their way
And deltas break the earth
Into a thousand rings
Muddy emotions
Resting on the sand
Damp with barren colors
Yet fertile in the sun
Cast your infinite hairline
Into these oceans deep
Quench the thirst
Of salty reefs
Inundate mountains
Soften their peaks
Before they rise
From valleys unseen
And when the sky goes dark
What difference does it make
To moonlit horizons
Where clouds and water meet
There is your home
Where form can take no shape
But love
Where dreams take refuge
From dusk till dawn
—————————————————————————————
The Ganges River is commonly referred to as Ganga in various Hindi dialects. The river enjoys a rich mythological significance. For many Hindus, the Ganges signifies one of the many stories of creation comparable to what is commonly known in the west as the story of Noah’s arc.
Sometimes a few words, meaningless in and of themselves, and loosely scattered can say much more about a thing than all the monographs and manuscripts in the world. Racism in America is like a bunch of mirrors pointing at each other. The more you try to see yourself, the more you see a million other selves. Your race, your bank account, your God, where you’re from, your parents, your values, your clothes, your accent, your role models all caught up in an infinite visual prism glistening on network TV. You lean to the left, and they all lean with you. You look away and who knows who looks back.
Broken Brown
Lying down
Joins his people
In the ground
Shoulders touching
Sirens sound
Marching onward
For his town!
Mothers worry
Sisters cry
Fathers suffer
Brothers die
Nations color
Outside the line
Children colored
With shades of crime
Crayons never
Tell a lie
Guilty people
Seldom cry
Drawing pictures
In their heads
Who’s to blame
You or I?
Who’s to blame,
Broken Brown.
Join the conversation
—————————————————————————————
bohemiaspeaks.com
Lamps shining steadily
Casting shadows
Into darkness
Tasteful words
Still wet
Sprayed in red
Thoughts void
Timeless
Floating freely
Bones forged
With bars
Bolted doorways
Hiding yesterday
Walls trapped
Inside their concrete skin
Shedding truths
Cities bustling
Above their rubble
Revolutions peeking
Through imaginary keyholes
Welcoming tomorrow
—————————————————————————————
bohemiaspeaks.com/about
Can you smell the dawn
Grazing along the surface
Of the foamy sea
Can you feel the breeze
Push against your face
And fill your lungs
With endless love
Can you hear the morning prayer
Echoing through the city’s stones
Silent sponges, hardened memories
Can you see the seamstress enterprising
The baker smiling
As she tosses life between her palms
Can you taste the sweetness
Of an innocent hope
And steadfast faith
Staring the centuries in the eyes
Without budging
In the sea
In the air
In the people of this place
A testament to god’s magnifecence
And his eternal grace
—————————————————————————————
bohemiaspeaks.com/about
Everything in the sun glows
Nothing cold,
nor untouched
And although streams of water
Seldom find meaning in their paths
Rivers always seem to find their way
Towards the sea
Greeting that eternal lightness
Every morning
With gentle murmurs
Until the dusk of time
And never
Would I have thought
That we would share
Those words
From all the words
That we have shared
And not
Only a few
To mark the end
As they depart
Into that haze
Above my thoughts
I greet your words
With rain
To fall upon
A different land
To meet again
Endless conversations
From the sky
—————————————————————————————
bohemiaspeaks.com/about
A humiliation I can’t describe. That monster that can hide inside the carelessness of those we cherish most. A trans-Siberian railway roaring with emotion never stops. In nature bound to locomotive paths of steel. Tearing at the tracks below its feet, stacks of metal longing to be scratched. Mine is a life of stations in the distance seen. Stations fleeting bidding their farewells ahead of time. Stations bleeding with contempt of what they are. Stations whistling signaling the advent of a purge. And as the passengers stand their turn, a trans-Siberian monster preps it’s appetite. Feeding off mementos of a clueless throng. Feeding off their love and hope and dignity. Feeding off their memories so that we can live in peace. And prosper on what they have to leave behind. Before our train arrives.
—————————————————————————————
bohemiaspeaks.com/about
I see this castle here
Water flowing
Above the sand
Greatness down
To the very last
Golden grain
Time is flowing
Underneath my feet
Waves dancing
With the sandy shores
And even the sharpest rocks
Lose their temperament
And become glossy
Like the sea
An eternal patience
Eating slowly from the land
From our homes
From our lives
From our dreams
Testifying to a universal truth
That nothing is what it seems
The world is a broken hourglass
And we are just its means
—————————————————————————————
bohemiaspeaks.com/about
Let the winter come
Let the storms hit bay
Let there be no innocence
In the month of may
Let the bleeding cry
And the darkness reign
Let the cold take every heart
A thousand years of pain
Let the fields go bare
Let the hungry die
Let there be no stars above
To guide a moonless sky
Let the music play
And the artists paint
Let there be a time for us
To cherish every saint
Let the singers sing
And the writers write
Let them make a meaning of
These tragedies in sight
And why were those words ever said
Let there be a light
What good has light brought to this world
When all we’ve done is fight
—————————————————————————————————————
bohemiaspeaks.com/about
in memory of Nelson Mandela
Sun melts sky
Burning curtains
All that’s left
Are sprinkled stars
Across a day
Called night
Twinkling truths
Sexless constants
There is no black or white
In light
There is no darkness
There is no bright
My home this world
And all it’s living things my life
Your face is all I see
Your eyes a gateway
To a better world
A better self
I learn to lose that self
And join this greater good
I smile and laugh and cry
And hurt and live
Until my every moment
Is an act of love
And like a sunset there
Lifts a dawn
In some place else
I want my soul
To lift this world
Towards the sky
So that we melt togehter
Into that burning truth
And join the stars
Making concious love
Freed from tasteless
Immortality
—————————————————————————————————————
http://bohemiaspeaks.com/about/
I by no means whatsoever claim nor ever will that what I write has any special significance or inherent value to anyone but myself. I do not claim nor ever will that I am a uniquely talented writer and do not really think so. However, after recently attempting to publish some of my poems in the form of an E-Book and failing to attract that much interest from the world I realized that most writers these days and people in general are constantly thriving for the approval of others and for some sort of recognition or appreciation for what they deem so great and worthy to share.
The bottom line is that throughout history the greatest artistic creations were rarely recognized or appreciated only to be picked up many years later by revisionists – analyzed and dissected. Added to that of course, is the great amount of competition writers are forced to acclimate themselves with these days in the realm of publishing.
I found myself thriving to craft my work and package it in a way that would sell to the average buyer on a virtual store that sifts through hundreds of book covers. Consumerism is eating away from our ability to share valuable information. Consumerism has made our minds more geared towards idiosyncratic gratification that is not in line at all with the difficult and sometimes unpleasant messages that result from inspiring works of art.
So a creative mind today is faced with two options. Either go rogue and write without caring about being recognized – and recognition here (for the record) is for the sake of sharing and not vanity – or allow yourself to compromise the quality of your message in return for higher chances of dissemination. Packaging, toning down, addressing certain issue areas and styles, digital marketing, graphic design, keywords, hash tags, artistic approaches, trending genres etc. are all noble ways to reach a wider audience.
However, is there a way to maintain that raw message resulting from pure inspiration and that desire to share with as many people as possible? No, and that has become clear to me now. There is no value judgement in this statement. Those who wish to reach a mass quickly and effectively have every right to do so. I do not think that the quality or value of their messages are less relevant or of inferior quality. But I do think that true and raw inspiration cannot be packaged and disseminated widely at the click of a button. It needs time to mature and slowly grow organically into the everyday lives of people.
That said, after more than 2 years I’ve decided to refrain from publishing and turn this blog into a virtual scrapbook in which I share any message I feel I need to share, any poem or couplet, any prose or thought or image. A virtual scrapbook of a person that honestly and earnestly appreciates beauty and longs for inspiration in a world that is in dire need of both.
Love,
J.K.
Does it end here?
Or begin
Bubble gum
Without a flavor
In my mouth
But I still chew
As I clean my gun
Same flavor on repeat
Planes revving
Rockets loading
Ships aligned
Seagulls waiting for their cue
Distant sirens
Executions in the dozen
Dusty roads empty
Throbbing cities silenced
This ancient place
Once so green and lively
Disconnected from its course
In history
Foreign thoughts
Values foreign to our ways
Occupation, bloodshed, wars
Dictators, mullahs, crazy clerics
Oil, gas, Jerusalem
Crimes of conviction and interest
Intertwined
Let us rest
Let us be
Let us live
There must be something
Fundamental, wrong
With this world
That so much hate and chaos
Can materialize
In this space and time
As if the universe
Churns its problems
And spits them in our mouths
So much commotion in a simple grain of sand
Blown across the world
Prompters, cameras, media lights
Particles colliding, merging, separating
In cyberspace
Sub-atomic wars every day
In cable lines and simple air
But all we see are dunes of sand
And huffed up speeches
So much commotion everywhere
In this world
Of material form
How can we be so beautiful?
When we’re condemned
To this commotion
Invisible disorder
Inside the fabric of our universe
And so we kill and rape and fuck
Bound by creative chaos
Until we die
Until we’ve been replaced
In sandy dunes
A few oases
Can never make a home
—————————————————————————————————————
Poem 105
What’s that on your hand?
Too long a story to be shared
Longer than a boat ride then?
I don’t know where to start
Where does your heart take you?
Everywhere
But now its hovering around your lips
Its floating around the crevices of your smile
Trying to understand
The stories behind that pensive look
Shrewd remarks
Laughing but shy
Humming but not carefree
Who are you stranger?
I’ve told so many lies
I feel I know you well
Have we met before?
Impossible
Why are we so different then?
I could never tell
Are you afraid of water?
It’s cold and I am tired
But yet we are so young
What’s your name again?
No need
How could we sometimes feel
So connected, just for a bit
And never have the courage
To ask for more?
Accustomed to being who we are
And with who we usually are with
I may have met my soul mate
We may have shared
So many early morning laughs
But now that’s just another story
To be told
Thought about at night
When reflecting about the day
As I’m getting old
And nearer to the bay
—————————————————————————————————————
Poem 104
Sidewalk cliffs
Beauty bounded
But smiling still
Her fingers wrap around
A cigarette
Her phone pulled out
From skinny jeans
Pockets ripped
I can see her skin
She takes a call
And walks on still
She looks both ways
And falls away
Forever
—————————————————————————————————————
Poem 103
It’s sobering when sitting by your side
A heavy presence laid upon my heart
Just like a whistling kettle I am free
To drink the fire of our love at start
Then burn inside consumed with my own doubts
Until I spit it out so uselessly
An old affair with passion and some clout
Is nothing but hot air before a tea
—————————————————————————————————————
Poem 102
I slide through this world
Just like that jam dripping
From edges of the jar
After breakfast
On cold kitchen tops
Turned up side down
Sticking to what I know
Falling reluctantly
Towards a frying pan
Watered down
Evaporated all around the room
Until I smell of everything
And everything smells of me
—————————————————————————————————————
Friends, I have no idea how to continue this blog, this experiment, after creating 100 characters/100 poems. I have decided to practice free-writing for some time. Hope you enjoy it as much as I do. Peace and love to all.
Bohemia speaks
With every breath
Transforming the world
But not just with its poetry
Like toilet paper
Wipe and flush away
But physically, physiologically
Because everything is connected
Bohemia speaks about
An ancient practice
By Tibetan monks
Where one is brave enough
To inhale
All the hurting
In this world
And to exhale love
Compassion, peace and harmony
Bohemia speaks
And asks this question,
Are you brave enough
To take part
In this experiment?
Are you brave enough
To internalize
The outside world
And transform it
Transform with it
Into something beautiful?
Bohemia speaks about
Trying to view the world
Through the eyes
Of different people
Random people
And trying to make sense
Of all this craziness
Bohemia speaks
And so should you
—————————————————————————————————————————————————
Character: 100/100
1 year, 7 months, 28 days and I have finally completed a 100 poem adventure to create an army of characters with hope that some of this poetry may have touched the life of someone or at least painted a small smile on their face.
Something even crazier and more exciting is coming up! Bohemia has spoken but is nowhere near shutting up! Oh and that’s me in the panda hat, withstanding the cold of Beijing for Chinese New Year 2011. Peace.
I would go through
Arithmetic lengths
To twist the collar-bone
Above your heart
And mold it into
The cage it truly is
Put you on display
That all the people
That pass you by
Are warned by
Dangers of proximity
And to that cage
A magic iron lock
Without a key
An incarnation of
Your anomaly
A hundred heroes
Knocking at your door
You turn them into thieves as
They fret to pick your lock
You victimize yourself
For being hard to get
Not knowing that a cage
Without a key
Is not in fact a cage
But rather just
A guarded empty box
And that is what
You’ll always be to me
You say you’re hard to get?
I say you’re just a slut
—————————————————————————————————————————————————
Character: 99/100
To all the dudes out there that struggle with hearts of certain divas.
– 2years, approaching 100/100! Thinking about what’s next! Much love.
This lonesome hunger
Ploughing through my veins
Marks a turn in mind
Towards the inner-self
The fear of living
With no sense of life
Feeding off the flesh of night
Until the game is bear and bone
And every other day
Just like the one before
An empty skirmish
For the reckless soul
So much excitement
In my thoughtless deeds
More like the comfort of necessities
But nothing seems to stick for long
A woman, maybe,
A queen of queens
Sent to me from the unforeseen
But am I ready to receive?
Am I ready to believe?
That beauty
Can be maintained
In partnership
With some woman of my dreams
Or will I keep on feeding
Off the crumbs
That mark the path
Ordained for us to meet
Until my hunger drives me
In this labyrinth of desire
Across my lifetimes
Towards an end
That’s destined to complete
—————————————————————————————————————————————————
Character: 98/100
To everyone that’s lost in life. Lost in robotic routines. Satisfied and happy but looking for so much more.
A word
Ageing in my lips
Uttered softly
Carried by the wind
Across the world
Diffusing into every soul
And heart
Melting with remorse
That it was spoken
A secret broken
A gentle invitation
Into hanging gardens
On clouds surreal
Above the skies
A land where speech
Is not required
A place where words are chosen
Faithfully every year
Strawberry trees
Slowly grown
Slowly picked
Slowly savored
On silent banquets
For the deaf and dumb
Sprinkled across the skies
Like rain
Shared with all the ramblers
Let them ramble
A word
A gateway towards that paradise
Consumed by its existence
In watery mouths with chewing gum
Until it disappears
—————————————————————————————————————————————————
Character: 97/100
To all the people that appreciate the power of words, the magic of speech and the gift of human interaction. To all the people that know when to speak and when not to.
I love you
More than the bonds of love
Can handle
Crutches made for giant hearts
Taking us afar
Sharing shoulders
Chests apart
But one emotion
A mystic sneezes rain
A vagrant breathes adventure
But on this chair
Forever
We can dream about the
Roads we never took
And picture stories of our life
Stories we could never realize
Everyday a different ending
Everyday a new beginning
Changed, maimed, marred
But more complete
More connected
An eternal bond
Between our broken selves
Stitching light into the unforeseen
A path for us to follow in dark times
A fighter’s mantra
For Siamese beginnings
—————————————————————————————————————————————————
Character: 96/100
To all the people out there fighting to become their better self, I have no right to assume your pain but hope to share the joy of your recovery.
Words a million words
Callous judgments breaking skin
Numbers peeling lemon trees
Desires fading by the day
Citric scents
Carried through the universe
Trailed by constellations
Tracing crevices
In the way we interact
You will never know me
But I am real
All our senses
Geared in this conspiracy
Will keep us close
And take us far away
—————————————————————————————————————————————————
Character: 95/100
Characters scattered
Across her face
Constant strokes of beauty
Alphabets divine
Telling stories
Tales of love
And heartbreak
With every squint
And smile
A million words
Never said
Silenced by the kindness
Of a heart
In never-ending anticipation
—————————————————————————————————————————————————
Character: 94/100
Spring is here
Every blossoming tree
Breathes your name
Whispering a quick excitement
Through the air
Painting daisies shy
Weaving them into a crown
Strokes of color
Lead my way
Towards your room
Behind those cherry trees
An empty hammock
Swaying with my memories
Eternal springtime
Here for me
And for all the world
—————————————————————————————————————————————————
Character: 93/100
There she is
All I can see
Across this bus
A crooked nose
Pointing out a masterpiece
Her eyes so blue
And lashes honey blonde
Fingers crafted
Like the twigs
Of Avalon
Dicing through her curly hair
Shaping galaxies far away
Bumpy roads ahead
Simple smiles
Are all I need
On my way
To trust in life
To trust in purpose
To trust in goodness
On this very day
—————————————————————————————————————————————————
Character: 92/100
Let there be light
I need not say
And in my longing
Here in this pot
Eternal days
Shed nighttimes
Curtains pulled away
Every morning
Making room for life
In worlds of sunshine
We don’t need the light
The day will come
And with it all the world
Growing, changing
Into a joyous thing
Blossoming with the seasons
No desire
But to be
And in that being
Endless room
Widening by the day
——————————————————————————–
Character: 91/100
Covered underneath
The mantle of desire
Naked truths
Pursued by only those
Brave enough to rid themselves
Of clothes
Nothing there
But nature
Have you ever scorned a tree?
All their layered garments
Made to conceal
Hypocrisies
Made to repress desires
To establish social order
Human kingdoms
Ravaging, pillaging
Raping, murdering
Stealing
Let me say this now
And hear it clear
I see so much more justice
Between the animals
Why are we so attached
To these repressive notions
When a thousand civil years
Have proved them wrong
This is a dog eat dog world
After all
So let’s just strip
And be the dogs we are
Its much more pleasant
In the summer too
——————————————————————————–
Character: 90/100
to be read in an Irish accent (preferably when intoxicated)
Fuck this twat
Opinionated asswipe
Stuffed with plastic whistles
That referee needs some stylish lovin’
A backrub by my uncle Sam
Or brawl with aunty Guinevere
It’s anarchy that we divide
Amongst our organized conjunction here
Fearless champions
Of every cause
And with our footsteps
Stadiums rumble
Bobbies tiptoe shy and clean
More like tiny boobies
On a teen
They cannot feed the crowds
Fuck the rules
We play to win, no hesitation
And in our bigotry
We survive
Don’t blame us, blame the world
For being such a place
That leaves no room
For compromise
In violence
Our children thrive
Against the world of rubber balls
Not the ones beneath our hinds
But those out there
On fields so green
Of that beloved land
That we’ve no choice
But to call home
Serve and protect
Until we’re seen
——————————————————————————–
Character: 89/100
Bobbies is slang for police, boobies is slang for.. well, you know what
Love is a memory
Waiting to bloom
Love is a fragrance
That flatters the moon
A beauty residing
In provocative scents
Leaving a trail
Shaping events
Love is remembrance
Carved in a smell
A coded desire
Dressed in a fume
A placid experience
An olfactory womb
Fertile with pleasure
Love is perfume
——————————————————————————–
Character: 88/100
These lone deeds here
Like cold stones casting shadows
On the bright side of the moon
And my heart aches
With every darkened crater
Until my soul like bundled cheese
Is porous from inside
Leaking with a sense of nothingness
A sense of disappointed grief
For all that which I have done
And toiled to create
That bonds of love could shatter
Like feeble snowflakes on a branch
That bridges built
Could be demolished with one deed
That light itself could never shine
Around your silhouette
That shapes divine
Are formed around your lips
When smiling and conversing
That all the laws of motion
Could never stop us
From parting ways
That all my universe
Implodes into this moment here
In present time
Confined by singularities
Of forgone truths
Crying for some sense of worth
For some hope
For some meaning
And for belonging
——————————————————————————–
Character: 86/100
Written on December 5, 2012
Dear Readers,
Bohemiaspeaks was supposed to be an experiment and a challenge to complete 100 poems in 50 weeks. That said, I would like to apologize for lagging behind a bit. This year has been very tough on me. I lost my father to cancer, moved to another country and started a new job. Big transitions, but nevertheless no excuses. More to write about and reflect upon I guess.
What is important is that I am now determined to continue with the challenge. I have been reviewing some of my work in late 2011 and I really see a lot of room for improvement. When the 100 poem finish line is reached I will then re-blog each poem making changes to improve the quality and story lines. After that, we can begin the process of creating an awesome-eccentric-ridiculous novel with 100 characters/short stories.
What’s in it for you? I can promise you fresh poems on a regular basis, some will be okay, some will be great and some may even be horrible: you can be the judge. Bottom line, please sit back and enjoy the ride.
Love,
The Author of Bohemiaspeaks
Can I describe beauty?
Can I?
That stare, oh that stare
That pensive look
So subtle
So simple
So sweet
Is all I long for everyday
The stone so cold
As I brush away the morning dust
And wipe away the dew of her exuberance
And all of nature’s forces in my chisel here
With every ebb
My whole world rocks
Until I’m petrified into her gaze
And we are one in stone
Molded for eternity
For all to witness the majesty of our love
Character: 85/100 (Awaiting the second phase of Bohemiaspeaks!)
Here I am, exotic and confined
Just like a summer day held in captivity
The colors in my eyes
Can’t paint above the sorrows of this world
But in my humble stare
The blossoms bloom
With fragrant lemon trees
I travel with the wind
Towards a world
Of magic carpet rides
And Persian suns that never set
Despite the mullahs and the shahs
Inside my countenance
A thousand and one nights
The firmness of a woman’s heart
At yet so young an age
And throbbing beauty of a virgin child
With naked smiles I brush away their vanity
That’s all I have to do
Embrace myself
And let my honeyed skin drip with desire
A gentle current running down my corpse
Until I’m freed of all the pain
Let all this seeping sweetness
Wash away the sadness of our times
And as I’m tended to in private squares
The eyes of lustful men
Turn my desires into things
A vengeful sodomy darkening the day
I take no heed
The sweet embrace of rubber on my skin
Can never change the virtues of my mind
I am this woman punished, here I am
Placed on my deathbed every night
But yet I’m wreaking with my womanhood
The lemon fields will always bloom
And summer days are days of summer sun
Underneath these clear blue summer skies
What room we have to dream and have some fun
——————————————————————————–
Character: 84/100 (Awaiting the second phase of Bohemiaspeaks!)
And empires blown to dust
Peoples slaughtered
Worlds a changing
But here in this sweet bay
A million years of love
I cast a net
The sea reciprocates
It casts a net into my life
And catches all the maladies
I smell the salty breeze
It takes my boat across the strait
No room for borders here
No room for malice
Except of course
For my poor bait
The wrinkles in my face
Can tell a million tales
A million years of constancy
Enduring time, the whims of man
Enduring history
And even meaning falls
Purpose like a crumbling loaf of bread
But in this sea
Eternal springs
No crumbs are gone to waste
I live and die
The remnants of my life
Ashes, scattered
Across the tides
For eternity
——————————————————————————–
Character: 83/100 (We’re getting closer! Awaiting the second phase of Bohemiaspeaks!)
The screens are shabby
From all these beaming lights
A ticking roll of film
Behind a cardboard box
No ticking clocks
A golden ticket to neverland
Or so they say
Crunching popcorn,
Sipping drinks until they slur
And every night the magic is unleashed
Rays of light dancing in a room
Glowing dust drifting in the air
A mental space for silent reverie
Where sobs and laughter echo off the walls
They go and come but I am here to stay
To witness all these stories every night
To go back home and face my meager days
Across the fringe of disconnected worlds
Evading all this bland reality
On silver screens the untold stories told
And with them all our lives seem to unfold
Our days a measure of this grand affair
To love, to live, to roam the world
To cry, to lose, to die in pain
To dream, to win it all
But life is not so grandiose
I punch a ticket with a hole
I change the rolls of films
And with it all my dreams
Projected on an ageing wall
Waiting for a magic carpet ride
To take me far away
——————————————————————————–
Character: 82/100 (We’re getting closer! Awaiting the second phase of Bohemiaspeaks!)
A dubstep beat, just like our lives
It starts so simple
Then grows towards complexity
A mental map for our desires
An electronic symphony
That fuses with our day and age
To make some sense of all these blinking lights
Media bytes, web 2.0, my mobile phone
An age of digits, electric waterfalls
Dissected, rearranged
Mixed with perfection into a song
To think the music that we hear
Is made from the material of our lives
Recycled pulses in our brain
That is the genius of our craft
That whispers into embryos unborn
Don’t blame our modern art for being loud
The world is barking like a dog
So stuff your ears or face reality
And in my cage
My temple of disgust
Dusty tables spinning dubstep grooves
Slicing through the silence of this room
Between the rats and filthy beats
I learn to live
I do not need the riches of this world
And so I learn never to cling
In music I am born each day
To hell with everything
With music I am in control
A DJ is a king
——————————————————————————–
Character: 81/100 (We’re getting closer!)
bohemiaspeaks 