Lost in Time

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
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bohemiaspeaks.com

True Poetry is Lived

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.

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bohemiaspeaks.com

The Lone Traveller

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

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bohemiaspeaks.com

Writing is the most Basic form of Visual Art

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?

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bohemiaspeaks.com

What Writing Is

What does writing teach us
Other than to love
What blot of ink
Can say a word
Without a mouth
To make us hear
What voice pronounced
Can speak to us
Without a thought
To resonate in our minds
Yet speech without a sound
Can change the world
With words of love
What pen, what paper
Can speak louder
Than our hearts

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bohemiaspeaks.com/about

The Witch of Monterrey

The children gathered by her side, that gray haired lady spoke above the sound of crackling firewood. And as her squeaky voice filled up the room, a solemn silence creeped forward from the dark. Our shadows cast upon the wall, it seemed that we were stuck between two worlds. Unable to escape this mesmerizing tale, our ears were captive to her lips that somehow softened as we listened more. With every word her youthful countenance unmasked, fluttering in the paleness of the flames. She spoke:

It is in grief
That we bond
And in happiness
That we disperse
So question
Every time you smile
Are you happy
Or sad?
The anomaly of life
Is this
Billions wired to
A painful smile
Fighting to conceal
Their inner fears
And happiness
Becomes an act
of solidarity
Forged by the flaws
Of self-fullfilment
Who would want
To live alone
in this cold world?
We’ve flipped the dials
To choose a life of smiles
Interrupted by a thousand tears
And nothing is
Nor ever will be
What it seems

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bohemiaspeaks.com/about

Reflections of a Failed Writer

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.

Dialogues on a Boat Ride

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

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Poem 104

The Author of Bohemiaspeaks: Poem Number 100

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

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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.

The Schizophrenic: I am Real

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

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Character: 95/100

The Calligrapher: I Read You

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

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Character: 94/100

The Bus Driver: 36 to Victoria

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

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Character: 92/100

The Fisherman: The Geopolitics of Love

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

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Character: 83/100 (We’re getting closer! Awaiting the second phase of Bohemiaspeaks!)

The Builder: Constructing Happiness

There, far beyond my mental pedestal
Lie avenues of truth untold
And endless rolls of nature’s honeycombs
Like domes stacked on the pillars of gratitude
A fortress for the gracious hearts
And humble men and women of this world
A castle melting sweetened joy
For us to claim when we deserve

My fortune at its best can only see the light
When built from rubble on a surface strong
And so I go about my life
Building structures in my soul
Repairing all that time makes obsolete
Until my body’s nothing but a shape
That cases my divinity within

A shape so simple can say a million words
And words when put together are a force
With which I bear my fire and remorse
And walk towards my purity in shame
Each day’s a step,
The world’s a band of soldiers marching
And soldiers march with little cause
What cause can make the world protrude
Beyond the selfish nature of our design?

And so a builder becomes a legionnaire
In realms of thought s/he toils to dispute
All that befounds our meager lives
To build a palace for all our countrymen
To live in dignity and divine grace
With words of wisdom and acts of love
I build salvation for our dying race

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Character: 80/100 (We’re getting closer!)

The Child Worker: The Urine Factory

Let’s play
I am mature
At far too young an age
Lingering in my misconceptions
In wombs of failing times
And eras of disgust
I am conceived
I learn to work
I play with these machines
Monsters roaring at my face
I smile back, but they still roar

I swing myself across the metal plates
And when it hurts
I think of love
The image of my family
In these sad lands
We have to toil
We have to work for liberty
Only to hail another dawn
Of self-inflicted bigotry

Plastic handcuffs
These shackles here
Across my arms
This factory
It represents the day and age
In which a child far away
Is set to learn life’s misery
Too early on
A day where people’s needs are far beyond
The prospects of humanity

And so my fate is cast to doubt
The fate of our entirety
Lies in the cleavage of this slum
Breastfeeding us with certainty
That far beyond these metal prongs
We glorify our own country
What glory can there be in pain?
An economic victory?
And as we squeeze ourselves to grow
Without confined morality
The whole world chants our glorious name
They say we’re making history

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Character: 79/100 (We’re getting closer!)

The Yogi: Salutations to the Sun

I touch the sun
With sugar coated finger tips
I rearrange the stars alit
A fire in my palm can never burn my skin
For I am burning constantly within
And my eyes closed
Away from all this traffic here
The bustling world with all its lights
In darkness I can see the truth
Beyond the noise of modern life
My body bends just like a summer noon
Into an endless clover field
I join my joints with passing time
They shift in harmony, they twist
And with them all my world collides
I feel so motionless in sweet embrace
Of my routines, the whole world moves
And I just watch my body stretch
Across the mantelpiece
On this sweet morn
And as my body toils each day
My mind and soul are freed

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Character: 78/100 (We’re getting closer!)

The Cabbage Vendor: Kingdom of Sauerkraut

My world’s a cabbage in its layers
A multitude of inner stairs
That lead the way to self remorse
Because I chose to take this course

A cabbage vendor on his knees
Weakened by a world at ease
Life seems to pass me by each day
But always gives me what I pay

Beyond the confounds of my doubt
An endless sea of sauerkraut
Sitting there so uselessly
Without a proper recipe

A victim of my own beliefs
I wonder what this world bequeaths
After we close our eyes and die
What’s truth, and what is just a lie?

Ambition knocks at all our doors
Some cabbage vendors have their stores
But yet I seem to be content
With barely making my own rent

Desires feast on flesh and bone
Until they reach a soul unknown
They feed it with their gory lust
And mount a tombstone on some dust

But as for me, I will make sure
To mount my tomb on something pure
Desires overcome with joy
Beyond contempt, I’ve found a cure

In my own kingdom there’s no doubt
Long live the king of Sauerkraut

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Character: 76/100 (We’re getting closer!)

The Deaf Girl: An Eternal Sign Language

To you whose words I long to hear
To you beyond the distant meadow fields
To you I pledge to keep my life
For dying means a silence I can’t bear
Scraping through my eardrums in my sleep
Until my whole entirety has been emptied
From holes inside my head
I lose myself
A deafness I have never known

Beyond the noise of your demise
Your words so sweet
Still tear the walls of solitude
And build instead a humble home
Where love can dwell and multiply
To you whom time has stolen years
The final gift I can bequeath
Is my bouquet of years to live
With all the joy of silent memory
Each day just like a silent film
And you’re the star of every episode

To you whose words I long to hear
I hear you in moonlit sky
In children’s smiles throughout the day
In blueberry muffins and ham & cheese
In brewing coffee cups and setting suns
In every corner of my life
You still are there with all your signs
Teaching me the language of our love

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Character: 67/100

The Chef: The Taste of Love

To you my darling ginger skin
I cast myself into the sifting flour
And as I sprinkle on your top
I’m churned into a buttery sauce
And melt across your naked chest
Sugar-coating every inch I conquer
With my splendid taste
Enchanted by your gracious self
I lose my presence in your eyes
And fumble all existence in your arms

A simple smile can keep my belly full
A naked laugh, a feast to feed the world
With you I push the limits of my mind
Towards sensations far beyond my recipes
For you I carve my heart with smiles
And marinate my soul with happiness
And even naked pheasants
Cooked on gentle fires
Would cherish every ounce of pain
Knowing that you will be served
Their feathers plucked but their conviction strong
That they in turn would taste of love

But even oven clocks can’t keep the time
They seem to tick much faster than we’d like
Our moments simmer, burning fast
Its too intense
Between the char of what we have
I cannot reproduce the taste of love
With all your tears and sobbing on my mind
I dine on banal meals and serve my hate instead
For man was never meant to taste
The bittersweet melancholy of love

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Character: 64/100

The Plumber: When Marriage Goes Down the Shitter

Sliding through this life
Just like a wedding ring
Lost in bathroom pipes
Swimming in another world
In dungeons of distress
I reach for nuts and bolts
To crank the toilet open
Beyond her stinking shit
Beyond the smell of treachery
I’m here to find a lie
Soaked in monogamy
A faucet with no water
A bathtub with no pressure
A sink forever clogged
Until another man is called
To do the trick

I’m here on my own terms
I follow pipes wherever they may lead
Closet augers, a basin wrench and snakes
My life just like a public toilet seat
To every ass in town
That thinks they know me and so judge
But let me say this now
I make the water run
And in so doing
Bring life to every corner of this world
A knight in shining armor
Against the callous crumbs of yesterday

I need to find this ring
Or else it’s surely over
In pipes and toilet seats
So much truth
A marriage lost
In the shit
Flushed down the gutters
Without a tool in sight
Only a feeble plunger
That sticks to our behinds
A marking of our failure
A testament to our lies
The punch line clear
Or so I realize
When marriage down the shitter goes
A plumber can’t advise!

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Character: 61/100

The Subway Driver: Praise be to my Name

Tunnels dark
A metro line so thin
Ripping through the void
Empty from within
The midnight train is shouting
Last stop to Neverland!
A journey most appalling
I steer it with my hand

Colored lines on empty maps
Intertwined telling stories of the past
Of how a city came of age
Of how a vengeful lover disappeared
Into a crowd beneath the ground
I could not follow
Time for me is still
No past no future between these colored lines
I’m cursed to watch them parting ways
Between the platform and the train
Only the present counts
I have to be on time
And see progression in my cage

Without my carriages
Without these colored lines
The world would lose direction
No order can be made
No love can be sustained
And time would fall apart
The world into a chaos made
And I’m the one to blame

A silent saint never to be known
I stitch and stitch your life together
I plough through these dark caves
I’m crucified with my pay
Without a face, without a glimpse of fame
You’re mine when you’re aboard
So when you hear that call to mind the gap
Be sure to praise my name!
You better praise my name!

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Character: 60/100

The Drunkard: Odyssey of my Absinthe

In absinthe towers I lose myself to cheers
Between the dismal monuments of pain
I march along the plank of human fear
Towards convictions nested in my brain

With bottles full of magic rum I fly
Beyond the suffering of everyday
I glide towards the hills where I reside
In lands of sexual debauchery

A futile glass, a futile soul in me
But so much spirit in this glass I see
In this sweet land
A word becomes a million lines
With ease I write the odyssey of my life
A feeling multiplied
And stretched across the universe
A thinned down sheath of porous cheese
For Jupiter to see

Convictions rise and fall
Just like the heroes of ancient times
Achilles healed only to his own heel
But sentiments of guilt do linger on
The only heroes old enough to save the day
Are all those spirits in my cup, I drink
We age together in breweries of dreams
Between the barely and yeast
We fight against the sentinels and beasts

When everything is lost in life
Why venture on another trip afar?
When here in absinthe towers atop the world
Shabby bars, one-dollar whores and glory
You live like kings and get to tell your story!

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Character: 59/100

The Party Animal: Fornication Nation

On disco floors
Blinking colored lights
Vintage glamour
Worn out edges on my Instamatic
In the nation of the night
Imagery does not abide by rules
And so the scene is akin to a dream
An orgy of desire in our minds
A masquerade of our emotions
A sexual frenzy covered up
Toned down by years of evolution
Modernized, commercialized
Served with champagne cocktails
Boasting breasts and silicon lies

We dance, we drink, we pop some pills
To fuse into the walls of shabby basements
To forget, as we evolve
We shed our daytime skin
And lose ourselves to rhythmic chants
Like ancient tribes in trance
Naked of our fears we dance
Pregnant with conviction towards the night
And all the promises it withholds

A ritual, a sacrifice by credit card
Swiped just like a guillotine
Cutting through our bank accounts
On alters of  bottled sexuality
We journey through collective satisfaction
And bathe in fountains bursting with seduction
With all the electronics and the bling
This all may seem some sort of other thing
But truth be told,
Not that very much has changed
Beyond the tweets about the ruck
A creature tagged for profile pics
Is still a creature longing for a fuck

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Character: 57/100

The Orphan: Stumbling Through My Life

I feel the snow
It falls
Atop my naked feet
Shattered by the cold
Bleeding with desire to be embraced
To journey across the world
To leave this place
One more step
One more adventure
Into the dark unknown
That I no longer fear
Where bitterness is hungry for a catch
Or so they say,
Snowflakes falling
Like there is no tomorrow
But here, there is no tomorrow anyway

Frostbites singing drunken songs
I escape
A pain that makes me carry on
I walk on shores of shattered glass
Where ice takes refuge by the sea
I cross the water to foreign lands
A change of mind, a renaissance
Flowers, shrubs and blades of grass
Play footsie with my fate
My temper bleeds towards the past
But heals with endless hope for what awaits

With roughened feet I trample on my fears
I’ve grown inside this house with all my peers
Just like these trees
There place is here
In forest’s tall and proud
Towards the sky
Between the clouds
Beyond the frostbites and the cold
I am a tree
My skinny toes like roots are cold from time
That passes through these somber woods
Never chosen, never loved
But watered by the rain forevermore

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Character: 56/100

The Tourist: When in Rome

In providence I see it all
Seated underneath a parapluie
Jagged alley ways bending through
My mind until horizons dawn
A sweet espresso and the taste of nicotine
I slowly melt into the canvas’ scene
Indulging appetites and fine cuisine
To top the magic of it all
A beauty queen is in my midst
Burning holes into the film
Of memory

I throw away my cameras
And set aside my fears and expectations
I live the now, just for some time
Before the thoughts of yesterday
Come knocking at my door
Before anticipation about tomorrow
Rips through my guts with anxious claws
I sit between the legs of foreign lands
Making love to my dreams
Giving birth to parallel realities
Just for some time

A picture’s colors fade away
The rainy days can make them blur
But as for this
This picture’s in my mind
Its vibrant colors shine my way
It’s time to go
I’m left with nothing, but to say
Thank you Rome for yet another day

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Character: 54/100

The Astrologer: My Prayers to the Sun

Magnificent sunrise
Speak to me the language of my dreams
Sing a song of ancient times
And let us fall together
Into the deepest slumber
Until our bodies feast
On banquets of eternal satisfaction

Joyous inferno
Splash your colors through my windowsill
Bleed me from my grief and tribulation
Light up every aspect of my life
Until my shadows and your rays unite
With every movement that I make
Your constant sunlight does not judge
It casts a thousand beams in my direction
And floods my heart with feelings of affection

Never loneliness shall I bequeath
Upon myself, with your gracious audience
Together we will shine
Forever and unplugged
From all the sorrows and the lies
Of present time and the past
In which we dwelled

Tell me of the future
A world in constant motion
Forged by raging fires bright
Illuminating the unforeseen
And shedding light on some eternal truth
To which I cling forevermore
In which I melt, and rise again
An enlightened being
Master of it all

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Character: 52/100
Dedicated to every bleeding soul

The Astronaut: Journey Through a Play-Doh Universe

Treasure hunts in our backyard
Tin foil hats, space ships and bubble gum
A million types of play-doh jarred
I’d pop the lids and start the fun
Shaping my own universe
With rules to break
I’d stay up late
Dreaming of those stars afar
And in the day
Staring at the sun until it hurts

Now I’m here above the world
There’s not much difference
The toys are bigger
Though bubble gum is not allowed
The play dough seems so real
I try to mold the world
It doesn’t budge

I’m here to do repairs
A few spare parts
Are in my goody bag
But there’s no party
There is no setting sail
Across the universe
There is no Captain Spock
I’m here on orders
Just like this big machine
A disenchanted astronaut
No room for fantasies in outer space
In this real world
You’re paid and trained
And then your dreams are drained

I wonder what they’d do
If I changed course
Towards the sun
To fill a flask with stardust and return
To sprinkle it across the earth
Until we burn
And melt into a children’s clay
Let it be known
In this tin-can where shadows play
Only with childish wisdom can we see
The contours of our true identity

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Character: 50/100

We are halfway to the target! Thanks to over 200 subscribers and followers!

The Farmer: Olive oil and Love

I miss you dearly
Just like I miss a summer breeze
That cools my body in times of heat
Just like the olive tree gives birth to oil
Only to miss its olives for a year
Our love has given birth to memories
But we have lost each other for some time
And with this vivid oil I cook my meals
And dine with your remembrance forevermore

I miss the tassels of your hair
I used to use them
To swing between your eyes
I’d slide my way to your sweet lips
And in their soft embrace we’d be reborn

I see you in the rain
It draws your name on windowsills
The windmill plays your favorite song
The shiny drops of water from the sky
They soak my feet and wake my inner-child
A humbling feeling that feels unfamiliar

But now you’re gone
And with you all the world has cleaved in two
And as our memories fade away
I tend to olive trees
And ask for clouds and rain
To keep alive the harvest of our love
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Character: 40/100

The Houskeeper: Pillows & Pigeon Shit

Love is a featherless pillow
It falls gently from the sky
Hits us hard when we’re asleep
But never wakes us

We’re lost in dreams
We travel the world
Ancient ruins and abandoned temples
We explore
Scavenge through the forests deep
Poke through the craters of distant caves
Shelves and drawers
Closets and some cupboards
We live a million years to share the stories

A gentle gaze from eyes so perfect
Bleach your soul with a feeling so divine
A humbling rumble in your guts
A sense of belonging that folds you into two
A sense of fitting
A sense of letting go
All packaged in a cushion cover

And every night as we wander in our dreams
We steal a feather from a bird
And bring it back with us as proof
Of our emotions so surreal

As time goes by the pillow grows
It’s stained from our adventures
It falls so blandly from the sky
Just like a drop of pigeon shit
It strikes us hard
Its blows are stronger by the hour

We begin to ache
We begin to hurt
We carry on
Until the feathers packed so hard
Once a symbol of our own freedom
Become the instruments
Of our own demise
And so in truth I finally see
I’m not desired anymore
A house to keep I cannot keep
My heart’s no longer welcome

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The Sociologist: The Story of Life

Man looking for his hunt
Great ideas on his mind
Or maybe even
Doors guide him to be blunt
Doorknobs try to turn his mind
Twisting motives and bending time

Woman looking for her hunt
Great ideas on her mind
Or maybe even
Keyholes waiting at her front
Roses pushing from behind

In spite of it all
The door will never find,
The knob
The knob will never find,
The whole
Bluntness, twisting rosy bushes all absurd
A circular motion that leads to where you start

The true self will forever be in thirst
Forever longing for desire
And only in the midst of love
Can we be made numb of our curse
An internal tendency to self-implode

Between destruction and the awe
A line so thin does separate,
The greatest tread along its path
” And until death do us part”
The end

The Composer: Hopscotch

Let’s play around a bit
Shall we?
I’ll start to hum and you can follow
A gentle melody that takes us back
Towards those days
When everything was simple
A kiss, a smile, a flower
Planted beneath your pillow
No longer does the trick

And in this spirit
Pleasing my own mental state
Of nothingness, I’m afraid
Is by no means an attempt to become whole
Or better yet
Disenfranchised from the unforeseen
But rather more a rambling of creativity
That emanates from my deepest scores
Of eternal remorse and bigotry
And on these lines
My life is nothing but a symphony

Plucking at the tune for all to watch
Is not an easy task
Tweaking it to please their modern taste
Planting it with melody and chimes
My symphony and I are just so out of place
We’d rather play a hopscotch game with planets
Then sit here every night
Between the deaf and dumb

And in the skies where stars are dazzling
We jump from rock to rock
Giggling on the way at our own carelessness
To those we tread upon so recklessly
We shake worlds, lives, billions of people
But we still play and lightly tread along the path
In our own time
For our own reasons
And forevermore

The Rockstar: Kingdom of Magic Pills

Distorted sounds are slicing through the wind
On overdrive guitars have much to say
I speak distortedly, I yell, I cry
My melodies they screech
The mobs of people in a state of trance
My temple of emotions is complete

Throughout the concert I deliver more
I push myself beyond the kind unseen
I go to places that we hide away
I take my subjects with me on the way
And in that dark adventure we embrace
A hedonistic haze and bathe in flesh

When social boundaries have disappeared
What’s left in us is everything but fear
A mob so liberated it can perform
Its own distorted melodies, with its own strings
And as they pluck there way to ecstasy
The strings break from the shaft and they are free
Towards collectiveness that does transcend
The feeble boundaries of socialistic ends

In concert of the pleasures so to speak
The masses gather round in merriment
The sex the drugs the rock’n’roll
Mixed with the magic pills we take
Makes objects in a constant state of change
And as each morphs the night into their dreams
I die a little more from all the strain
I am a martyr of their hidden needs
Rock on!
With armies made of colored pills
I am the king of Babylon indeed

The Sexaholic: New Year’s Bang

Crickets creeping through my mind
Cracking like a pacman in a maze
Scratching on the lining of my face
Breaking into deep and solemn thoughts
Hatching wild ideas from within
Playing with the wiring of my ideals
Readjusting time and the dimensions
Flying through the space between my ears
Suited up like astronauts, equipped
To ravage through the craters of my brain

I lend a smile and then extend my wrath
I paint myself then cry myself to sleep
I fuck a random stranger to forget
Rockets fired all throughout the night
Counting down for takeoff every evening
I pace myself until it feels just right
Blast off always puts me on the edge
Floating in an endless hyperspace
Peering at the cosmos from my windowsill
A countdown starts, I see it on the screen!

Times Square is full of people on New Year’s eve
Waiting for a show of something nice
Waiting for some answers, for some love
Peering at my launchpad up above
And as the ticker slowly loses numbers
My head prepares for blast off and beyond
The clock strikes twelve
A “Happy New Year’s” roars out loud
I reach towards my glock and make a sound

The Lumberjack: Psalms and Spanish Matadors

Splinters
Across my palms they reign
No need for psalms in lands of fury
The cold will not forget your flesh
And so we sacrifice a log or two
Atop this fire burning every night
We pray for life and as the fire dies
We sit and watch the moon so bright
We join its crescent to become full

And as the snow descends
We use its flakes
To weave a story that warms our hearts
We speak of love, we speak of  hope
But all is lost to this cold night
Her skin is chapped
Her hands are blue
Her hair no longer waving in the wind
She does not smile
Instead she gives a solemn stare
Into the dark abyss she pierces through
Towards a world of everlasting sun

And as I toil to keep her warm
I wage a war against the universe
One bearded man, one ax, one soul
Against the greater awe that bounds us all

I stab into the forest hard
To steal some life for her to have
A Spanish knight against the mills of change
I fight and fall then rise and fight again
One eye upon the dying flame
Another on the endless woods of hope

Let every splinter in my flesh
Cry out to her magnificence
And after all the forests of the land
I’ll set myself ablaze to save her life

The Watchmaker: End of Year Blues

And so the year comes to an end
The clockwork breaks
Nuts and bolts flying through the air
A piece of my soul caught between the dials
Pulling down to stop the world
The clockwork crumbles
Into a million pieces
Its pendulum is tired
Its chimes are faint and muffled
Its watches on the hands of many passersby
Explode into a million numbers
As my hands shiver and my eyes squint
So many years I’ve kept the time
And in so doing I have lost
My time
And as the New Year ushers in
With blessings many
I rally in the cold to make it home
A shabby little cottage on the hill
Alone and empty from within
I sit beside the fire for a while
Tonight my clock will strike for one last time
And history will fade into my grave
Who will tell the time when I am gone?
Who will keep the knobs well screwed and ticking?
Another peddler on the street will take my place
Like an old engraving I fade away
I never was entitled to my own watch

The Convict: Cancer Cells

Thank you
Thank you for everything you have given me
A life with many blessings
The fruit of your hard work
You travelled the world in search of success
And the world failed you
You gave back with all your heart
And people failed you
You were faithful to a cause
And that cause failed you
Even me your son
I’ve failed you
I’ve failed to show you how I feel
To show you the love that you deserve
I’ve failed to get to know you better
I’ve failed you in so many ways

And now they tell me
You may have to go
I understand
But I’m not ready
Even with news like this
I’m helpless and unable
To use what little time I have
So much, there is, that’s to be done
And so much to make up for
That trying seems a useless task
Even your dying fails you

I want to dip my heart in fruit
My mind in sweetened butter
I want to melt into a jam
And spread myself
Across the timeline of our lives
I want to stick
And be a part of every memory

So many wars you’ve fought
And now’s the time to fight again
In life or death we all can find a win
It just depends on what we’re looking for
What makes me sad is that I know
You always looked beyond yourself
And made us more of what we are today
So if you pass, a piece of us will disappear
Forgive me dad
I love you
But you’re alone

The Eskimo: Arctic Mantra

In my igloo
I am free
Alone, but rich in contemplation
Bare-fated but secure
In this arctic tundra
This world does not forgo
Those who dwell
In love’s warming presence

Close them
Seal the lids forever
Be in darkness
Be the darkness in your eyes

Undress yourself
Embrace your worries
Embrace your fears
And jump into the icy sea
Sink towards the core of your existence
And let go forever of all the weight

Open up and breathe
Breathe deep and long
Allow the bits of ice to fill your lungs
Look towards that distant meadow
Feel the grass field’s tickle
Trapped between the ice
But alive

Play along with time
But always know
That time does not define your life
Your actions now, reverberate
Throughout the universe forevermore

Rise again
Cold, naked, drenched in water and alone
But free
Free from pain
Free from meaning
Beyond what is right and wrong
You build an igloo
In this cold barren world
And live like me
An immortal Eskimo
In the kingdom of tundra
We are all free

Magic Candy – Adventures of the Pothead

I’m afraid of the journey
And what awaits me there
At my ever fleeting destination
The more I come close
The more it escapes my reach
An astronaut of time
Without a proper mission
A chartered plane
Without a strip to land
An IPod on repeat
Until my battery dies

And so I fall
Through the skies
In my mind
Light as a feather
Shining in the darkness of despair
Hopeful for a breeze of kindness
In this never ending night
And when I reach the bottom
The abyss of my desires
The core of my sensuality
I float up again
A soap bubble
Squeaky clean
But fragile with no orientation
Reflecting all that is around me
I pop a million times
And shatter into the air

I fall
To become one again
To become one with reality
To face my fears
I share my bed with them
And in the morning
We bequeath a child
A creature so beautiful
Lining the fringe of my imagination
Like tassels dangling loose from high above
I grab on tight
And climb again towards the heavens

I graze my hand into the universe
I break the curtain in the sky
Loads of candy pouring on my face
I quickly fill my pockets and escape
I run back home to serve this magic candy
Creased with stardust and eternal love
I bake a cake and eat away
I float again into the space between my eyes
Another empty journey
Another fleeting destination
Forever
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Character: 30/100

Narcotic Love – A Journey in the mind of the Scriptwriter

Rings of smoke
Flying through the air
A whiskey flavor lingers in my mouth
My beard is coarse
My feet inside some random slippers rest
The bathrobe on the side
Stows her smell
We pose afront a warming fireplace
The cracking of a vinyl melody
Makes perfect tone for such a rainy night

If only she were mine,
I’d have her here with me
On top my desk
Instead of books and pens
I’d read her body
A million fantasies to be told
Legs apart
From head to toes
So soft and thin
Damp and soggy from the rain
I’d study her from within
A million lessons to be learned
From heart to soul
So pure and kind
Untouched by all the evil in this world

If only she were here,
I’d help her hang her furry coat
Set aside her necklace made of pearls
Untie the ribbon on her hair
Unbuckle her vest and reach towards her skin
I’d peel her from her covering
Like chocolate from a wrap
I’d melt her on my chest and arms
And pour us both into a flask
Until we dry across the fireplace
We harden in a soft embrace

I’d lay with her
Under the rain
Alone and complete
Without shame
Like children again
We wash and play
Nothing is more truthful than the rain

If only she could stay,
I’d set her on my bed
A thousand pages with its sheets I’d write
A thousand rainy nights
To quench our thirst
And when the dawn breaks with its light
We’d morph into a summer haze
The smoke, the scotch, my prickly beard
My reading glasses, my books, my pens
They never mattered
And so I lose again

Empty Savannas – Inside the heart of the Swahili Hunter

It hurts
To think
To speak
To feel
To love

An everlasting winter in my heart
The fields are bare
The land is dark
The ants have been in hiding for quite a while
The birds have left with no return
The wind is cold and dry
The world is dark
Lions hungry staring at the time
Waiting for a catch
Waiting for a breath of life

It hurts
The hunger
The longing
The anticipation

And as I skin myself to feed
The world I live in
Sheath by sheath I lose myself
To malice, hatred and intimidation
I paint my cheeks with strokes of blood
A hunter ready to provide
Willing to set forth on an expedition
To hunt himself
With pointy spikes
To burn himself
Atop a blazing bonfire
To serve himself
To loved ones, friends and family

An unreciprocated intimacy
Resides in these parts of the land
They take and give nothing in return
They poach and steal
From my lagoon of ever-giving love
They drink themselves to sleep
And I grow thirstier with every sip

I wonder when the day will come
When the world will notice
How skinless I have been made
How naked I am to the unforeseen
How weak I have become by my own decree

I spread a sheath of flesh into the air
I point it towards the sun
And I stare
A glare of pinkish red lights my face
At last, some color in this barren place

Castles in the Sand – Journey of the Mystic Voyager

Now is the time
It is the present
It is the gift
And between the smears
The smudges of my sundial
Sketched on the sand
I dance, burning my feet
As the sun pours in its time
And with my toes I carve a new beginning
A new device that only points to now
A compass that I use to venture forward
Towards the frontiers of that which is unknown

And no fear shall I know inside me
Of failure, restlessness, or demise
For I live now
I am transparent
The cosmic rays of time
Can never shape me
I am fluid
I take the shape of whatever life gives me
I am dense
With love and knowledge and eternal forgiveness

I sit atop this cauldron boiling
My legs apart
Sexless and alone
Afraid to dive inside
A vehicle that will take me somewhere else
A land where time has lost its meaning
A land where people don’t have form
A land where thoughts can replicate like cancer
And swarm towards the borders of the obscene

And when I’ve burned
Atop this mystic sundial on the sand
I join the yellow grains below my feet
My dance of liberation has left a mark
I am a castle sculpted on the sandy shores
Between the mussels and the clams
I am queen
And what else do I need!

Blindfolds and Coffee Mugs – The Blind Boy’s First Love

When in doubt
I think of beauty

The lashes of her eyes
Scratching at my chest
As we wait in silence
Clutching in our sleep
For the sun to rise
Awake and fulfilled
Beyond desires of the flesh

Her smile
Displaces the air around the room
Her wavy hair
Like sandy reefs
I weave myself into their cool embrace
Her fingertips
Adjust my collar
Mixed with the scent of coffee brew
Her perfumed skin
So soft as she caresses me
Her cold chapped lips
Melt as she sips my coffee from the cup

A smile
A breeze of air
A silence in the lover’s midst
A sin so small
A blushing shame
Innocence
Beyond conception
And every day, I think

I am free
From all anger
From all rage and retribution
From the toil of observation
So mechanic and controlled

I am one
With that overarching eye
Of wisdom to which our souls cling
On which we melt like butter on a pan
With which we age like ancient wine
And squeeze into a gentle juice
We spin on top a gentle blaze
Sit beside the moss at sea
And serve ourselves as dinner
On the plate of everlasting joy

I am liberated
From sight
With her the whole world disappears
And all that remains
Are shadows of a poltergeist
That moves my heart
Towards my inner self
Peels rainbows apart
And wraps my soul with vivid strings

I am blind

The Captain: Kingdom of the Undersea

I seep between the crevices of its wall
A boat that cleaves entirety from beyond
And as I drop in ecstacy my fall
Becomes the story of a hidden pond

My waters span the shores of separate worlds
A journey that not many dare to make
A boat may sink its boughs may be unfurled
But drops of water really stand a break

Life is a journey between a place of love
Towards the shores of unsurmounted awe
And so the storms that reign us from above
Send waves to purge our souls from inner flaw

In hope of landing on that other place
I will not bail, towards my fate I race

Emancipation Nation – In the Bedroom of the Female Activist

Sheets of cloth
Wrapped around
The layers of my world
Alone with warming covers
Alone in peace forever
This is my nation

My bedroom, an eternal sanctuary
Stands strong in the face of time
In the face of all those voices
That hang behind its door

And what of love
What of work
What of life itself?
There is no failure in my shrine
Pieces of my soul
Are soaked in wine
Prospects of my future
Are shadows on my wall
I dance alone
And make the whole world shake

I cling to what I have
My body perfect and untouched
Will never leave me
And so in my nakedness
I am liberated from fear

My eyes, they’re closed
I spin myself into a mystic dream
I see a world with colors bright
With hope and love and endless joy
With passion, without fear

The choices all around me
I cannot think, I cannot feel
Beyond the comfort of my bed
I do not know where truth resides

A princess in my own abode
But slaved to hunger beyond these walls
I march along
In search of truth
In search of passion
In search of emancipation
An incomplete happiness
That fills my heart
But leaves my mind and soul
In thirst

And so alone at night
I drink myself to sleep
To quench my inner cravings
To ease my mind and free my soul
To rise above the social chatter
To become
What I am destined to be
A shooting star
And nothing less
Although I’m racing towards my end
I race towards it in endless glamour

Eternal Orgasm – A night in the mind of the Gravedigger

Your eyes are gazing
Straight ahead
You cannot see me
As I watch
I wonder what you’re thinking of
I wonder how you feel
And as I sip your fruity wine
I drift into a foggy haze
The sun is peaking through the window sill
The morning cold, but here inside
Our warmth is endless
A fireplace to dry our soaking souls
I reach towards your shining self
I take a piece of life to break my fast
The sun is seeping in some more
As we lay here without a single word
What’s to be said when feelings are complete?
Where should we go when we have been so far?
And as the sun sets the room gets dark
We clutch together naked and alone
We hear the rain pour on the meadow
We hear the gates slam, we light some candles
We melt into each other
We melt into the moment
One with it all
The rain, the sun, the light the dark
The passing time
Is no constraint
To our connection
As long as I can keep
The flowers fresh
The stone on top will never be
That of a tomb
But rather a foundation
For our endless love
Let’s rest in peace
Here and now
That’s what this place is for
A sanctuary of eternal truth
A field where love is planted
And as the days go by
I watch you grow
So gracefully
And I rejoice

The Feathered Bitch – A Stroll with the Divorced Pigeon-Keeper

A soothing humming sound so soft
Is all I need to make my day
I am the ground they tread upon
The feathers on their wings
The lentil eyes into their soul
I am the seasons they obey

They gather in their thousand hordes
And probe around my hands
Their seeds seep down along the path
That guides me on my way

And when they leave they will return
For nature has its course
You sow a seed into their mouths
You cannot reap remorse
But when it comes to human kind
The story must diverge
You sow a seed into her womb
She asks for a divorce

I wander through the streets all day
Enlightened and confined
In my own inner agony
Much room to feel refined
Why can’t we all be like these birds?
No worries or concerns
They live from what the world can give
They’re loyal in return
They’re breasts are eaten all the time
Although they need to burn
I’d rather have a breast well-done
Than have to take my turn
I’d rather eat them stuffed with rice
Than filled with botox churn

And so she flies across the world
And leaves behind her eggs
She nests atop this asshole’s bed
Who makes her spread her legs
And soon enough she calls me back
To tell me she’s in love
I would’ve loved to hear her chirp
That bitch is not a dove

And even if I take some drugs
To blur this little line
A bird that migrates does come back
The message is quite fine
I’m better of with my new find
I feed them every day
They’ll keep on coming back for more
As long as I can pay
I thank the world for showing me
That nothing is for free

I guess she needs to feather up
And try to flap her wings
Or better yet as a head start
I’ll drop her off that tree!

Requiem for a Nation – Inside the mind of the Suicide Bomber

I’m heading towards my target point
A button in my palm
And when I choose to detonate
The world will hear my bomb
I’ve lost my parents to a boom
My children to a bang
My one and only love was killed
But yet I keep my calm

This land right here below my feet
Has drank my blood and sweat
The thrill of fighting floats
Like fog across its fields
A misty drug that seeps into the minds
To ease the toil of tyranny

And so we’ve fought for such a time
And so much has been lost
To think that gaining dignity
Is pieced inside a piece of land
To think that freedom
Is somehow hidden in the dirt
What of the dignity of those who died
Alone and helpless and in a fearful state
What of the freedom of us to love
Our enemies that do not to choose to fight
And in a cyber age where man can move
Why is this land still paramount?

As I approach
My finger gives the final click
The world into a million pieces rips
The colors mix, a glimpse of heaven gives a flash

I see so many flying smiles
A school bus in the air
The lover waiting at the corner
Is no longer there

And in my endless bag of fury
I spread my vengeance in a seed
My bomb delivers more than just a bang
I plant my grief into their lives
Tomorrow they will strike again
Tomorrow another million pieces will emerge
There are so many pieces that can tear

And as I melt inside this raging fire
My soul is welded with all the shattered hearts
I understand
We fight and lose each other
But if we submit
Oppression’s toll is too hard to bear
Maybe we should all just gather
In one big blast
Together
Once and for all
Ripping the final pieces of this puzzle
A masterpiece of free-will
And forever hold your peace

Locusts – In the Darkroom of the Amateur Photographer

Flickering wings, a carpet flying far away
With strings of creatures woven in between
I see it drifting towards me
And hear the roaring of a million tiny pendulums
Cracking at each other’s sides forevermore
I take a shot.

Soon enough the sun is covered with a hive
And all the colors seem to fade away
The things we used to do to feel alive
Have lost their taste as these vile creatures
Feast on what remains from yesterday
I shoot again.

With forward looking sentiments
We forget the now
And live in worlds constructed from our fears
The world we’re forced to dwell in soon becomes
The very world of fears we sought to clear
Another click.

The locusts rally, the trumpets sound
And battle drums are pounded
The colors of the sun have gone away
And with it all the warmth has been disguised
Alone afraid in this dark room
I hold on to what little light I have left
A few pictures from yesterday
Over exposed and blurry
Bits and pieces of my mind
Crumble as I hide
The locusts eat away

And as our memories are devoured
I light a fire naked and alone
Throwing in the final batch of pictures
Fearing what will happen
When the light goes out
I take one final shot.

Operation Infinity – Last Minutes of the Cancer Patient

My heart is a bottomless cup
So let us drink forever
The elixir of life
As it is poured in
Without discrimination

And as our lips make way
To take a sip
An awakening silence falls
The clock does shatter many times
And in its lack of ticking hours fly

Our eyes black holes, like owls gaze
Towards a fire in a cave
We chant a song from long ago
We dance atop the rocky floor
A trance befalls upon us and the snow
Is whiter than the darkness of this room

But there in the distance a shining light
Dragging closer towards our souls
We leap inside the ball of fire
We lose our shape we melt we burn
A scorching pain
With no return

And afterwards we re-emerge
A beam of light we are shot
In every direction
Illuminating the darkness with our arrival
And being darkened by our illumination
We fuse with cricket’s pines and leaves afloat
We fuse with mountains forests and oceans blue
We fuse with planets stars and galaxies
We fuse with everything that can exist
We fuse with time and live forevermore
And deep inside the fabric of it all
We rest and gaze towards an endless wisdom

To think that such a state of mind
Is bottled in my puny heart
I sign the right to give away
But so much in return I shall receive

I smile as they operate
A pain that lines the road to awe
Soon I will leave
Don’t cry for me
I will be busy
There is so much to see
There is so much to learn
And there is so much to be done

In Search of Paradise – Journey of the Restless Soul

In anticipation of that night
Where two souls meet and fly away
Towards another land
In which the morning grass
Bathes with the dew
And birds are singing songs of endless joy

Towards a place where fear has no conception
Inside the minds of those who run and play
Like children nude, they know no shame
Although their inner cravings are fulfilled

And when the morning sun casts its first ray
Across the fields of grass, a million times
An intimate relation is revealed
That fear of obligation once concealed

Connecting with the greater awe
Through bridges made of flesh
Revealing one’s own inner sense of fear
A bareness that cannot be covered up
Transgressing what we’re taught to think
And leaping towards our heart’s desires
That is the way towards that land
My pathway towards a paradise

I reach towards the dampened soil
A handful of memories trickle through my fingers
They make a heap across the floor
A castle of my inner jubilation

And as I lose myself in hills and valleys
I can see
That there is no perdition in this land
For death does not exist amongst
Those who can live for evermore

The grass the dew
The singing songs of birds
The children playing nude and so fulfilled
The wind the trees the valleys green
The sun the dampened soil and the hills
They cannot pass towards another world
For they are the world and with them
I am complete