From poetic conjunctions


From poetic conjunctions

I’ve tried to avoid
Beautiful imagery
That is not the soul of poetry
I’ve tasted the renaissance

Underwater, in the surrealism
Of the meaning of existence
Poetry came, like the spring
When the medieval town began

To unfreeze, and all of history
Recollected itself in art
In the copying of our shut eyes
The silver imitations of golden ages


I’ve tried to avoid repeating myself
But poetry is a dialogue with itself
A vertical path to a comic
Music that never truly dies

But is reborn, ideas transported
Encoded in phrases pleasant
To the ears, I’ve tried to avoid rhyming
And the stars were shinning

In the ornaments and decorations
Of so many beautiful minds
I found orphan asylums articulate
With God’s mystery and evolution’s

Garlands rescued in the puzzle of the dance
What you meant by lasting?
A mysticism in the frank approval of poems.

Double dream of spring


Double dream of spring

In march I had a double dream of spring
Like a painting infused in my waking moments
I felt an immense hope that

All the sacrifice of ancestors might come
To something in me, like
A new beginnings or so many phrases
That resulted in a compact language


Flowers somehow resembled
Galaxies and for a moment
I throbbed with the secret

Sweetness of life, there where
The sun begins to cut laterally
Across years like a Godlike figure
And possessing an imagination


He leads me to dream about the future
Spring was a metaphor for change
And I wanted to badly to change

That I would eat the fruit of
The transformation and feel
April’s rain down my cheeks
For flowers of May and ideas
In June, which would change the world.