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Congratulations on the QUE
1 min read
So, first thing in the morning, I am taking a small break from work and here comes 
to congratulate me on a DD.
to congratulate me on a DD.¿PeRdÓn?
Mad thanks to the compadre 
for the feature
for the feature aaaaaand excuse me while I proceed to not squeal out loud.
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Virgen del agarradero!
1 min read
So I was going to ask why the sudden influx of commments and the like on a particular poem of mine....
It´s all thanks to
And now excuse me because I have something in my ey-
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To that Anonymous...
1 min read
Oi, whoever gave me that Free Month...
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So this morning, first thing I read was a very nice comment by 
on a slightly forgotten piece of mine, two faves on it...
on a slightly forgotten piece of mine, two faves on it...and then I wonder, wait, that is odd, why are people faving this thing?
Then I check out my notifications again
and bam
a DD by
I..need to sit down...
(Edit: and 
want to feature it on their page 
)
want to feature it on their page )(Edit Número Dos: Actually, :iconxIntwtch: only suggested it, and it was 
who featured it. Still, thanks to both of you)
who featured it. Still, thanks to both of you)Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
Another year, another NaPo done
16 min read
A round of applause to all the fine people who made this another NaPoWriMo full of excellent poems to read!
Thanks as always
!
![]()
Thanks as always
!The ballerina of the garden(1/30)Ballerina ballerina, always skittering above all flowers, never
under; ballerina ballerina, always announcing
the times where the rains have stopped
their haunting of the skies with your flutter
embracing and hugging the sparkles of all leaves,
resting when the lights of garden have
fallen down and the great projector is down for the night
like all the audiences, to your own camerino
you have retreated when the theatre is turning towards the day´s dark.
Summer(2/30)City, a lazy
cat, so satisfied,alone
all humans away.
Freedom, let your coat loose(3/30)Stretch and elongate
and spur onwards on
your length, ¡Pedestrian!
The sun is wide, elasticized
up
there in the
fading skies, un
caring of the stutters
the boring plans
of the aspiring
one-upper
lady who wants to show -oof!-
off to the corral hens of gossip
she assumes friends
drop a point.Like that,
seek the pace, look for the
cesure, the caesar´s croutons
on thediscourse,
and let them
comensals
speechless
unde
r
their tongues and
critiques;
the hour is vast
vast and ample
so is the scent of the
blonde of smiling crinkles
in her eyes
are her perfume
jogs along
the mental jot
down of
the last moment
of joy
that you
flee
the pride
of one
who pats herself in the back
after licking
a leave
lunch
served in a leaf
and
callled it a lunch
-or perhaps
it was another
who called the same
a poem-
but
never
the
less
the most
was made
as we
cradle the sofa
and proceed to flap
the shirt´s unders,
a proud flight
that started
with an elongated word
a leapt phrase
an impelled discoursed
No Easter here (4/30)No Easter here, none either there,
Sorry for the useless eggs, friend bunny
No easter is such a sad affair,
Very grim affair indeed, not funny
at all, furry fellow, to toil and toil
and hop and sweat, it sets to boil
a temper, to waste so much work
and effort, why, even makes one berserk
No Easter here to find, no belief
no luck no portent, not even in a cloverleaf
nor a lettuce not even that to chew,
and scowl at your eggs;not even to stew
and fume, teeth tense and chittering
taut and grumbling, tense and embitterned
For No Easter to be found here or there.
The silent weekend(5/30)A slent weekend;
no calls, no dates, none!
oh joy! so much peace
calm nerves, so relaxed, yes,
nothing to make one curse aloud.
That day of sun (6/30)Much light
jog along jog
alone, alone and free
no need to flee, the sun is warm
like me!
Dynamite(7/30)Explode
Hot air
cracking,booming,bursting
the hiss ended,the air was light
dusty,powderlike,darkened,
inert,neutral
dynamite.
The warm page the closed door(8/30)The closed door,closed world,
world away, problems away,
no bother, no blackmailing,
four walls of my own,
at least, two things of my own
Shower joys(9/30)Splash
Unabash
Smash
Backlash
Waters´ splash, total unabash
All griefs get a smash, no one backlash
Let the accounts talk(10/30)Express myself? Who would want to express
himself, herself, in these times of much stress,
times of black humor, a mood to repress,
claws in your guts no way to decompress
your fingers? none in your money, your head blank:
who would? no money, ever, will be yours,
be thankful for that, money? bad. speak frank,
the gurus would glad, they preach it´s the worst
grimchain to life, but we own nothing,coarse,
bitter and hungry, but grateful?, of course
not!, the home sharks would decry and denounce
our crooked, scrooged hearts,rally and mutin and announce
our blackness of character; a rally to gospel
and cleanse us of our money, something awful!
Serotonin(11/30)Feeling? These days? Too busy
trying to calm the feelings of the stomach
and the starving wallet
who is feeling no giddy
about the hands, so grabby and huffy and all you wanna call it
because of their authority
and their comfortable fingers, always greasy
as we stress over our pittance, they comfortably hammock.
The missed joyous years (12/30)It was all about daydreams:
California!
The shining city in the videos!
Earn all the coins
by rhyming pens and enthusiasms
and gushing to it about Godmother
and gushing to it over emails
to all the friends who already had plans
to leap away from the families!
We would be thoughtful, wise and knowing-
or appear so,
in the photos of the published covers
and proudly show it to sister!
-who would, indeed know we considered her as such!-
We would spend daybreaks
after parties of galloping debauchery
drunk guitarmen playing Cuban sones
and even drunker poets
improvising lyrics
we would never remember again;
a wink here and there,
our smiles bubbling with joy
as the friends of our friends
would use the couches as wingmen
to showcase how they desired us
and for us it would be a grail of joys
and the next morning,
hangover with poetry and hugging kisses
tender like a sister cradling us,
we would not care over the creaky rhymeress
who wanted to pass as a college teacher;
we daydreamed of inks bl
They did not carry the wind(13/30) From tree to tree they did not carry the wind.
No daylight came when they decided to rise up,
only the curse of all drivers when the left their dwelling behind
only the suspicion of all walkers, craning their necks up.
No daylight came when they decided to rise up,
no joy they brought to this gray morning, miser as a tired worker with puny pay,
only the suspicion of all walkers, craning their necks up.
Time to frown, regard every white graffitti on the world with dread.
no joy they brought to this gray morning, miser as a tired worker with puny pay,
weary as a jobless, whom froths over the money the affluents hold as a leash to sway.
Time to frown, regard every white graffitti on the world with dread,
for the rascals on feathers came to ruin the surfaces of this day.
Weary as a jobless, whom froths over the money the affluents hold as a leash to sway,
only the curse of all drivers when the left their dwelling behind,
for the rascals on feathers came to ruin the surfac
Three in the morning(14/30)Drunk
with poets
after class
being eighteen
the bars bloom and life shines
at last-thrills of future freshmanity-
hobos outside
cellphone rings
mother nags
Hell!
The hunt for a job(15/30)In these days, there is no capricious rock,
sysyphean rock,
that fancies undoing your sweat and mute wails
as she flees away from your bent hands and broken back;
these days,
you get a smiling interview,
anaesthetic pats on the back,
warm coffee,
and the promise of a call back
that never comes.
A pastoral of my city(16/30)Up you go,
trobaudours of the clogging diesel
and the flaming pavement!
There is no Cloris
nor Lisi
to ode about
no blooming bucolic
woes to sniff and huff about!
It´s just the stench
of the unpicked garbage cans
and the howling riots
of the frothing neighbours
that want to maul
a major that
is not here!
The lively shadow(17/30)In this city
where lfe stops at four
because rains cancel all afternoons
my dark twin
never suffers
when the authority blackmails
dangling the salary whenever
we try to insert a free will in the budget;
a sharp fellow, that one,
never had to suffer
when we lost all our elementary books
or when all the bytes
poofed our years of trying to fill
the pit of our life with saliva
transmuted into keywords,
nah, he remembers from the very first verse
to the last.
Even charming,
he saw the face of the drunken housewife
who fled the sharp palm of the husband
and used all the New Year´s pantry
to numb our pants
and escape,
for a time,
the yelled fist-
he saw her face
as she hugged him,
not me
as her kisses tasted like
our boxers;
a total brother,
at every ecretary that was a diplomat
rejecting our thousandths of pleas
for work
he earned hidden checks
that no poet will dever be able to imagine;
(made them laugh with flawlessly placed quips, too!)
so elastic, never has felt
the joints
To furnish a dream(18/30)Once,
when the will was clear
and the enthusiasm was smooth
and the printed inks did soothe
and scare away the urge
to use the void of a window as a
downwards plane,
we dreamt of a fertile work:
to plant the pen´s saliva
in the mild dark
of a lazy lamp
and an encouraging margin
and harvest checks
and harvest a life
and harvest a peace.
Once,
but Life and Truth
are inexorable bulllets
aiming straight
to your dream´s spine.
The wail that comes out of the walls(19/30)We once asked about the mother,
we once asked where was the mother
when the soft wails came
in the morning.
The neighbours, enraged,
called on all the doors
for the irresponsible parents
to soothe the child.
Apparently all the parents,
where outside in the midafternoon
because even the sun became orange
and the afterschool kids
whined
when the wail without vowels
went through all the apartaments.
The housewives blasted
at full volume their turkish soap operas
and the men of the house knew nothing
because they were too busy staying
until the night
to notice anything to complain about
to the parents that tred to calm
both the neighbours
and the scared children.
I kept to my high apartament
mildly shivering when the wind
kept on wailing like an odd child;
until the elderly mother
the mother with no present children
nor husband
woke up the neighbourhood at two a.m
in a scream
because
the vowel less wail
the wail without a face and owner
came
from her
very alone
bedroom.
Smudged alley(20/30)There is a creaking destruction,
silently marching like a
beautiful martian,
in the sleepy wickets
where not even
the gossiping housewives
will greet out
the lazy weekends
with their babbling fans.
The lines have
zoomed out
out of the silence
of the looming houses
and only the lamppost,
only calmness
in the tension of the sepia
impassive watches
the blurred bridge.
The server(21/30)Uncorked from their
guinean winery of green,
the aplomb and swannery
of the sittella
haved served a photo
in the glasses
of the flash.
When you leave(22/30)When you leave,
sweep under the rug,
like everyone else
the patsy wildcard
that you used
when your jealous mother
is chasing after the traces
of your father´s uncontrollable pants.
Sweep that forgettable boy
after the forgettable script
the sugared trap
that crashes a family
like glass that meets a wall
violently;
but none cares
sweep it all under the rug,
content in having followed
your mother´s orders
because who cares
about the kids you babysat
once, that odd kids from your aunt;
who cares, just be a good girl,
sate your mother´s paranoia,
and sweep under the rug
the only trust he ever had in his life:
Sweep it all, sweep it away,
success will take you abroad
should he weep or not,
who cares?
Sweep it all away
when you leave.
Morning of flus(23/30)Since the night choked us against the pillow,
all the aromas we can sniff
are the sneezes
we hold vainly back
as we hobble around half wearing pants
stumbling on a shelf
on our late mornings
on our lives
look for a wallet
as empty as our wills.
A middle aged apartament (24/30)An alarming tact
said without much tact:
These walls grow old
gaining new creases and breezes in their cold
walls; maddening,
a fact that sends us into a blabbering
frenzy, a tough cough
rending us enough
of woes
towards our nose
so stocked with dust
thus, unblocking it all is a must
and a must is also to act
now, for with this dust we no longer want to interact.
Warning(25/30)WARNING:
DO NOT TRUST
SMILING SECRETARIES
PROMISING TO CALL BACK AFTER THE INTERVIEW.
The floating line in Bergen(26/30)Come stay a weekend
says the brochure
that flies away
with the cold sneezing in my face
all the way back to the Artic:
leaping above the rails
skating above the floating line
to the mountain
in less time
that we took
gawking around
at all the venerable bricks
beckoning our first step
off the boat.
Mature Content
No romance in the fog (28/30)Petrichor?
Bards need to
unclog
their nostrils and eyes
and see the
rotting carcasses of umbrellas
hung up in clotheslines
dumped out in the dark pavement
to see the gift
smell the gift
that the liquid carbon
left us.
A very wrinkled child (29/30)And little by little,
his lungs stop creaking,
and his breath starts blooming
as the breeze holds him up
gently
like the best pair of crutches
that ever were.
The days have been swaying with gentleness
like the hands of a mother on an infant head,
slowly painting the blush into the blueness
and the narcissi applaud his new spines
with a general bow,
along with the renewed spring.
The war of the unsheathed weapons(30/30)Venice and Rotterdam
did puff, huff and boast up
their ribs: dogos came and went
scowling at the tulips and culverts.
Likewise, counts frowned at the canals
the grunts at the istrian limestones
yet no scrolls were ever thrown,
like gauntlets,
to any ambassador´s face
no bullets ever came out of their sheathes
so have said
three hundred years.
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