Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
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More than Once in a While...

More than Once in a While
by Yuvia
Poem inspired by the song "Once in a While" by Kasey Chambers.



If I wasn't what you wanted
If I wasn't even close
I only hope that I made you smile...
Maybe more than once in a while...

- Kasey Chambers

 
"Close the courtains", you said once,
And made love to me under the dim light of a tv screen,
While listening to somebody
who sold her dreams
For ninety-nine cents a minute
                                       ---- even more.

I never thought I would look back at those moments
And smile at the sight of your tears
When I turned and walked away.
I never realized how deep the cut had been
until I saw the ravens flying out of my open veins.

How blessed are those who forgive, forget, and renew!
For I am walking in the rain downtown,
Thinking of how many times I wished I'd never met you
For the sole reason that the freedom you took away from me,
Was the only thing that my past lovers had kindly left behind.




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Enero

A veces no se ni por que me molesto en seguir escribiendo, en seguir diciendo miles de cuentos, en describir lugares, personas....


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Dragging My Feet (poetry)

Add three spoons of moon
and three cups of balm of gilead,
maybe a few seeds of cardamom
and catnip to bend the will of love your way.
Otherwise, drag your feet and dance,
wink at the sandstorm,
and recite your poetry to the rain
and make your wish on that shooting star.

Sigh!

Take the spoons, the moon, and the herbs, my dear;
it's a lot faster.
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XI PREMIO CASA AMÉRICA DE POESÍA AMERICANA


Casa de América y Editorial Visor Libros comparten la convicción de que la poesía es la más alta expresión artística y que en su cultivo y difusión radica una de las claves de la educación para la democracia. Más aún, en las fronteras de la palabra creadora se juega hoy el destino de la cultura misma como testimonio supremo de la aventura humana. Por ello, la convocatoria del XI Premio "Casa de América" de Poesía Americana aspira a estimular la nueva escritura poética en el ámbito de las Américas, con especial atención a poemas que abran o exploren perspectivas inéditas y temáticas renovadoras. A este premio podrán optar las obras que se ajusten a las siguientes bases:

BASES

1ª. Podrán concursar, autores nacionales de cualquiera de los países de América, con obras escritas en español, rigurosamente inéditas, que no se hayan presentado a otro premio y cuyos derechos no hayan sido cedidos a ningún editor en el mundo.
                           www.escritores.org
2ª. Los trabajos presentados a concurso deberán tener un mínimo de 300 versos y su tema será libre.

3ª Los trabajos deberán presentarse por triplicado y en la portada de los manuscritos se hará constar el título de la obra. Se adjuntará un sobre cerrado, que contendrá en su interior el nombre, la fotocopia del documento de identidad o acreditativo de la nacionalidad, la dirección y el teléfono del autor, así como un breve curriculum. En el anverso del sobre se consignará el título de la obra.

Los trabajos deberán remitirse por triplicado a: XI Premio Casa de América de Poesía, Casa de América. Plaza de Cibeles, 2, 28014 Madrid, España.  No se aceptarán originales mal presentados o ilegibles, ni remitidos por correo electrónico.

El plazo de admisión de originales finalizará el 28 de febrero de 2011. Se aceptarán los envíos que, con fecha postal dentro del término de la convocatoria, lleguen más tarde.

6ª El premio, dotado con seis mil euros (6.000 €) como anticipo de derechos de autor, incluye la publicación del libro ganador por la Editorial Visor Libros. La cuantía se entregará al ganador durante el acto de concesión del premio, junto con cincuenta ejemplares de la obra editada.

7ª El jurado estará compuesto por un representante de la Casa de América, un representante de Editorial Visor Libros y tres nombres acreditados de la poesía en español, además de un secretario designado por los organizadores, con voz pero sin voto. Los nombres de los miembros del jurado serán revelados durante el anuncio del fallo del premio.

8ª El anuncio del fallo del premio tendrá lugar en la sede de la Casa de América durante el mes de mayo de 2011 y será anunciado con la debida antelación.

9ª El jurado podrá declarar desierto el premio si, a su juicio, ninguna obra posee calidad para obtenerlo. El premio será indivisible.

10ª Los organizadores no mantendrán correspondencia acerca de los originales presentados y los trabajos que no se premien no serán devueltos. Estarán disponibles en la Casa de América hasta veinte días después del fallo del jurado, al término de los cuales serán destruidos.

11ª La participación en este premio implica la total aceptación de las presentes bases. Su interpretación o cualquier aspecto no previsto corresponde sólo al jurado. Para cualquier información adicional relacionada con el premio, puede contactarse con la Casa de América o con la Editorial Visor Libros.

Madrid, Octubre 2010.
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Love, Love... Love

The rain falls from the sky
everybody knows,
and sometimes we go out and cry
to make our feelings left unkown.

It seems hard to believe that a simple act,
this demonic pact,
can lead to such tormentous emotions.
A rollecoaster ride like non-other
that leaves us feeling empty, alone, neglected...

And, oh how many wars have been fought over it!
How many poems, books, and odes,
how many songs, and riffs, and performances
to come across the meaning of a word
we have yet to completely understand
without burning, without hurting, witout longing.

Love, love...love...
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Strawberry Wine

Poetic, sweet, untamed melody
that runs through my throat
as you gently press your lips against it,
making the moon believe
just for a little while
that our souls are made for each other.
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Angel's Courtyard Lullaby

I wish I had an angel
to remember what it feels like to have blind faith in something
(or someone)
for the moment it takes the angel to start to wonder
and feel just as confused,
just as empty,
just as lonely,
as the rest of us down here --
living in viewing distance
of what heaven and hell paint for us.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

My guardian angel does not know whether to laugh or cry,
every time I go to bed and turn off the lights
in devoted prayer that I do not have to wake the morning after,
and maybe go down in a joyful spread of dream-like paradise.

For that he has concocted a fire-proof formula,
to allow my demons run amock
and create a pattern of nightmarish phobias
that will make me run to safety,
in his living embraceful arms.

However this plan seems flaky,
since I have tea with the devil every afternoon
and he has promised me that both heaven and hell
are boring places anyway.
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More than Once in a While


If I wasn't what you wanted
If I wasn't even close
I only hope that I made you smile...
Maybe more than once in a while...
- Kasey Chambers


"Close the courtains", you said once,
And made love to me under the dim light of a tv screen,
While listening to someone selling dreams
For ninety-nine cents a minute, or even more.

I never thought I would look back at those moments
And smile at the sight of your tears
When I turned and walked away.
I never realized how deep the cut had been
until it was too late.

How blessed are those who forgive, forget, and renew!
For I am walking in the rain downtown,
Thinking of how many times I wished I'd never met you
For the sole reason that the freedom you took away,
Was the only thing that past lovers had left behind.
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A Red Light

See the sky and it turns periwinkle
Somehow it reminds me of you --
In a deep and shallow trace of wind I place,
All the time I have spent thinking about what might or might not come true.
It is a variety of colors that the soul portrays
Everytime the memory returns to the song;
A song that might or might not be played
And still...
And still...
The red light suddently turns
And all there is left is a piece of a picture I tore of you.
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3 a.m. Suicide

Tonight,
the moon has decided to paint over a canvas of mixed-emotional heavens
circles of a divine torture that music cannot come close to soothe
and that vodka and whiskey have promised to.

The embrace that I share with my mistress
is just a step away from falling into a dream I do not wish to have,
because then I will be happy in a world you created just for me,
(a world made with your words, your kiss, your passion,
a world created with our hopes, our dreams, our madness)
and I would have to wake up to a world I was forced to live on,
tortured and reminded each day that passes
that I am left without the deviation in your wicked smile.

How many times have I told you that I miss you?
Maybe just enough times to convice you not to care,
and hence stay right where you are,
let it be amongst angels in heaven or demons in hell.
How many tears must this page take before the ink starts to run?
Maybe just enough to create a river,
so I can sail through it and be lost just so I can again be found
by the dragons that safeguard that loving memory of you and me sharing a life
that I have devotedly grown to despise.
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Truth Be Told (Inside a Dr. Pepper Can)

Sometimes it seems
that the can is half empty
when it is, in fact,
almost full...
And in the midst of the fizz,
and the tingly feeling my heart gets
(as it samples the 23-some flavors),
I wonder how can a simple act,
as a cold Dr Pepper can,
can bring me such joy and rapture,
to the point of ignoring the world and sing aloud
that rock song I love to sing,
whenever I decide to go out and take my car out for a spin
in the middle of a sleepless night.

.............................. sigh!

Maybe it's because I love you...
or maybe it's because I miss you...
Truth is that this is just one more way I hace concocted
to not admit any of these feelings
and make you believe that I continue to be this magnificent lightning
you still haven't been able to catch.
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I've Lost My Soul

"I've lost my soul", she said
and blamed it all on me;
because to kiss the moon and make it cry
is not something meant to be.

It's not that common,
in fact, it's a real spectacle to see
a girl like that one moaning deliriously,
submerged in sweet-wine ecstasy.

So she lost her soul, she says,
and blames it all on me;
may the dreams of her kiss
last me through eternity.
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Angel de mi Guarda

Lo peor que le pudo haber pasado a Dios
Es darse cuenta de su inmortalidad…
Y luego ver hacia abajo
Para ver que no hay nadie ahí para recordarlo.
¡Qué triste ha de ser sin nadie a quién contarle,
Sin nadie a quién confiarle,
Sin nadie con quién compartir!
Líbrame, angelito de mi guarda,
De semejante calvario y tortura;
De que yo no viva por siempre,
Porque eterno significa eternamente,
Y hasta el más diablo de todos nosotros
Se aburre y se convierte en santo,
Nomás pa' ver lo que se siente.
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Your Revolution -- Sarah Jones

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Mayda del Valle's Gifts




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Indian Summer


In youth, it was a way I had
To do my best to please,
And change, with every passing lad,
To suit his theories.

But now I know the things I know,
And do the things I do;
And if you do not like me so,
To hell, my love, with you!



--- Dorothy Parker
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Eloisa to Abelard (Fragg)


Unequal task! a passion to resign,
For hearts so touch'd, so pierc'd, so lost as mine.
Ere such a soul regains its peaceful state,
How often must it love, how often hate!
How often hope, despair, resent, regret,
Conceal, disdain... do all things but forget.
But let Heav'n seize it, all at once 'tis fir'd;
Not touch'd, but rapt; not waken'd, but inspir'd!
Oh come! oh teach me nature to subdue,
Renounce my love, my life, myself... and you.
Fill my fond heart with God alone, for he
Alone can rival, can succeed to thee.
How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd

-- Alexander Pope
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Because I Could not Stop for Death


Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labour, and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the school where children played,
Their lessons scarcely done;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.

We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.

Since then 'tis centuries; but each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.


-- Emily Dickinson
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Nostalgic




If you saw me, desire me
Like the moon desires the sun's sighs,
Like the clouds desire the touch of the rain.
Beautiful as the sunset,
Beautiful as the night sky,

I can't have the luxury of having you
Because I cannot have the luxury of having a soul,
That misses you...
That wants you...
That tells me just how empty is my existence without you.

How pathetic my poetic soul becomes,
When I turn all mushy and nostalgic!
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