What am I to be? A hive of bees, I see. Time, clouds, Sky, crowns, Right now tied down, Time, dreams, Lies, deceit, An ice house drowns, What am I to be? Composer of songs, A giver of feelings?
Big curls, bench presses, High dives into the deep end Swim laps Gettin' down with my boys Hard drugs through the weekend I feel that Bike ride through the trees See the colours change Run flat across the bay Just to tell my maynes I'm bored, ditched lessons I'm hitting up my best friends But I'll nap first Big curls, bench presses Torn bicep and a bong rip Yo, I'm good now Skateboard through the crowds Where the streets are paved Eat shit, get scraped I can feel no pain Easin' down with my boys Slow cookin' through the weekend I feel that A bit of strings, sum tings Got damn, such a feeling To feel that
‘O Romeo Romeo wherefore art thou Romeo’, The birds sing along to Juliets cries, Is it so wrong to want a Tudor love, Lived through 21st century eyes. To kill yourself to be with them, Rather than have to live alone, It truly makes you understand, The idea that a person can be a home. And though some may call this type of love shallow, I say they’re lies from a person who does not relate, The need of a love so sweet and tragic, United by fate.
Oh, to forget, Castle, all, buttered pears. But what of man? Was he even there? Even one percent, I wish I could share. All art forms a certain length, All on loan, and suddenly end, A dozen eggs, A dozen days, No son, No in love again, Arms too short to hug oneself. I feel as if I double dealt, You tell me what face I have, Where I belong, That you've already won; Wet seasons among, many drugs, I regret: I've already punched. Call me a spade, But I do what I want, And I won.
Bring me your all Paint me a picture of your dreams Nourish me with a meal made to awaken my tongue from a tasteless slumber Play me a song so pure and accurate Sway with me in your arms Your touch synchronizes my heart with the rhythm of nature Bring me your all Read me stories that once showed you the way Light my path and enlighten my mind Rearrange my understanding of importance Scold my naivete The power of your emotions ignite my sense of wonder Bring me your all Show me your pain with the intensity of your voice Present me with conflict Show me your anger, Show me your disappointment Give me your broken heart Strike me with fists of passion. Angry passion. I will not cower behind my masculinity. I welcome your release. Your pain will become ours and together we will Stand. Bring me your all Show me your scars where you learned to bleed. Rather, where you learned your resilience. Rise up and fight for whats right Teach me my voice makes a sound. BRING ME YOUR ALL
Ire infinite, by ignorance Life is not made by appearances, Science fiction or analyzing images. Ironic it should be so definite: Want of intelligence, talking skeleton, In the end an experiment of my own. Wind instrument requiring discipline: With a single word thy kingdom learnt, Like a little tiny recumbent bicycle, Not even big enough for one person, For certain, mine is life livable, But is the danger really worth it?
I write of simple, financial issues, Career moves, Careening doves living. Writing of her dimples; I can forgive, no substantial dispute, Education isn't a standard issue, Like flies striking a civilian, What little I know I know little of, And even that I misuse. An Odyssey of nonsense words, I write, Simple, my peers peer my finger works, Writhe in vigor, like flies in flight.
Down the river, ebb and flow Movement medicine, the way she goes Directional breath, inbound out Cease to dam, no time for drought She is the tide, low to high On her ship, sailing by Wicked waters, serene seas Sunrise, sunset, peace and ease Floating to sea, where im meant to be Accompanied by my higher self and me Turbulent tides, channel open wide Facing facts, letting go of lies Dolphins diving, staring in my eyes Sonic translation, opening my mind A tug on my leg, 8 arms wrap around Octopus arrives, leading me astound Magical moments, divine intervention Messages come through intuitive intention Coast to coast, sailing away In the depths of myself, I find the way
Often at times, I find myself at war with my own mind, Unable to accept that that I'm unable to accept that I am but a speck of dust, Wandering aimlessly, Crashing into everything that I'd eventually grow to love, Then wandering off in search of someone who would eventually break my heart into a million tiny pieces until I'd convince myself to just give up, But our species, For better or for worse have an unwavering ability to persevere, So I tuck myself beneath this dirt seeking only solace from that which left me questioning everything, Until one day I push past the debris and rubble, a stock with a shadow, And with each and every passing day, I feel the life and love growing and shaping me into a stronger version of the person I abandoned in the grave I call these sheets just the day prior, For no pain will silence me, No discomfort will ever extinguish that which sets my heart on fire.
LIVING WITH UNCERTAINTY What if we thought of this uncertainty as Jews consider our Sabbath— As a sacred space in time? Stop traveling. Stop buying and selling. Stop working. Give up trying to make the world better than it is. Instead, sing. Dance. Pray. Write songs and recite poetry. Paint the pictures from your eyes. Walk amongst the leaves and the stars. Touch only those to whom you have committed your life. Sit down. And when your mind and body have become still, Reach out with your heart. Know that we are connected in ways that are both terrifying and beautiful. No one can deny that now. Do not reach out with your hands. Reach out with your heart. Reach out with your words. Reach out with all the curled tendrils Of compassion that connect us invisibly, To where we cannot touch each other.
Averno. Y me escapé de las fauces del infierno Aterrado, completamente perplejo Por peldaños de piedras fui subiendo Lentamente un dolor me fue deteniendo Un dolor que peldaño tras peldaño fue creciendo Agudo malestar en cada uno de mis extremos Revisé buscando la causa de ese malestar intenso Solo para descubrir cuatro grilletes de huesos Calaveras arrastradas con cada movimiento Alaridos en las profundidades reclamaban mi regreso Daban la alarma de un escape en progreso, Alguien intentaba salir del reino del sufrimiento Era yo, que me arrastraba para no ser descubierto, Poco a poco continuaba mi doloroso ascenso Agotando la energía de mi andrajoso cuerpo Entonces advertí que no era humano, era un espectro Un ser pusilánime en un cuerpo descompuesto Un ángel caído tratando de burlar su encierro Sin previo aviso una carcajada me fue estremeciendo Una maligna risa resonaba en el infierno. Abro los ojos, estoy en mi cuarto, en el frío suelo Me levanto rápidamente, me observo en el espejo Soy humano otra vez, solo fue un sueño Pero la carcajada sigue resonando como un eco En la profundidad, en la oscuridad de mi aposento Y se añadió un comentario aún más siniestro No te descuides, aún te espero… Sigueme en mis redes sociales Instagram: @JeanCQuiros Twitter: @JeanQuiros Youtube: JeanCQuiros
An Invitation, Tracing my path, Jason Vorhees, Heart racing, bracing myself, Protein and more cheese, Chores for violations, Head and shoulders, Knees and the space between.
Open lies, a world full, Ocean tides, border known, Mapped upon a mobile phone, Burning eyes, wait in line, A door, for more control; Face comes first, defines, Then maybe later stones. Which would be more alone? Sitting German in Lederhosen, Burning all my former clothes, Formal close, cutting ties; Or a heart of glass, love inside, Which fights a world, nothing like?
Debbie downer of many outcomes, Money protected against downturns, Fathered from powerful maelstroms, Freshly showered out of sleep, What is deep? What is to and from, Blue sea, who flowers their queen, Without a penny, empty bellied, 'You let them down, son' Sour cherries, as he devours many Let them down yourself, please, Out of envy, twenty thousand leagues.
A Fool, wreath of barbs, Writing of films' stars, Barns, and what lies beyond; Tools for reaching disembarkments, A cool way to clean her clock, A gun, put into a mouth, Entire crowd in shock; His cigar takes tocks, Ticks boxes and lives onward. He rewrites his ducks: swans, Cooks his brownies blonde, Looks at his frowning fawn, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, Like drowning frogs, A fearless John. When he writes of life, It's to a howling mob, Sexy songs, luck gaunt, One of us, One of us, One of us, Eteonicus lives, reeds or not.
“Writers ———————- Have gentle souls Have a heart of a sunshine The one written word they paint From their lives with each brush in their hands The good times The bad times The treasured of times Their words are best told From its beginning to no ending They paint each season They create each reason They form each line As they stand even at the bus line As they wait for their train to arrive As they drive their car they must stop At the parking stop and quickly write Otherwise they will lose their track of Song they want to sing” (c)10/31/2020 by Petar Kostadinov
Of dying and fighting, Best saved for last, Apologizing and crying, Inside the eyelids: Kiss my ass, my lover lives. Wind, harvested by mills, Jacks, coveted by Johns, Songs built by peoples, Hymns for the seasons. Rescinded politically, Not knowing what to believe in.
I miss that girl who wore the moon on a chain, The one who found happiness in solitude and rain, Who wasn’t smothered by the endless need-to-dos, But instead made simple moments her muse. I miss the girl with the honest, unforced smile, The one who could always stay for awhile, Who took endless photos of sunsets and trees, And spent time, just being, under canopies of leaves. I miss the girl always seeking out the new, The one whose blue days were ephemeral and few, Who spent her Sundays, childlike, taking trips to playgrounds, Instead of as an adult, pushing expensive mops around. I miss the girl who wore pink bandanas and braids, Whose undercurrent in life wasn’t always “afraid”, Who wasted away hours in make-believe lands, And felt no guilt with book or controller in hand. And I miss car rides with no destination, Enjoying the lilting song of a clock for pure relaxation, Not feeling enslaved by my own procrastinations, Making last minute plans, happy deviations, I miss yesterdays that happened years ago And I miss the me that I used to know