memory

a bee has a dream

about a flower

a flower offers

mellifluous juice

to a bee without

embarrassment

 

a flavor and a taste

is a knot

on a string

of memory

that I tie

when you serve me

a dinner this cold

evening

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one breath

one breath   one night   one chanted prayer

one’s sweat in rivulets   ravines of pleasure

one’s satin skin under the velvet cloak of night

one’s tenderness   one’s cascade

one’s back convulsed   one’s muscles

muscles that compete with what one’s mind started

and body always wins

’cause I’m yours and you are mine

one river flows into the sea   one moan

one hope   one sorrow   one ecstasy

one breath   one kiss   one bliss

suffused   submerged and afterwards is silent

emptied   to resurrect again

once  once   once

as the train is late

as the train is late

let me tell you something

let me take you on an excursion

to the place we long for

you see these birds of the air?

you see these lilies of the field?

they are all taken care of

even these pillars of cold metal

the thing is

we carry our white soft bodies

in both hands like a mantle

concerned about breaking them

but we shouldn’t be afraid, you see?

you see this invisible child

leaning against your chest?

He has an enormous sprawling heart

And he will ask to add it unto you.

poems to devour

You startle the sunset with hurricane cries

and drown the chirrup of terrestrial things

with the slap and snap of wings

pungent with sea water.

 

Where are you going wraith riders?

 

To hold back the billowing dark with your fiery reveilles?

Your thunderclap heartbeats whip crack

against the rising tide

of silences.

 

Doris Vallejo

wonderful life

there are some wonderful things in life,
(let each man find his own)
I say lighting my cigar,
thinking about Sunday night lobster dinner,
love love love
running wild,
it feels good sometimes just to be living
with something so nice
in store.

Charles Bukowski in his poem my special craving

в такой день как сегодня

в такой день как сегодня  
с безоблачной синевой
торопливости ломкость  
пульсация вен  
цветов, готовых жить
дыхание слышится

в такой день как сегодня
хочется плыть
достаточно мелким
мальком и незаметно
хватать ртом кислород
на поверхности зеркала

в такой день как сегодня
когда птицы празднуют жизнь
заблудившейся самкой
оленьей, танцующей обнаженной
вполне невинно,
хочется быть

в такой день как сегодня
нет территории страха
на границе ее стоит бесполый
непроницаемый и беспрекословный
рыжий весенний ангел

drunkenness

When I am drunk, I have a certain type of conversations

Which are like dreams: with humor and significance;

And all the things – the way I witness them when I am drunk – are different:

As if I wore a face mask and looked into the sea water

Where on the bottom laid things split open;

With their baffled naked hearts: in soberness forgotten.

 

the dinner is over

The dinner is over just when the sky starts to bleed;

Stained glass morphs its shadows into a sunbaked dream;

Haunting night and air thin;

On the table with candle sticks drunken glasses remain still;

The silverware is given rest;

The bread crumbs are brushed to the floor;

Mismatched starts make their way;

Conversations tenderly flow.