Showing posts from October 22, 2007

the auguries of my innocence

What is poetry? Who knows?
Not the rose but the scent of the rose;
Not the sky, but the light of the sky;
Not the fly, but the gleam of the fly;
Not the sea, but the sound of the sea;
Not myself, but what makes me
hear, and
feel something that prose cannot;
and what it is who knows…
- Jose Garcia Villa-


I could not paint with words
the emotions I have
deep in my soul…
i do not have the technique,
no a poet I am not.

Nor could I compose with rhyme
the feelings my lying heart insists
i could not hear the tune,
no a poet I never will…

But still…
I will try to paint my heart sighs,
with words
even if my terms are too abstract
or my verbs clash with life’s colors,
it shall still be my canvass to smother…

I will try to compose my cries
even if the rhythm is out of line,
or no harmony is found,
it shall still be my life song…

as long as there are feelings,
as long as there are affections,
as long as there is burning desire within
a poet i might,
in the end, become….


Constantly I miss…
your high, almost sh…