And The Moment Left Us

There are those who

   Want to go out into

   What is to come

Hurtus conclusus,

...As they do into the past.

Through the unlike interstices

Foreseeing vague approximate

Shadows

Ghosts that might 
one day         
incarnate

And get to be 

   recognized

There are others who

   Do not want to know

   What to them

   Is about to come

Others who 

   just want to know

   Nothing.

Joyful it is

   Feeling without foreboding

   Giving each day its own desire.

Expiring the present placidity or laceration:

 Joyous and hard.

Because above today’s shoulders

We miss that look into tomorrow

Neglecting- clumsily

This moment

Seeing

   Already missed

What is in our hands

   Not to be lost...

______________________________________________

Adapted from  Los Adivinos (on Charlas Con Troylo) by Antonio Gala

Smelling Freshly Cut Grass

Image source

It brings me

It gives me

More than pure air

It embellishes me

It enraptures me

Carries me away

To and fro
All sweetest times 

It sets that smile on my face

And my spirit
.

It reminds me

Life is...
.

And I am part of it.

_________________ 

Written for  The Thursday Think Tank- # Smell- hosted by Poets United

Cold Circles Round Warm Love

Those were the nights

    of cold December

   I will always remember

These are the nights

    of cold December

   Holding me freezing

   Making up my mind 

There is no way

    to escape this plight

But stand by your side

Search for that

Sweet warmth

   of you in mine
   I in you...
  my tender knight...

_______________________________________ Written for One Shot Wednesday

I Write

http://www.redbubble.com

I write

In a senseless rhythm
I write because it’s a must
Recalling facts from real life
And what I never got to have
In a bare try

I write

While I search for the right words
So you can search for the right meaning
All the same
No way, but
For the sake of it
For there should be a reason
Or maybe not 

I write

Today is an in-and-out
And in again
Deeper- so intense
It hurts somehow
No place to stand or start
No reason to find
The exact moment 

I write

But before I’ve finished
You’ve probably left
When this is taken for granted
Need to have begun
When I lost the sense of rhythm
And rhyme 

I write

My words stolen
Where do they lead us to
    you, me? 

My heart

............................................................

Wistful

Last train to nowhere

She’s come to stay

Gazing at the mist

In her heart

As it disperses with this suffering

Of space and time

So sweetly.

Grabbing the key long hidden

To open her captive soul

A gust of wind

Unexpected

Moves her hair

So as to consolidate

Her whole presence

With the place.

 _____________________________________________

Taking part in 55 Flash Fiction Friday

Seizing Air

A Place to Dream

http://www.redbubble.com

In her confusion and hard approach

She well kept in mind her one 

   Only goal

And they laughed at her

Saw no fun on it

What’s all this about

   Needs to shout

Cannot open her mouth

It’s all so grey, so dizzy, so dark

Gets towards the light

Familiar the place

But has to trudge, stray

Among the noisy crowd

And there he is

   As if standing

   Seen half seen

Her words won’t come out

For what can she say

Just the urge that he notices her

So he does

No surprise

But turns away

Nowhere

She keeps searching for his smile

A face not clear

Which vanishes

As she opens her eyes

So pleased to remember

She does not love him anymore

Waking up

Thank God.

__________________________________