Post the last poem you wrote.

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not a poem but this is a sentence from a letter I wrote to a friend:

My table is a wooden balcony rising from a hill above a field. Pick a point on the lawn. Stare and see the butterflies flit above the grass. Micro Mirages. Shimmering cuts on the eye. Glass on the air.

Pareces de marmol vivo
De ese que respira
De ese que exige olvido

Mis palabras se resfalan
Pretenden hacerte el amor
Tu piel se desentiende

Solas
Espiral de frustración

Tus ideas me son ajenas
Ignoro tu risa interior
Conocer?
Saber?
Tocar?
Probar?

Ver, pero solo una impresión
Y olvídate, corola sin flor

A una voz en caida libre
Solo piedra le hara frente

Perderse en el jardín de tus manos
Es despertarse sincero sobre nubes de cielo sin penumbra
Oír el divino canto de otro segundo que descubramos
Sentir la tormenta que tu aroma vislumbra

Deseo contigo, amante empedernida, capturar éste momento
Plasmarlo en la obra maestra de tus labios de brisa
Inmutado, para siempre en mis sueños pretendo
Guardar el sol de tus ojos y la tonada que escapa de tu sonrisa

Encontrar en tu cuerpo la cura a mi delirio
El viaje de mi tacto en los reinos de tu piel
Trae celosamente el elixir de mi alma fiel
Aniquila el incesante acabar de mi martirio

Besar tu frente y ver desmoronarse la soledad que me acosa
El ave advierte la luz y en mi hombro posa
La canción que durmió desolada ha renacido
A tu lado, las voces se silencian y es hermoso el ruido
De tus pasos que sigo como esclavo
Alejado del mural que mis nieblas pintaron

Y en el fin del mundo encontré tu alma
Y tu voz dictó el comienzo de uno nuevo
Que ya no es mundo sino paraíso al partir el alba
Tus brazos acogieron mi sed de un dulce vino
La oscuridad ya es desconocida en la cadena que llevo
Al ver el regalo que frente a ti mis ojos han visto

>>8623089
buena

>>8623041
Was it a letter on paper, like in the old times?

>>8623041
Why don´t you use emojis lol

>>8623840
kek

Eating out your asshole
that intimate abyss,
joyous little button,
that tasteful balloon knot.

And with your cheeks spread wide you did it;
with those cheeks spread wide that mist of yours;
from that beautiful arse full of farts
entered my nostrils, spread to my lungs
and forced me to come
all over that arse:
oh so full of farts.

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As I write this from a place rarely traversed by me, I sit travelling alongside such simple items that mean much more than they should to me; for the feeling they give me is akin to a euphoria that is so god-like in strength, and yet hidden completely from my bloodline. If only my predecessors, the forerunners of my old blood, could feel such a thing. I can feel their smiles upon me like a press from soft lips between my shoulder blades, oh how the warmth spreads like a humble fire throughout my body. After the light leaves into its nearly endless slumber, I feel my ancestors kiss leave me. For when I look up from the depression in the ground in which I reside through the hole in the ceiling, I see nothing but the night sky’s endless darkness, which so contrasts the light from my seemingly unfortuitous burrow that it pains even my innermost being to think about it. But alas, in the end I must return to the unforgiving grip of the darkness that seeps through every loose corner it can find. When even the light from the brazen plaque of my dereliction, the one which impedes my every progression, leaves. The light, however, does not leave on its own, no. The light from this box of lost innocence from times long forgotten simply leaves on my command. I command it to leave because I know that the tortuous corridors of my own curiosity have an impending blackening out that I must put to rest before it takes full effect, or else the night may never end. Because if I wait out the night and let the lights in the winding halls that inhabit the very flesh of my being go dark, I will drift into the land in which nothing follows logic unwillingly. If this happens and I awaken in the same manner that the old Washington sun does, it will only be night again, and this cycle will repeat until I summon enough strength to rip free.

>>8623901

Cont.

So I trudge from my depths into the blackness of the outside, keeping the illusion of being impervious to the malevolent impetus which lies inside of it in my head. I ease my grip on the shrapnel from my broken emotions and let it fall into the fertile soil of my sins so that I can later see it grow into a beautiful flower, baring examples of my exculpation like they are puzzle pieces, hoping that one day I will place them together in such a way that they take effect and lift me into a land where mistakes go unmade. All of this is hope for another day, however, for the pieces do not carry any sort of pattern that I am able to follow. So with them I climb the forever growing ladder next to the exit. Once I reach the top I sort the new pieces in the dusty convex tomb of all the most disturbing thoughts that can be thought that I call my mind, and I shut my eyes. Once they open I peer through the glass barrier that protects me from the cold to find that my light has arisen once more, and not long after I have a strange feeling. The feeling was one I have not felt before, one that filled me with emotions so strong my eyes could not help but water… it was hope. I had felt hopeful. I stumbled on an old chest buried in the back of my mind. When I opened this container I saw it, I saw what’s been eluding me so well for so long I had almost forgotten it had even existed. I found the piece that made everything the flowers had regurgitated make sense. With no hesitation whatsoever I place this piece in the middle and watch the beauty of hope and happiness bloom in the once dark place my mind had been, and I watch them inculcate themselves in there. I once thought that I was required to resign myself to the endless torture that I felt string itself into my flesh, but now all traces of this evil parasite have been eradicated. I take in a deep breath of the fresh morning air and look at the sun shining brilliant beams of light through the cracks of the cotton clouds and truly smile for the first time. I had found hope in another day; a day where everything will be better; a day where the sun will always shine; a day where even the night is permeated by the orange incandescence of a fire made by the people whom I love, and the people who love me. I hope that all of them find this hope inside of them, for now that I see the world in color, I won’t be able to live with black and white.

>>8623901
>>8623909
What a load of fucking shit.
This: >>8623866
Is TRUE existentialism.

>>8623041
GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

>>8623791
Ya I have a correspondence with an old professor. We exchange excerpts from our writing and give our thoughts on the books we've been reading.

interest bump

>>8623901
>>8623909
This is really good.

http://pastebin.com/qrivNPzB

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the universe shrinks as the desires grow
encroaching purple darkness
searing heat leading into an ivory sky
self worth magnetized, encumbered woes
crippling emotions digitized, innumerable foes
the esoteric freedom that is eternally craved
unending hunger, unending thirst for recompense
juggling disaster to the destination par excellence

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Was meant to be a song, but never worked on it:

Stumbling down a dark road
In the suburbs next to green ferns
Someone, anyone, understand
Gliding pairs of brake lights do not care
Stubborn shadows do not respond
Even the moon has its stars
Even the street has its cars
But I
Despite all of the things I've tried
can't seem to find the things that hide
from me
Is it gone?
The world as we know it a few years ago
I really hope so
It changed
The people I talk to and the things I say
and it's okay because I know I've grown

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Rex Vinorum

Behold the king of wines
encased in ancient splendor
Brought forth by noble vines
ecstatic mirth it renders

With hearty wit and vigor
the humble vintner pours
Our smiles grow bigger
Behind the cellar doors

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Cute girl squealing circus songs.
Raccoons eating trash.
Metal shit hanging from the hair.
It's an act, to be sure.
Life would be better if it were real.
Painted whiter than nature.
Stripes make you fatter.
She knew what she was doing.
There was no regret.
Still, it's an act.
Keywords bought and sold.
The world knows.
But I can hope.

Alas de polvo,
dentro y fuera del fuego:
te desmoronas.

i wrote a short joke 'poem' yesterday commenting on the internet some shitty alt history book about how usa sent tanks etc to help the anti-communist chinese forces in 1945, somebody before me commented it by remaking a poem from ilf and petrov's "the golden calf" and then i proceed with it as well

translated to english it loses all the resemblance of what it had to allude to keep the rhyme scheme... it would be something like this (pla - people's libeartion army, the commy chinese army):

through reeds of china, strong and free
there hears a donkey's neigh
among dead tanks of jiang jieshi
walks a soldier of pla