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Posts Tagged ‘love-hate poetry’

I want you to know

that this started

as a suicide note,

 

that I wanted to end it

by slitting my throat …

 

cortando la lengua

ahogado en sangre

 

kicking and punching

because I was angry –

 

buscando salida o comida

pa’l hambre

 

before I had realized

how this

was coming along.

 

That the words I was

writing transformed

into poem

 

palabras perdidas

de mi corazon –

perdona mi arte

si no tiene razon

 

when by

language and meter

it turned into song

 

filling some hole

that was born and

kept growing

 

nunca sabia

si venia o me iba

 

before I had learned

what was worth

knowing … and by

writing discovered

where the muses

were going

 

tormentas privadas

y como me joden

 

that language

could save me

enslave me to living …

force the forbidden

I keep hiding and

hidden

 

me salvan … palabras,

alarmas y espadas,

siembrada sin planes

que encuentro en mi alma

 

inside me

whatever it is I

awoke that drives me

also derides me …

it’s haunting, but lively

 

idiomas que usan

qualquier instrumento

buscando sentido

y razon pa’l momento

 

and despite it

I keep writing

along

 

like beating a drum

turning the silence

into a hum

of a rhythm to come

flowing and stirring

the smoke and the rum

 

asking me questions

of where I was from

making me look

at what I’ve become

 

the meshing of parts

that somehow you think

is less than the sum

 

the stranger himself

the prodigal son

a brother and father

con un corazon

 

and nobody knows

where it is I belong

they haven’t discerned

if I’m right or I’m wrong

if I’m noise or I’m song

 

But I want you to know,

that while you

may not always love me

yo siempre te quiero

y no puedo, sin ti.

 

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2017. All rights reserved.

 

 

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for KBT (and you know who you be) 

.

You’re not too sure at all  / / anymore

      if there are angels  /   /  or an afterlife  worth dying for

        you’ve crucified   /     /  the yesterdays of your life

by chasing fantasies/      /   and choosing to trade for a lie.

It wasn’t destiny    /       /     the ways you chose

                               \        \   to break and be

the road you found /       / to walk away

                              /       /  from your memories.

         And though  \       \   no one knows  

                          /        /    how many holes

                          \          \    your heart may hold

       it isn’t fair  /            /  to take those you promised to protect

                       /                /  in some misdirected step

       with you.  \                   \

.

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2010. All rights reserved.

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just as the water

dances up to the land

to form a coast

and the way

the sky and earth

pretend to meet

at the horizon –

every love

has its own geography.

.

a landscape mapped across months

outlining open fields

that stay in full bloom

where laughter calls out

from the crown canopy

shading the brambled edges

that are meant to be wild

and forgotten …

.

these borders,

the imaginary lines

that mark the province,

are boundaries

that shrink and expand

with the love.

.

a territory always in flux –

a country threatened by coup

and surrounded by dragons.

.

* Latin for “here are monsters” … a phrase supposedly found on old maps marking unknown or dangerous places

.

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2010. All rights reserved.

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“All I wanted”,  

she says licking tears

that taste like the spray

of a tropical storm,

“was for him to love me”.

.

Hiccuping breaths,

she lowers her eyes

to keep from sailing

back to her memories;

but her swollen lids

press into her face –

and remind her of his hands …

so she cries some more.

.

“I know”, 

she says,

“he loved me,

but he had to break me too”,

and that was the wave

that washed her up on my shores.

.

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2010. All rights reserved.

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I sleep late with my certainty

on Sunday morning, letting the

day break the spell of darkness

like it always has;  subtly at first

and then revealing the full

nature of our spinning.

I have learned to keep

the necessary things that prove

their place in the universe;

that show their accidental

designs in their morbid

architecture – free of ghosts,

or gods breaking laws

of the reality I am forced

to live and learn of.

Magic insults my mind,

my heart, the coffee in my cup,

the steam that makes its

presence known in sunlight.

I have no use for lines

and lies and lore

written in the darkness

of our early fears,

luring us from learning

done against the liturgy

that strives to steal the

wonder woven from letters

and numbers unwilling to bow

or break before superstition.

I believe in the seasons of the year

and the stretch of a day;

the length of shadows

extending further and becoming

less descriptive of their casters.

My garden has taught me

everything I need to know

of caring and kindness.

My aging face reminds me

I am just a metaphor

and that I must rest,

for I have worked all week

proving gravity and love.

 

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2009. All rights reserved.

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You looking at me

like I don’t understand

     the pressures

You looking at me

like I’m just another

     face in the crowd

You looking at me

like we somehow could

     be strangers

You looking at me

like I don’t know

     why you’re screaming

     so loud

You looking at me

like I don’t understand

     the measures

You looking at me

like I ain’t never

     once been proud

You looking at me

like I’m not facing

     the same dangers

You looking at me

like you forgot

     what I’m about

You looking at me

like I ain’t come up

     through the vicious

You looking at me

like you may

     still have some doubts

You looking at me

the same way

     that you look

     through all my changes

You looking at me,

                    while I’m looking out.

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2008. All rights reserved.

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