Desarcinate

So many mindless orphans of life running around crowds. One sided freaks, everywhere, worried about nothing. Discombobulated debaters of worn out arguments.

People who don't remember where they've been are bound to make a fool out of themselves.

While succumbed in her slumber
She hears the squeak of the gate
Then tosses and turns on her shoulder
Slowly opens her eyes and focuss her gaze


Pauses on the night stand a dark figure
the “tink” and the “tumb” of falling gold
then closes her eyes fast to not look eager
faking her sleep while her arm lolled


The figure kept moving around the room
under the blanket a smile had set loose
looking at the silhouette that in the dark loomed
eyes half open, to look awake she refused


At last the silhouette approaches the bed
she convinces herself to be profoundly at rest
he folds down the sheets and kisses her head
wraps her in his arms warmer than a nest


No more fear, let’s go to bed
Dad is home, keep on at rest
She told this to herself as she laid her weary head
Starlight, moonlight, black veil at best

-CCC

I made this poem on Father's Day. And if you are ever wondering, yes, it's base on my childhood. It was a really nice feeling knowing my dad got home. I feel like this poem has a kid story kind of vibe. It's simple, it rhymes, is short, so I guess is something someone could read to their kids. I tried to remember all my genuine thoughts of the moment my dad got home so it could translate to something transparent and innocent.

The boat tosses side to side
I sit on the end of the row
Suddenly it collapses to the right
I fall directly into the glass

The screams wake me up

The curtains rise up
A tempestuous wind enters the room
Choking in my bed I lay
The doors shake

An earthquake
The curtains are flying
I can see the doorknobs shaking,
shining in the night

Nightmares are so different now

-CCC

Te encontré. En medio de tu propia consistencia; espesa y amontonada. Tomé mi dedo, lo deslice en la superficie, luego la saboreé. Un sabor agrio. Te encontré también, absorbido en tu propia cotidianidad, en tu costumbre. Absorbido en ti mismo. Te perdí, en tu viscosa ajenidad. Te perdí, en medio de tu densidad. Impenetrable quizás, te vas solidificando. Te pierdo, en tu pesadez.

Lo más grande que hay entre los hombres es un poeta, un poeta lírico, es decir, un verdadero poeta. Un poeta es un hombre que no guarda en su corazón secretos para Dios, y que, al cantar sus cuitas, sus temores, sus esperanzas y sus recuerdos, los monda y limpia de toda mentira. Sus cantos son tus cantos; son los míos.

-Miguel de Unamuno 

Anonymity. Poetry is the face of humanity. A message directly from the psych that has travel throughout light. The escape of fools, and the voice of the messengers and vagabonds of thoughts and inquiry. A gamble for millions of secretes and stories that waited a bit too long. Poetry is the archetype of communication intra/inter persona. The birth of letters and words meant to give us back our immortality.

-CCC

If you would like to see other answers to this question go to leaveyouapen.tumblr.com to see the catalog "What is poetry?". A number of writers have submitted their opinion on poetry. Enjoy!

For the undying joy that follows after you,
so does the swinging emotion barrel

The flow of the words cascading in tones,
fresh molecules of ecstasy to the soul

Mind puzzle for inspiration, for creativity
Flushing down daily pressure, damn, and illness

Interpretations of relativity are made thanks to you,
messenger of the spirits, and of orbiting feelings

Chosen by us to be your very own
We can't make what made us, we can't own it either

But we make it ours, grasping to your mysticism
All of the creation worships you without knowing it

That is only cause the spirituality can't be unseen,
evident refuge of our secrets

For the therapeutic rhythm, the harmonious waves,
and the never dying sublime sound