Rants. raves and ramblings from celestial circles . . .

Archive for the ‘POETRY’ Category

EVERYONE IS DYING (and I thought it was just me)

People are dying.

Kids are dying from suicides, tired of their mundane existence in front of their gaming screens alone.

People are dying because they are not going in to get their tests or see their doctors about symptoms that may be leading to heart attacks, strokes or cancers not diagnosed early enough that will now certainly kill.

Intestinal ailments, other diseases, other health issues.

Mental health issues.

Parents are dying from lack of resources since they can’t work.

Our society is dying from misinformation, conflicting information, censored information, ignored information, information overload, media fear overload.

Our brains are dying.

Our relationships are dying.

Our ambitions are dying.

Our creativity is dying.

Our artistry is dying.

Our poetry is dying.

This is a poem.

=================

Art by William Blake

AMBIGUOUS INTUITIVE

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Four chicken score ramps in the way

of the eunuch

stamps of post-modern obliquity

charming prince, desperate pauper

what function have you ordered?

 

Misaligned wisdom

seldom sought aspiration

as if a wind were ever

so weary

to take off your charms

and hold tight on the sable

asking if freedom

so fleeting.

 

Resolute hero

your mask has been

shaken

your armor

no longer so squeaking

when opens the farmer

his hand on his daughter

and mothers run

for the steeple.

 

 

==========================

 

:from Poems 2001

 

 

WRAPPING UP TO DIE

 

 

you get to a point where you know you are about to die
you’ve killed, maimed, wounded or imprisoned all the villains you possibly can
you’ve put away all the trophies and collectibles
your library has no more room
your body has no more athleticism
your mind has no more expansion
your hand can no longer write or type the critical life saving enlightenment

you have no more anything
you’ve given away or discarded everything you had left
your bountiful wardrobe closet is now empty
your many hats have been gifted
your jewels have been distributed to your heirs

you have nothing
no muscle car, no monster truck, no eco go cart
no bike or bicycle or boat
no mansion, no party beach house, no lake house with a boat shed

everything is gone
it is you, and you alone
you are free
independent

you are not lonely because you never were
you had love
you still do

time for the final scenes
the final curtain call
the final edits
It is time to roll the credits
you were a big star
you still are

now you are wrapping up to die.

 

 

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A PRAYER IN TIME OF WAR

bell

 

 

A pagan killed a Jew

A pagan killed a Christian

A Jew killed a Christian

A Christian killed a Jew

A Muslim killed a Christian

A Jew killed a Muslim

A Muslim killed a Jew

A Christian killed a Muslim.

 

They all bowed to pray

to the same ignorant God

with deaf ears

and a passion for killing.

 

Dear God forgive them.

 

 

===============================

circa October 2001

 

 

COSMIC SONG

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There’s always music playing in the air everywhere

Everything you hear

Listen closely 

Music in the air 

Sometimes it’s the snare and drone of the machine

Sometimes it’s the song of the wind

Or of the air

Or of a machine somewhere

Music always in the air

You have to stop and hear

Music in the air

Music everywhere

No matter where you are

You can hear it

Because music is in the air

Everywhere

Listen

CONVERSATION WITH GOD

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God said love

then he said

do it again.

Man said when?

God said,

see,

I did it again.

Man said where?

God said where not.

Man said why?

God said look at the sky

look at the Earth. 

all you see around is birth. 

Look in between,

God said,

all you are is why.

Man said when?

God said,

again and again.

Man said where?

God said in the desert there,

and there. 

Man said who?

God said,

everything inside you. 

Man said how?

God said,

everything around you.

God said,

everyone around you. 

God said love.

You have my Word.

DESERTS AND OCEANS

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I love the deserts and oceans.

It’s pretty deep this poem.

It’s not how long you live, it’s the quality of life that counts.

The world is a drug.

If you live a good life

you should never be afraid of dying.

 

Now . . . I can’t remember what I said.

Is that New Wave poetry?

The deserts are deep.

How much is hidden below the sands?

How many worlds past?

How many places and people we could never even imagine?

We know the world of the water.

The ocean is fish eat fish.

Do we really want to be able to swim underwater?

Ask an octopus.

Beautiful blue and green

and then black

and then iridescent.

And it’s still fish eat fish.

Beautiful world of water.

 

The desert is death.

Nothing lives.

Except camels

drinking at the oasis.

A lonely sand worm.

Nothing else lives in the desert.

For miles and miles

dunes and flats.

The beauty of the colored dunes

in the sunset toward night.

The desert is a beautiful place.

Except at night.

Life lights up.

The lonely scorpions and snakes

own the desert at night.

Nothing lives

where there is no water.

Except the camel I embrace and clutch

every step of the way

through the sand and the wind

to savor the drop

of moisture on the rock.

The desert is a lonely place.

 

An expanse

as humble as the sea

on a remote island

or in a boat on open water.

A deadly place.

The oasis of cool trees and fresh cool water

along the long stretch of desert.

Remote.

The camel is my boat.

DANCE

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Know thyself.



Life is a moving dance 

connected by a thread 

to every musical note 

ever created. 



On every island 

are hidden treasures. 



And for every 

hidden treasure found

musical notes 

will inspire you to dance. 



So dance often.



 

*****************************************************************

ROAMING RUINS

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‘on the streets of Rome the roads are paved with desire’

 

In a small cafe in Rome

sit I in my latte espresso,

bonjourno.

The streets are hills

where all roads lead.

A gas pump

 

pumps the smell of petrol

 

young girls in their skin tights

old men dream, cry

reshape a future

no longer theirs.

In business they give nothing away

the begging is stealing

and the prize vanishes

once your hungry fingers

touch

a sparkling light invisible.

 

Where do the signals

of the hustling bustling strada

direct the lost and wandering

without direction?

Without stars or visions

or love

or money?

Without the future of an anchored past?

Without a cigarette to hold

between two fingers.

Without smoke to hide

heated passions

never found.

 

Buzzing boys on scooters

and girls on motorcycles

swarming worker bees

pace the afternoon air

directing the incessant

active backdrop stage of noise

for ice cream eating aging beauties

tongue licking spinning ice cream cones

spinning vanilla upper lip memories

of once best nights satisfied

yet even now

never happy.

 

Where did your gas pump stop spinning?

When did it stop pumping

fairy tale novels romance?

Holy sister keeps the steeple bells ringing

where all else pulses silent

hushed by the smiles of bright blue skies

turned dark and cloudy black.

 

Where did your pump stop pumping?

When did your wars become death star battles?

Why has the diamond sky never lit your way?

The graffiti walls do not conceal any answers.

The petrol smell pump

keeps every designer baby carriage rolling.

The pulsating sirens gift only more questions.

 

What does the business meeting want?

Love.

What does the endless night desire?

Love.

What does the greed of possession refuse to give?

Love.

Where do you buy your next human touch?

 

From pigeons lonely for the next crumb.

 


 

***************************************************

f. j. llorente

Rome, Italy

April 7, 2017

NEW POETRY COLLECTION NOW ON AMAZON!!!!!!!

Exciting news!!! ‘The Treasure of Forgotten Island, A Poetry Collection‘ is now published and available to the public on Amazon.com. The collection of over 60 poems and 11 paintings is a treasure . . .  packed with treasures for any poetry reader or art lover. Order your full color copy of the book today, or if you just want to read the poems, order the black and white paperback, or pick up the Kindle e-version. Then let me know what you think. Enjoy!

 

Full Color Version

Black and White Paperback

Kindle Version

cover image

CITY TALK

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In this turbulent city

the shrill alarm of the sun

awakens me

to kiss a new morning sky.

A thick brown cloud of smog

tickles me

to open my dreary eyes

and smell the rising dawn.

 

Roaring motorcars

and boisterous buses

sing a brutal song

to my distressed ears.

Grueling heavy metal

in a crescendo

of muddled thrash.

 

Soon faces in the traffic

snarl viciously at me

with all the shortcomings

of the previous

disenchanted evening.

 

Tall looming skyscrapers

stare brooding at me

dark shaded windows

laughing.

Traffic lights

are yelling at me

in enigmatic code

only gods can understand.

 

At the close of night

the roads are deathly silent

and I

have yet

to say a word.

MOTHER AND DAUGHTER COMMUNION

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They run like colts
in river beds of colored wines
flicking whatever berries
at each other

or something.

They both understand the language
wondering with each other.

Laughing,
and knowing

when they hurt each other.

Suffering for each others pain
and crying
when they dance

in each others rain.

ALL I HEAR IS SILENCE

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I herald the trumpets

vibrating hills

tremble on mountains

rushing rivers and churning the seas

there is a better way

you don’t have to suffer

you don’t have to kill each other

then all i hear is silence

silence can be loud

silent can kill

rumbling herds of elephants echo from all directions

grasslands and valleys

they blow their trumpets for every ear to hear at any distance

each note loud

reverberating

angels and demons and wizards gather

I summoned the drummers

the trumpets keep coming

nothing to stop them

suddenly the sound of an

electric guitar

then all i hear is silence

silence can kill

there is a better way

.

THE DESTROYERS OF THE DAWN

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I’ve experienced the operatives of deceit throughout my life in many different forms and in many different media. I was destined from birth to seek and share, Truth and enlightenment, wherever and whenever. So it continues to be a constant struggle. A consistent challenge where they suppress all forms of achievement and advancement in any way they can.

I can not stress enough how ingrained and integrated they are in every aspect of our lives. They are especially most dangerous to those that attempt to reveal them and expose them to others. They are masters of disinformation. They use politics, religion or any personal topic they can to fulfill their deviant agenda. Or worse.

Be aware. Call them out whenever possible. Don’t let them divert your focus from the sharing and spread of knowledge and enlightenment. They are powerful and very wealthy. They are the concealers of artifacts and learning from the past. They are in hiding in lands and countries throughout the world. Their modus operandi is to use conflict and violence to control and confiscate the world treasures they haven’t already confiscated and concealed for themselves.

Be aware!

And in secret warehouses, underground caves, bunkers, castles and mansions . . . millions of artifacts dwell in darkness, few in the limelight. Many in crates and boxes, compartmentalized. Few records of their existence and fewer still, those authorized to open them to verify if their recorded contents actually still exist.

RAINBOW

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I like the white witch of the west better than the black witch of the north.
that might make me racist.
i like my white shirts white.
i don’t like those black stains around the collars.
that might make me a racist.
I like to whitewash my picket fence.
paint my ceilings white and whitewall tires.
that might make me a racist.
i don’t like all the black at funerals.
that might make me a racist.

but I like dark chocolate more than I do white chocolate.
that might make me a racist.

 

fjl
3.18.16

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