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Best Poems Written by Vee Bdosa

Below are the all-time best Vee Bdosa poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Candle 1st In Spanish Then Scroll Down For English Trans

VELA (CANDLE)First Spanish version, scroll down for English)
Yo ser‚ para ti.
Toda la vida que me queda la vivir‚ para ti
y cuando el tiempo haya terminado,
morir‚ por ti.
Dir‚ tu nombre
en cada vela que encienda, respirar‚ tu nombre.
Te susurrar‚,
cada oraci¢n que diga ser  siempre parte de ti.

Por toda la eternidad,
y as¡ ha sido y ser  siempre, 
y cuando deje este mundo,
aquello vendr  conmigo
en la luz de una vela.
Todo el mundo sigue girando, haciendo el d¡a y la noche,
y de la oscuridad a la luz,
ser s siempre parte de cada oraci¢n que yo diga.

Yo ser‚ para ti.
Como una fresca quebrada de la monta¤a que se desborda por ti
como una c lida brisa de verano
entre los  rboles para ti.
En el brillo de una vela,
todo lo que he sido o llegue a ser 
por toda la eternidad,
tu ser s parte de todo lo que yo haga siempre.
Yo ser‚ para ti.  

					
					Traducci¢n: Emilio J. Saavedra M.     CANDLE	
I will be for you.
All my life that is left, I will live for you,
and when time has run out,
I will die for you.
I will speak your name
in each candle that I light, I will breath your name.
I will whisper you,
every prayer I ever say will be part of you.

For eternity,
and forever it has been, and will always be,
and when I leave this world,
it will go with me.
In a candle light
all the world keeps on turning, making day and night,
and from dark to light,
you'll be part of every prayer that ever comes from me.

I will be for you.
Like a cool mountain spring that overflows for you
like a warm summer breeze 
through the trees for you.
In a candle glow,
everything I've ever been or will ever be
for eternity,
you'll be part of everything I ever do.
I will be for you.
© Ron Wilson aka Vee Bdosa the doylestown poet

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Tapestry

.........TAPESTRY
Out of time that's long forgotten, 
in a light that's yet unknown,
you could see me in the morning, 
I would be there, but alone,
weaving tapestries from fibers 
of someone who'd never guess,
she is part of dreams and vision,
and somebody's happiness.
    But she would know someone was there.
     I'd touch her now if I would dare.
      And she would know I'm always there.

There's a story and it's Celtic, 
"We must love all things, to see
how a raindrop loves the flower, 
but the flower loves a bee."
In the tapestry I'm weaving, 
I have told this story well,
and the dream she is a part of, 
is the other tale I tell.
    She knows someone has touched her mind.
     I'm always there for her to find.
      And she is always on my mind.

It's a love beyond a question, 
but a love that's out of place,
out of time and out of reason, 
but unable to erase.
In the tapestry I'm weaving ,
there's no differences to see,
she is rising from the ocean 
to a love God's meant to be.
...And she has known a love that's good.
.....Though it is never understood.
........But she'll remember love is good.
© ron wilson

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Smoke Rings

Smoke Rings
If she wanted to stay he would make her a place,
for he loves ev'rything that she is,
and he'd willingly give all the world and the stars
for her love--if they only were his.

But he likes it alone, and in silence he knows,
if he wants, he can talk to the moon,
or hear voices at bars, or the children he loves,
and if wanting to go--he'll go soon.

Or to stay if he choose, for the night is still young,
but she's there, and he's wanting to say
all the words in his heart--but he's holding them back
and the night is much colder than day.

So he goes to someone who's no danger to ways
though he smiles, he is really not there
and he wants to forget, but he wants to live on,
if she stays or she goes, he will care.

And the one he is with, sees the love in his eyes,
and she knows it's not hers anyway,
but the ones' who was late, and the one who will go,
and the one he will never let stay.

If he asks and she stays, he'll go off the deep end,
and he knows she loves silence--as he;
and she stays for a while, til the silence is deep,
and the end is the end that must be.

But she looks at the floor when he wants her to see,
and she goes when he wants her to stay,
but the words are not there, and he watches her go,
with the thought that it must be this way,

but he smiles in his heart--for he's known her at least,
and he's loved--and has found love is good,
and the end that he feared, he prevented in life,
though he wonders if he ever should.

And the journey is long--he'll look back on her face,
and he'll think, many times, there it goes!
and he'll always regret; for it's always alive,
and she's part of his life, and he knows.

And the others who see--feel the same for their own,
and they wonder why he doesn't try,
but it's smoke rings they see; or a bird in their hand
that is wanting to fade in the sky.

And the sky will embrace ev'rything in the end,
and the things that we see are a mask,
and the smoke rings that fade to the will of the sky
are in love--and the sky didn't ask.

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Beyond Your End

BEYOND YOUR END
Look deep into yourself my friend,
if then, you need to look to me, 
and deep enough to see the end,
beyond your end is where I'll be.

Into the love someday you'll see,
becoming all the things you'll know,
before your very eyes, I'll be
already where you want to go.

I'll be your long and blinding light,
of which all life is awed,
the thread that reaches through the night
in search of what is God.

And in a while, if love is right,
and hope is not just more pretend,
though you have sought what e'er you might,
'tis me you'll find, beyond your end.

And I will love your death away,
removing from your mind
what'er your death might seem to be,
with love impossible to find.
Û  © RON WILSON aka vee bdosa

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The Astraunot - John Glenn

THE ASTRONAUT = John Glenn
As certain as I see the world below
some things I'd overlooked, within my haste
come to my mind, and in it now, I know
we can't allow what time remains to waste.
 
What God's become, because we've let it be,
would change if only you'd see what I do,
spread out below, right here in front of me
a fragile sight--most delicate a view.

To see the whole thing, as it is complete,
the total world, big pictures only show,
is recognizing what's beneath our feet
was made by one who knows more than we know.

   My question's not to ponder as to how
    God made the world--but how to save it now.
           © Ron Wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet

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Death of Marie Antoinette

THE DEATH OF MARIE ANTOINETTE
 (MONSIEUR L'VAMPYRE)
Songwriters set their words about her style
and artists make pursuit to paint her smile
but all the light that's Paris, shows,
her heart and soul to only those
who come to fall in love for just while.

But knowing this, my wondering still lies
as I recall Marie, her face,her eyes,
and she is just a memory
though what I'd have to always be,
if time was mine and not a thing that flies.

I trace my blood and line of ancestry
down through some troubled times of history
or is it that I've journeyed long
from when my life went all so wrong
but it's so far removed, my mind can't see?

These questions rake my mind and leave me cold,
Am I my father who's still growing old;
and who is she, to go away
to deju vu--to yesterday,
or has she layed our love to times' unfold?

I guess I'll find her on Champs Elysees,
or in the Champ de Mars, where children play
or where one day the guillotine
cut life away, and cut it clean,
but this is now, and that was yesterday.

O! I would lay my neck under the blade;
if there would ever be a diff'rence made
to end the pain she left in me
and stop the love for my Marie
but love--this love for her can never fade.

And so, as other loves they come and go,
as Paris says, and Paris makes it so,
I wait and wander by the Seine
but know not where, and know not when,
for love of my Marie, she'll come, I know.
© RON WILSON aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet

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Our Midnight Place

OUR MIDNIGHT PLACE
As certain as the rains do fall in spring,
will be my love, for you to have and hold,
and know you now--my rain of love will bring
to you, all joy of which all love is told.

No one could ever count the drops that fall,
and so is put together, love for you,
numbers cannot be given them at all,
though put together, one is what will do.

And every single drop adds beauty there
to something we can call a rainy day,
to fill with love, made up, from everywhere,
the drops of life that make love what we say.

Our midnight place, your front porch, dreaming of
each drop of rain that's filled with so much love.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa

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Buried In Woods On a Snowy Evening

BURIED IN WOODS ON A SNOWY EVENING (With apologies to Robert Frost)
Whose woods these are, mox nix to me,
both dead and buried, she must be,
to bother me, not one more time,
but sleep forever; endlessly.

Though thought of still, as perfect crime,
(it made my life a downhill climb,)
tis none the less, I must admit,
the joy of me, all of the time.

And smile I must, with thought of it,
the slicing of her throat a bit,
and struggling, oh! how she tried!
whilst I enjoyed her dying fit.

Her eyes now crossed, as if she spied,
her life and death on either side,
and so I gouged them both in fun,
for every time she ever lied!

She begged for mercy--there was none!
Her legs were dead, she couldn't run,
and with her throat cut, couldn't cry,
nor could I, whilst I had such fun!

Her pleas are still my lullaby,
I've lots of time to wonder why,
and years to go before I die.
and years to go before I die.
       by  © ron arbuthnot

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Taming of a Screwball

"OMLET"
            or
      "The Taming Of A Screwball"
      cast of characters:
      Julius Caesar
      A Roman Teenaged Kid
      A Roman Guard
      Brutus
      A bunch of Caesars Girlfriends
      A bunch of Roman Senators
   
   Julius picked up the violin and looked at the
kid. ""Et playdimus youdimus?"" he asked.
   "Nonimus!" replied the kid. "Cousinimus Nero
playsimus."
   "Ahhhh," sighed Julius. "Prodigimus bratimus."
   Suddenly a guard ran in, waving his sword and
shouting, "Mightymus Ceasermus! Brutumus et comingus!"
   Just then Brutus comes in, followed by a bunch
of drunk senators. All of Caesars girl friends
run offstage screaming in terror.
   "Ahhhh--Friendimus Brutumus..."" Julius said,
putting his arm around Brutus' shoulder.
   Brutus took out a dagger and promptly
thrusted it up Caesars bellybutton.
   "Ahhhhhhh--Brutumus!"" Caesar repeated.
"Youdimus screwdimus meedimus."
                     curtain
                      (applause)

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Beltaine At Sunrise

BELTAINE AT SUNRISE
If I could gather for you, flowers fair,
the first of summer, slip them in your hair,
to light your face, the tremble of your smile,
how much in love I'd be at what is there.

If I could welcome May in all her bliss,
the window into summer's melting kiss,
I'd know the greatest joy, though for a while,
and die among the gods, for only this.

If I could open summer, and her pain,
each ray of sunlight fair, each drop of rain,
each courting dove, each flit of butterflies
each welcoming of death, that ends all pain.

If I could capture Beltaine at sunrise,
'twould shine much like the light there in your eyes...

.BELTAINE AL AMANECER 
Si podría recolectar para usted, florece favorablemente, el primer
del verano, los deslizan en su pelo, para encenderse la cara, el
temblor de su sonrisa, cuánto en amor sería en cuál hay.

Si podría dar la bienvenida a mayo en toda su dicha, la ventana en el
beso que derrite del verano, sabría la alegría más grande, aunque
por un rato, y el dado entre los dioses, para solamente esto.

Si podría abrir verano, y su dolor, cada rayo de la feria de la luz
del sol, cada gota de la lluvia, cada paloma que corteja, cada
revoloteo de mariposas el cada dar la bienvenida de la muerte, que
termina todo el dolor.

Si podría capturar Beltaine en la salida del sol, ' brillo del twould
como la luz allí en sus ojos. 

© ron arbuthnot wilson
aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet