Long Sleepwalkers Poems
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The Violet Bird of Violence
The fragile glass stockings are here in the dark room—there would be room
for a few spiders weaving continuously their web of fine silk,
the sumptuous trays rich with white lace are brought—delicate old silk,
breasts in the transparent jars and in the warm and trembling hands
of the most beautiful women—the jellyfish sleep deeply floating in water
as in the quiet crater of the most asleep black stone volcano,
we will be on time for this meeting always awaited with impatience,
we will pass through the dark night as through a box with lit phosphorus.
At this meeting where our long and thin shadows await us
like worn shoes—old boots left on the rain-wet ground,
the delicate butterflies that will touch lightly our warm red blood,
all the forgotten gloves all the eyelids closed in deep sleep
that we liked to kiss with our warm and full lips,
all that we found for eternal memory—the long eternity of time,
the mouths that remained stuck to breasts like shining gold rings,
the green plants that grew on our faces during deep sleep.
The clear water in full glasses—the transparent shining crystal,
the hanged ones with chalk-white hands—their bones hard as stone,
in these black castles the dark evening twilight awaits us
and our chests of warm flesh will rub against its heavy silences,
our chests of soft cotton and dense darkness—the weight of the body,
the box filled with sad music of death breathing slowly awaits us,
the solid wax heads of women we haven't met
yet—always in the future in time that flows ceaselessly forward.
The thick curtains behind which we can hide in deep stillness,
the lost star of a distant morning awaits us shining,
the lucid gaze of sleepwalkers—their open eyes see everything clearly,
we slept so much that we lost the habit of quick and lively movement,
the violet bird of violence pecks us gently with its sharp fine beak,
its rapid flight through our room open toward the vast and great infinite,
and its melodious song resounds—the clear melody that fills the dense air,
in this dark night where everything dies slowly for eternity.
She did not recall those nightly forages
Those midnight snacks had packed on the pounds
From her eating habits she couldn't disengage
She needs to solve the mystery of those midnight rounds
Her husband was suspicious too
And he wondered what he should do
For someone was putting miles on his car!
It was really quite bizarre
So he installed cameras, both inside and out
To see what this mystery was all about
They reviewed the tapes after a couple days
They were both shocked and dismayed
There was his wife having a midnight snack
Sleepwalking to the kitchen and back!
The couple knew this was no dream
For there he was, driving down the road with high beams!
This sleepwalking couple knew just what to do
They'd kill two birds with one stone and go to the drive-thru!
--
7-20-18
Sleepwalking Contest
Sponsored by: John Hamilton
Shipwreck in the Vegetal Mirror
In every shipwreck my hair floats motionless like a fixed spyglass,
my nails write your name on waves that stand frozen in motion,
I choose the hallucinating stillness that runs through frozen space,
unsatisfied with your blind iris that sees too clearly in the darkness of light.
I place above your eyes cold lightning and warm nightshade,
the hypnotist passes standing still among the sleeping-awake poets,
they pull from their hair the night birds singing in the noisy silence,
I will leave the windows closed wide open for the motionless travelers.
I wait to pass as a swimming statue through the dry water of your dreams,
confident in my uncertainty aggressively gentle through the solid waves,
you must break the mirror to keep it whole and unfractured,
it's difficult to reconstruct the figure that's born destroying itself always.
My liquid half dries up dreaming of the phosphorescence-darkness part,
the blind feldspar eyes see the half of blood transparent and thick,
the vegetal tiger carnalizes in the plant-animal part that breathes flesh,
halves that multiply decreasing in the eternity of the infinite fraction.
The hour when carnivorous plants close opening wide voracious,
they have freed the passersby through a paralysis that sets them in motion,
the hole in the window is a full emptiness through which I see the unseen visible,
I watch myself lurking with vampiric carelessness at the exit of sleepwalkers.
It's like in an opaque mirror but more transparent than the absence of clarity,
more ferocious in its gentleness than the silence that screams in whisper,
with each lightning bolt a star shoots backward remaining eternally in place,
I'm told silences and a thousand more words that will never be spoken.
We can be bored amazed or restart stopping ourselves brutishly lucid,
our exercises with our heads in the root of subterranean celestial air,
floating buried in the bottomless soil of sleeping-awake consciousness,
where the end begins ceaselessly and the beginning dies being reborn eternally.
Through thinned forests where the dew of time is carried, the ancient chant of desire roams,
And shadows of men, like spirits in festivity, stretch their endless palms of wanting.
Sleepwalkers amongst stars that never slumber, searching for treasures in lands of silver,
But their hearts are locked treasuries, clamoring tribute, never a sacred obol to proffer.
In the enchanted flight of their wings heavy with "self," no sky is too high,
Yet they forget that within the tiny seed of giving hides an entire infinity.
Show me, wind, the man who is a spinner of not just hope but also peace,
That Prometheus who offers his fire without demanding the price in flesh of immortality.
If his name is whispered to me, I will receive it as a sacred talisman,
I will overturn it upon my fate like a potion that turns patience into gold.
He should bring not just the kiss of passion, but also the gentle caress of an unsold heart,
That rare man, fertile with the elixir of self-forgetfulness, where each heartbeat is a gift.
I will impregnate my fate with his arcane name, and I will weave a jewel of ended longings,
He will be the mage with palms of light, stringing pearls of sincerity on the thread of life.
A dreamer with a soul aflame, with eyes of sky - opener of universes,
Under whose impression each "taking" becomes a star in the "giving" sky.
Oh, may we rediscover the lost alchemy in our deepest needs,
One that prefers coarse gold to find the philosopher's stone of true love.
With his spells woven of tenderness and generosity, he rebirths me, to remake my heart,
He, the moon man - always full, never absent, sanctifying my wish with the divine presence of endless giving.
The Shadow of the Violet Bird
The violet bird sleeps in water that has no name and no shore,
its feathers falling slow and heavy over a city of smoke and glass,
there we will meet, when time has no face left and no name at all,
in the glass room where a foam-white sand keeps drifting down on us.
We'll carry on our shoulders the gloves forgotten in every old house,
and the eyelids of those who once loved will open again, unmatched,
small phosphorus fireflies will burn our skin with a mute little flame,
and the dream lodged in our throats, like a bird, refuses to leave.
Through black castles where the twilight washes its ashen hands,
the wax heads of unwanted women call out to us in secret,
heavy curtains hide behind them a knife and an old mirror,
and past them sleeps an angel with no body and no match.
The lost star of morning watches us with hollow glass eyes,
sleepwalkers cross the rain with steps of wax and tar,
and everything we ever loved burns in us like a living coal,
a small violet fire that will not, no matter what, go out.
We slept so long, and so deep, inside our own heavy dream,
that we lost the habit of staying still, even for a moment,
the violet bird flew off long ago from our hollow chest,
leaving behind only the ash of a dream and an echo of longing.
---
Am pastrat imaginile si ritmul frazei lungi, dar am lasat versurile sa respire natural în engleza, fara sa fortez o traducere silaba-cu-silaba. Spune-mi daca vrei un ton mai crud/mai dur, sau unul mai fluid si mai liric.
When somethings so right
We laughed like children
We were as big as the Universe
We laughed at the sun and smiled at the moon
Choosing to return your smile on this April day
Something feels so right
The Universe echoes forever its beginning of time
I could take you home
The tyrrant of truth at your comnand
There's voices in the sky
Remember the feeling of games we played
A teaspoon of bad is ok
Look down at yourself
Can you leave
Then if you do please come home
In town sacrifice to the late sleepwalkers of the early dawn
A walk in the cold be nice or sooner straight out of fiction
I believe in you
Believe enough of yourself to be you
Cause we played out play
Zoomed by teenager life
We couldn't wait to live the lie
Started already forgetting to laugh
"We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are." -Anaïs Nin
Comprehensive thoughts arrive in the dark as we, unlit
keep pace like sleepwalkers in a world of drum and jangle
we never get close to the admittance of what we feel
long winter buffs and isolation
what are we made of,
wood ?
Pinnacles of surprise are set in motion
from the moment we perceive ourselves in others
the precious pursuit of company arrives,
at friendship's door
Through grace and restitution,
everything can be understood;
All embracing views set through enlightened souls
we are all Columbuses of this world
forever searching for each others border,
what are we made of ?
blood and vein .
Jan. 30, 2020