High Heels

High heels

At Cemetery

among tombs and strange people

A widow so sad

At least she had a moment

One tear to share for the dead

At  Restaurant

you could see two long legs

on her black high heels

as a good living widow must be

At house

alone, the sun going down

a widow not so sad

waiting for whispers and rides

as night falls

while the dawn comes!

and morning rises!

her curled hair wraps other’s face

and all is allowed to get in

into those chastes thighs and legs

the hot breath, the caresses … the kisses

And finally!

in a frenzy’s moment

she cast out His photo

breakable memories  on the floor

One more spasm!

And He, as a good dead man has to be

remained  dead

among tombs and strange people

Complicity

I like when he walks by my poems
he does it for years

I can see him passing through my door
every other day
saying
Good Morning… I am here again…
to see your face of words!
to see how are you
to say i care

I had a book in my hands last night
in a thrust i stopped to read looking my fingers
they are so childish

as if the two rings never had existed before

So i gave to life

Hands and Faces

Hands and Faces

one more day

as He gave to  me …

waiting for my face of words

with  my  tireless childish hands

The Grenadine Inside

GrenadineSome people, the mostly, they see all with blue lenses

I envy them….

I love the blue too you know

but i am unable to find my contact lens

As others do….

I am always banging my head

or stumbling and cursing

sad or feeling bad ~  Grenadine Color ~

slamming all doors as i was the angry wind

Blind

problems with the clearness too

i spend more than i can

i drink beer and i love sleep until later

I left people crazy with my silence

indifferent to people’s feeling

I am sarcastic, ironic

 

Alone in this world!

 

I pretend and i lie too

just to complete the story

 

this hole inside it is so big and dark

that sometimes i feel as it should swallow me

at once
and i’ll never get see the other’s blue
again

But then i envy all this, emerging from my color

i hit my head, i stumble, i curse

and sometimes, just sometimes

i open my heart

damned!!! It burns……

AWAKENING!!! By Mr. Bob Bevard

 

The velvet blackness
flecked with gold
Slowly, oh so slowly
Turns velvety purple
And into deep, deep red
Her rich blood courses hotly
The sun begins to rise
The day emerges
And the love,
The passion,
The Joy
Envelop her as she slowly awakens
Knowing that she is safe and at peace,
Yet still
A thousand dances and a million adventures to come
And uncountable number of firsts yet to be shared
As his heart touch her mind,  her heart, her spirit …

 


A man with flowers on his head by Mr. Bob Bevard

bobbevard@aol.com

http://bobbevard.blogspot.com/

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