he is the master of my  time
old and fat with his  pirate hat

rolling over his bare feet
on gorgeous barrel of  Rum

one barrel … rolling through the rough sea

 the man the barrel and the waves

they are the symbol of the  time

a time that i cant understand

but i am here, living
and he is there counting, turning and laughing

I do not know what it means
he just sent me a vivid picture

he wants me to believe that he’s a cartoon
but he  is nothas been for so long.jpg

and   mercilessly he cast  an   enigma into  the time

But this has  been  for so long!


This has  been for so long!



Where Poetry comes from?

From where ?
I am thinking about that…since you told me ” how much”.????..So you obliges me to think…it’s too much reality to me my friend….What i know that is not something that i posses and arrives as the same way when i cry…never knowing why?

My company is always the doubt , solitude and  some sense of aesthetic …. inside me, deeply, has a cauldron…like the witches have….bubbling and brimming…. sometimes rainbow’s colors sometimes poison… That it is not fair…knowing anything…explaining less and bubbles everywhere….

My Poetry rules myself with such nonchalance …demanding from me a secular and monastic  posture… as religion …i can not be poetry if not all moments in life..changing without explanations… feelings captured from others becoming my….
I am at autumn’s age, still finding myself in many ways, colors, sorrows..
So i have to give up to think ..it is not so important…since i still preserves the bubbles inside me…. and i am releasing them slowly ….. thought sometimes i need to overflow.


This morning my Poetry was drunk….


my poetry ~ a little drunken~

reading and  thinking on Bukowski
i dont know why….  my poetry never  comes from a bar….or a drink
She refuses and put me to sleep
but now She  comes numbed   ~HIC~



I just need a strong coffee at morning
a slice of bread ~a cream cheese~
and all remorse can wait….

a person passing by my memory
a caress ~if possible~
an invite…. a remembrance
…. to me to write…



using  my  round sunglasses
~at home ~  and an email in eyes  Titled
~If you leave me now ~
( I am not leaving no one) ~ i dont know how to explain that~



I sat…. a little dizzy…

pale face trembling hands
with my drunk poetry and
my dear Bukowsky in mind
and an invite to response

Is all that i need to write……


He Fed me….


he fed me with words

what a delicate stomach that i have
such lovely skills he has

and the words ~ before ~so untied
now have a body and  breathe

my breast arched like a bow
my breath so silently ~ rested ~


repeat an echo on my heart
feeling  at the beginning

that was a soft  blowing
no, no ~a murmur~ insisting


saying what i can’t explainpeaches

a punch … makes me pull the air
while  i inhale scent  of fruits

and i tilt myself again
not as an arch but as a woman

what a sophisticated love is that

food me with his words  and breathing  me  as his air


Lost words

Lost words

it seems i lost my words
cof cof, sorry …
they are hanging on a tree
and don’t matter which is the size

~the time ~

my words, my inspiration
they are leafs now
but not in autumn because they never fall on me
i see a flowering, red …beating….but not in my coeur
not in my heart, not falling down to me
just hovering over my head
Hello i am here….
cof cof

I am a thief…forgive me…

Sometimes I feel unhappy with my words…. I’m very tough with  myself ……. People suffer for other things … I suffer because I’m extremely objective …

I speak a lot of things that even I do not understand … and I’m hoping that my readers help me to understand myself …. this is not fair

 I can not talk about love …about me… damn …. I’m a poetess I know …but  what kind of poetess….If i  know anything  about it  or about myself… . but even in that way my poetry always has a bit of love ….that comes from someone who inspired me … in a short time …. or someone who always inspires me … since I started writing

But is love anyway … well …. that feeling that  lack  me makes me in a  way   better … so is love … i think … even if I do not speak about the heart , clouds and touches … is love

A simple summary … I think I ‘m just a summary’s  life … of the  others lives ….  of others  feelings… that i capture so well…and sustain in my heart….like was mine….I believe that I’m here to live and write about … the OTHERs… their pain , their feelings , their life and love …. and then again Oh!

I steal what is not mine …. Sorry … i am a thief … because i have nothing more inside me … they took everything from me and I had to start in anyway ….somehow to rebuild my life … so I take your life …your feelings….

Are you happy ? ? You will not even feel  that….it’s like a small prick of a needle …and you ‘ll forget so fast …. But  me  OH…  I cropped-pandora-box2.jpg  … I’ll will never forget…..and i ‘ll keep stealing the soul of others…. your soul maybe… But …Thanks for understanding and forgive me….

And you have to know…..for that sin i hold the world in my back

but no one knows….even you….

Writing and Forgetting

my forgettingwhen or if i remember
all  is  so blurred and you are the past
because you forgot….i did too

and because poets can easily forget
always has another word…another pen
just some trace on the path

trails of crumbs……. for someone to remember

I go writing and forgetting at same time

leaving behind with my words
a bunch of feelings, love and tears…

a life to be forgotten

in a paper….

writing and forgetting


i turning myself in an aquatic ink form
like a mixed watercolor’s palettes
all colors on my mind… with my hands

until…i dont know
until the next poem….

I think….