I like solitude in my words,
with female angels company
and the flight of bipolar seagulls
over the ink of some long oceans...
Falling asleep on the blue bay beach ,
a clumsy dodo would come to visit me ,
looking at me with its great trusty eyes,
big birds know no devil ...
A starship of excentric aliens
would land over the flanks
of the old volatile volcano .
I'll invite the crew to tea
in the shade of an enchanted sega ,
mixed sea spray and trade winds ...
I would dial a rain
and boredom epigram
for absents look poets ,
just for the fun of hearing
to a welcome message
or a farewell requiem ...
Lonesome in a lost island ,
postcard from Mauritius ,
in a shape of a cloud ,
stucks on your fridge ,
keeping the salty taste
of my mouth ...
The dodo skeleton is cold
at the museum
and its empty stare
doesn't understand evil ...
Aliens were back on the metro
and earth continues
to rambling around its
lunatic moons ...
It's just a plastic smile
opens onto the frozen ...
You tell yourself
that next winter ,
You'll be all alone
in the blues bay lagoon...
-
Author:
lorenz (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: May 28th, 2025 06:41
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 14
- Users favorite of this poem: Ellen Marsell, Cheeky Missy
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Comments2
Excuse my personal interpretation but upon reading this I could not help feeling nostalgia for the past and a sense of resentment for the plastic present that pervades a vacation isle of comfort in a pretend world of bliss. I'm sure not what was intended but what I added into it.
And you're absolutely right !
That's what I meant to translate in this text .
The disastrous mass tourism .Just a post card on a fridge !
That makes you forget slavery and poor dodos slaughter !
The sorrowful exoticism of loneliness, wrapped in irony and myth.
If poetry makes me a millionaire I'll move to blue bay !
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