It's an empty house perched on the hill
that was once blue
Often in love .
Always dreaming ...
On the doorstep when the sun
sets its load ,
A hairy guy flirts with the four strings
of a country landscape .
Around the cheerful fire
a joint is shared among mouths .
stars never married to the dark...
Everyone follows the lyric of their own delirium.
At 20 years why bother working
or going to war with a woman ?
It's quite an effort to take the boat out
to fish offshore on a forgotten island
called Ibiza ...
In the morning ,opening our eyes ,
wrapped around a blonde
who was too cold in London
and sought spirituality in a raga
by Ravi Shankar ...
For altamont angels ,entrance to paradise
is forbidden !
Here,all wearing a tatoo like legacy of death
which means to love one another ...
And night will pass like a dream .
Maybe ,children elsewhere their wide eyes
open in a bright flash ?
We think about it for a moment
then tired falling asleep
afting biting into the blonde ...
Only clammy heat of a body
as evening prayer .
Winter is not welcome in Ibiza !
Man, I stopped believing in the legends
of the old backpacker ...
Phil has passed away of a psychedelic overdose
of critical thinking .
Jim became a priest then killed his wife
after a real bummer in Montreal .
Pat returns to London and had three or four kids
with a Paki who introduced her to god
at the local mosque .
As for me, I'm still hanging out
in the subburbs of a blog in the middle of somewhere,
filled with the joy of writing craps
that nobody care about ...
The empty house on the hill
was sold to a jet setter .
Far from the Carrib' island
the insiders of the cursed list are nostalgic
of the good old days when fish was easy
off the coast of Ibiza bay ...
;
-
Author:
lorenz (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: February 26th, 2026 11:08
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 9
- Users favorite of this poem: Ellen Marsell, Carlos Alberto BUSTILLOS
Offline)
Comments3
i really like the picture, and also ur art of expression
Just a bit of sunflake on the memory...
oh yeah do u also do painting or arts in general
I write by painting the music of the words...
The Grand Budapest Hotel a movie.....Bollywood ? Fun read
Next timre I'll go via Goa ! I don't have fond memories of Buda !
Everything is past along
Ha long bay !
The youth of the characters lives as if existence could be turned into an endless summer. But the world does not owe them their utopia. It is a clash between hedonism and time and time inevitably wins.
Revelation without church.
Communion without confession.
Love without ownership .
Time without consequence ...
It's time to pay the bill guys !
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