Poetry

Bluwr.

A space where writing feels free.

No ads.

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Just you and the words.

When attention is currency, this feels like a quiet space.

I don’t chase trends.

I don’t worry about clicks.

I write what matters to me.

And somehow, it matters to others too.

Every post is a chance to connect.

A chance to learn.

A chance to grow.

Readers don’t just scroll past.

They pause.

They think.

They reach out.

Writing here feels real.

Unfiltered.

Authentic.

No gimmicks.

No pressure.

Just pure expression.

One year in, and the excitement hasn’t faded.

Every time I hit publish, it feels like a small victory.

A reminder that words have power.

Bluwr gets it.

It’s built for writers.

Built for readers.

Built for those who care about ideas.

Bluwr doesn’t just stay in the present.

It THINKS FORWARD.

Supporting new ideas.

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Inspiring what’s next.

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It’s a mindset.

A commitment to progress.

A space where your ideas aren’t stuck in the now—They’re shaping the future.

Writing spoken words/lyrics to "A Moment Apart" By Odesza.

-Spoken word-

"In the beginning, we fought to be worthy of life

day after day, we strived to survive.

We didn't know what it meant to be alive.

Now we've grown, and now we know

with God on our side

and the Lords sacrifice,

we are clean and we are free.

So lets use it to be good, to be the best we can be.

Cause baby, you can run the farthest and fastest that you've ever seen..."

-Lyrics-

In my head you still exist,

My mind made of love and bliss

Thoughts fly by

and butterflies in my chest.

When my heart felt only defeat,

you came running with blisters on your feet

_

All that we've worked for

All that we've loved

was now redeemed

for all to come

_

From Alpha to Omega

Beginning to The End

Keep on running

cause it's not over yet

_

May, June, July, Summers on your side

Live and love is why I stride

"It's see ya later", never "goodbye"

Look up at the sky and what do you see?

Think about the present and let your mind be free...

WHO are you?

What do you think of me?

When do you want to start living?

And where do you want to be?

Why were you put on this Earth?

What can you do with what you have?

to change the game, to make a new path

Accept the new fate

Accept the rebirth

You're the champion of your life now

My life began 300 thousands years ago

And through history I live forever more,

Because I lived and will live

I always exist

My handprint not only continues,

But contributes

To the collage we call the history of man

WALK WITH PRIDE

Your structure shows the evolution of our motion

Your features represents your genealogy

Your fashion represents the you in the NOW

YOU ARE A WALKING IMAGE OF HISTORY

And footprint of how it came to be

And a step toward how it will end

THE PAST. THE PRESENT. THE FUTURE

Meets here, with you and me

We walked from the ocean to the moon,

Your destiny was foretold, weaved, long before your body lived,

Walk cautiously my dear….

Everything you do creates,

Continues,

And writes the history

OF YOU

And leaves marks somewhere where it counts

For all is written in stone

But mistakes make things okay!

Prophets were not perfect,

People are not perfect,

History is not perfect,

But it is a masterpiece <3

Hi! My name is Lauren

And this poem is about me

I was born in little Harlingen, Tx

Of Armando and Julie

~~~~~~~~

I’m born of the Earth,

I live a simple life,

What more can I ask,

Then the chance to brightly shine?

~~~~~~~~

I believe we are people of gold,

And I’m a Christian at heart,

I live to do my best,

And to do my part~

~~~~~~~~

I fall short,

I’m a sleepy bum,

I hear random voices,

But I still want to run~

~~~~~~~~

Run with the big,

The legends, the free,

Those who made a name

And foundation for you and me

~~~~~~~~

I am as little as a grain on the golden beach,

Where you can hear God’s voice roar as the sea,

I live to change the world,

But for now, I am just me

Your elderly hands that knew this form of art

And with it and your heart

Stitch you and me together

Crochet friends forever,

You’ve passed down a skill that you would have never known will

Create me an interest and trade

A piece of me that wont easily fade,

You came from Chiapas to the RGV

Then were taught from your best friends mother

Down to your granddaughter, AKA me!

My Grandma, mi abuelita,

Mi corazon, my Mamita,

You have looped, stitch, and chained

Our family, our foundation,

Sitting down in the wet sand.

The last light of day turns the horizon into an agitated pool of fire that spreads from east to west.

Has god ever had a question for anyone?

No wonder babies come crying into the world.

Why is air an acquired taste?

Sure your mom is sweet, but who was she at 17?

Everyone’s thought of murder once or twice.

Shouldn’t an empty canvas be black instead of white?

Inertia constitutes existence and change.

The dogged boy falls in love, left a sorrowful heart, so alone.

Yesterday, he held his pillow to sleep. Today, in body and spirit, he's on his own, left with painful words to patch his soul.

Could a dream be so determined to neglect the living smile? Passion and reality so meant to diffuse?

The crime committed was self-inflicted, both body and spirit disposed to the Holy rhythm of Love.

Don't forget me, the sorrowful boy digs his final words, yet only the silence is left to carry the empty dispositions.

For each other,

Three together,

Two alone,

One left.

Flaming thoughts of sacred infractions,

Delicate lines of a spider’s thread,

Milk pale phantoms of familiar conformations,

Vast libraries of words unsaid.

Liquid night, foreign and odd,

As color draining from the face of God.

Where now is the bright gaze, and the smile burning?

Warm sinews of fabled strength never returning?

Therefore, don't enforce any literary rules on me! Or, if you do, I'll certainly encroach upon them. I'm not a poet, that's why I write poetry.

I'm an anti-poet or non-poet.

I thus came to America to re-build the Statue of Liberty of the Verse, delivered from the tyranny of the classic and its dogma.

I allowed any boldness:

- anti-literature and its literature;

- flexible forms fixed, or the alive face of the death!

- style of the non-style;

- poems without verse

(because poems don't mean words)- dumb poems with loud voice;

- poems without poems (because the notion of "poem" doesn't match any definition found in dictionaries or encyclopedias) - poems which exist by their absence;

- after-war literature: pages and pages bombed by filthiness, triteness, and non-poeticality;

- paralinguistic verse (only!): graphics, lyrical portraits, drawings, drafts...

- non-words and non-sentence poems;

- very upset free verse and trivial hermetic verse;

- intelligible unintelligible language;

- unsolved and open problems of mathematics like very nice poems of the spirit - we must scientificize the art in this technical century;

- impersonal texts personalized;

- electrical shock;

- translation from the impossible into the possible, or transformation of the abnormal to the normal;

- pro Non-Art Art;

- make literature from everything, make literature from nothing!

The poet is not a prince of ducks! The notion of "poetry" and its derivatives have become old-fashioned in this century, and people laugh at them in disregard. I'm ashamed to affirm that I create lyrical texts, I hide them. People neither read nor listen to lyrical texts anymore, but they will read this volume because it's nothing to read!

However, the Paradoxist Movement is neither nihilism, nor disparity.

The book of the non-poems is a protest against art's marketing.

Do you writers sell your feelings? Do you create only for money??

Only books about crimes, sex, horror are published. Where is the true Art?

In begging... .

You may find in this book of uncollected poems everything you don't need and don't like: poems not to be read, not to be heard, not to be written at all!

Enjoy them. Only after nuisance you really know what pleasure means.

They provide a mirror of everybody's infinite soul. Art, generally speaking, is pushed up to its last possible frontiers toward non-art, and even more...

Better a book of blanc pages, than one which says nothing.

A very abstract and symbolic language is further used, but very concrete at the same time: non-restrictive verse from any form or content. It takes advantage of cliche against itself.

EVERYTHING IS POSSIBLE, THEREFORE: THE IMPOSSIBLE TOO! Hence don't wonder about this anti-book! If you don't understand it, that means you understand all. That is the goal of the manifesto. Because Art is not for the mind, but for feelings. Because Art is also for the mind.

Try to interpret the un-interpretable! Your imagination may flourish as a cactus in a desert.

But, The American Manifesto of the PARADOXISM is especially a revolt of the emigrant to the United States who doesn't speak English, against the language - an anti-language book written in more than a broken English (the American speech of Tomorrow?)...

[From the book: NonPoems, by Florentin Smarandache, Xiquan Publishing House, Phoenix, Chicago, 1991, 1992, 1993;

the volume contains very experimental so called , such as:

- poems without verse;

- poems without poems;

- poem-drafts;

- drawn-poems;

- poems in Pirissanorench (language spoken in the South-West of the United States by a single person);

- super-poems;

- graphic poems;

She held on her the life struggle with grace

Time to time and over, breaks made haste

Tears wet ran down her face

But she prevailed and found her way

Loving herself and letting her dark thoughts stay

In the moments the task at hand, she has nothing to worry and believes she can

In the end after time has passed

She will look back and have a laugh and remember the times tough and true

You cannot make mistakes

They are perfect moments to the art of your life

You cannot have perfection

We crave “the ones” that need salvation

We crave “the ones” that face starvation

Not for saving or comforting our souls

The wall “the ones” they climb, brings them to us

We are the rope, the strong rope they need.

Tattered, frayed and a little torn but able to hold giants

One of those sunless nights

My feet planted firmly in the sky

I will call your name

Meandering through the stars

See if gravity pulls us apart

You might forget my soul

An event without horizon

Drink the poison of my hope

I will swallow my reason

He who wanted to elope

Billy liked driving his car

To see his friends who lived afar

Billy's driving wasn't intricate

He never forgot to indicate

Except sometimes at roundabouts

His indicator would mess about

And so did Billy wonder

Was it for worse or for better

That he should think less

But to endure the stress

Of never knowing which

Turn would make it glitch

And so did billy wonder

And so did billy wonder

See the alarm in the shark’s cadence,

Hear the sharp seagull’s cry:

The merling king has come! The merling king has come!

Jellyfish floating around his cloudy crystal crown

Like translucent passive thoughts of aggression.

Will he forgive your primate indiscretion?

In his court of slime and rock sublime

He beckons you with open tentacles

to join his circle of hedonistic companions.

The mermaid is a murderous creature.

The dolphins are wanton and wild.

What’s that in your pockets? The inquisitive mollusk asks.

Rocks.

Of the precious kind?

No.

His soft limbs curl back in plain disappointment.

From under a shell a faint voice cautioned,

Do not trust in the soft bodied rogue’s trade.

It was written on her, the poetry of beauty, prose holding struggle and experience

Buried in night, wrapped in warm arms

Empty space gone and air escapes two sunken bodies

An embrace lost in time, I am yours and you are mine

The warmth of your skin burns, turns me to ash

The sight of you makes my thoughts bleed

Your hands dissolve me slowly

The taste of you poisons my senses.

You have made me bare-boned and raw, I am endless

Your existence creates standing water that runs deep in my soul

Will you come to me? I will wait. How soon is now?

Lovers love the faint blue sea, bluer than blue, like the aftermath of a bended knee

Readers read the words that paint you through my eyes, the words they whisper, all of them lies

Doers do, the deeds that have proper morals and wronged righteousness, the priest and politicians, never are missed

Kissers kiss the lips of lovers and poets, creating fire in ones own heart, the more you kiss the hotter it starts

Killers kill the authenticity of life and art with their normalized judgments for what they cannot do

I am this love to you

I’ll pick you up all the times you are blue

I’ll shelter you from the rain, wipe you tears and absorb your pain— never waiving in front of you- conquering, ambitious, risky, poetic, passionate, sexy and raw, I’ll ask you to enter but then you crawl

But I say for these ideals and truths of us to last, what is your love to me when you take off that mask?

What is your love, you offer to me? For the days and nights to set me free.

What is your love that takes me from this place?

What is your love that opens up me?

What is it you have to offer, average love will not due because we are not the love common for two

I ask you again, what is your love that is my end?

Angry, lost, and afraid- in world I never made

Raging, sadness, and rotten- I, in a world, time has forgotten

Until her

She gave peace, mind, and strength

She holds me tight and gives my darkness the kindest light- to be happy with such happiness

She reminded him of no one

He was trapped in a dream he wanted

He had demons that danced with perfect vulgar in her night that never ended

Je suis es noir- he is the black

Je suis es blanc- she is the white

She needed him like she needs the light

She hides from him in the shadows, but he owns the night

He was all she never wanted, emotionally complex, and couldn’t understand

He was barbed wire on a bloody heart

She was all he never wanted, complex emotionally, and understands couldn't

She was an anvil made of glass

It wasn’t anything but everything, like beautiful demolition

The life that breaths life

The good that makes bad feel good

These words that could not be said, only seen in stares with my eyes