An Illusory Return
468
An Illusory Return
The morning breeze foretells the return of my beloved,
After leaving me for so many years.
If she truly comes, it will be at noon
At least, that’s what she told me.
The morning breeze foretells the return of my beloved,
After leaving me for so many years.
Could it be a premonition?
Will she really come back to me?
Or is it a pious wish,
A dream of a time long gone and faded?
Yet everything seems to foretell her return
On this break of day:
A blue sky, bright and clear,
A sun rising early, strangely so,
Majestic unusually radiant.
The moon takes its leave discreetly and all the better for it.
The morning breeze foretells the return of my beloved,
After leaving me for so many years.
I tremble and waver in my corner like a child,
I cry out in enchantment,
I can no longer keep still
I lose all sense.
A swallow lands upon my balcony,
As if to show me its sympathy.
The morning breeze foretells the return of my beloved,
After leaving me for so many years.
Time stops
it feels like eternity.
The ticking of my watch falters, losing its rhythm,
The hands seem frozen, stretched apart.
I hold my breath,
I can hardly breathe, I’m suffocating,
Sweat pouring from every pore,
My head spinning, my sight blurred.
The morning breeze foretells the return of my beloved,
After leaving me for so many years.
Suddenly, the morning breeze ceases.
I sense that she is not yet ready.
The sun vanishes like a sorcerer,
Hiding behind the clouds.
The moon peeks through now and then,
As if to mock his retreat.
The ticking of my watch resumes its old rhythm,
The clock hands blend together enchantingly.
I catch my breath again,
Regain my composure,
Put my jacket back on,
Recover my reason,
And stop asking questions.
I am convinced she will not return today
She has not kept her word, as always.
I shall wait for another breeze,
On another morning,
That will once again announce her return.
Until then
I’ll go out for a walk.
Dr. Fouad Bouchareb
Rabat, October 26, 2022
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He thinks....
646
He thinks....
He thinks that in his nailed hands
I'm nothing but a toy.
I don’t think I’ll go back to him.
Today, everything has changed
As if nothing had ever happened.
And with the innocence of angels from the skies
in the look in his eyes,
He tells me: I am the keeper of this place,
And that I am his one true love.
He brought me flowers.
How could I not accept them?
And all the naivety of youth
I found again in his gentle smile.
I no longer remember... the fire in your eyes.
How did I find myself in his arms?
I laid my head on his chest, proud,
Like a child returned to their father or mother.
Even my long-abandoned dresses
danced at his feet, all of them.
I forgave him… and asked how he had been.
And I cried for hours under his armpit.
And without thinking, I gave him my hand,
So it could sleep like a bird in his.
And I forgot all my hatred in a fraction of a second.
Who said I held a grudge against him?
How many times did I say I’d never return?
And yet I came back.
My return is wonderful.
To my first love.
Dr. Fouad Bouchareb
All rights reserved
Toulouse, May 29, 2025
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He thinks....
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My Street
1297
My Street
It belongs to me
It’s part of my daily life
It’s a kind of identity and bond
I love the name of my street, and that’s fine
It wasn’t named for nothing
My street is called Hablmlouk
And it’s not just any name
Yes, it’s called Cherry Street 🍒
It’s beautiful and exquisite
It reminds me every moment of Sefrou
My hometown
With ancestral roots
It enchants me from all sides
And for me, above all
That’s enough
It’s better that way
Dr. Bouchareb Fouad
May 18, 2020
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My Street
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Love
1337
Love!
Love is a destiny We hardly choose the moment to love
It happens one evening or one morning
It happens by pure chance
It leaves you confused and haggard One day when you least expect
it You didn't see
it coming from afar
It happens in the blink of an eye... Without an appointment...
It makes you soft...
It makes you lose your mind...
It makes you run away from home Like fire,
it burns you with passion Love at first sight is legion
You'll get your share,
your ration Without logic...
But it's beautiful despite everything we endure
It's a pure feeling When it's sincere It's magical
It's fantastic Despite its pains and sorrows, its sleepless nights Until morning
It's the elixir of life It's endless ecstasy...
It happens to you by magic...
Content in loving takes you away from everything...
It besieges you from everywhere!
It takes over!
It will drive you crazy sooner or later!!!
Dr. Fouad Bouchareb El Medano / Tenerife August 24, 2025 Inspired by a text by Jalal Eddine Erroumi Arabic and Arabic All rights reserved
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Love
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The Alleys of Marrakech
1655
The Alleys of Marrakech
Whether on foot or by carriage
They are magnificent, the alleys of Marrakech.
What a pleasure to wander through these shaded paths,
Changing my route each time I pass.
I mingle with the crowd,
The atmosphere is lively, the spirit proud.
The Marrakchis are funny, always cool,
Full of charm, they follow no rule.
The Spice Square feels like a spell,
From the terraces above, the view is swell.
It leaves romantics lost in dreams,
Where everything is more than it seems.
Herbalists sell their fragrant spices,
Pets abound, with no disguises.
Once at Jemaa el-Fna, everything bursts in color,
Scents rising everywhere, one after the other.
Different dishes with countless flavors
Are served here, to everyone’s favors.
A true delight,
A magical sight,
A festival of culinary art,
From a millennial cuisine with heart.
The snakes taunt the curious who stare,
Cobras bare their fangs to the air.
Only the flute’s enchanted sound
Can soothe their ardor as it floats around,
Amusing eyes that watch with glee—
The charmers’ dance, their mystery.
Mischievous monkeys, bold and sly,
Beg for peanuts or coins to buy.
They leap, they spin, they clown around,
Acrobats playing for the crowd.
Fruit juices please the wandering souls,
But as for me—I love the snails.
The tooth-pullers draw in the reckless,
With makeshift pliers, their work is merciless.
Molars and canines, pulled without care,
No anesthesia, just cries in the air.
A pitiful trade,
For those betrayed
They’ll return again someday,
Hoping dentures will ease the pain away.
The café terraces all around
Are filled with life, night and day bound.
Different melodies blend and collide,
In the square, a noisy tide.
The clamor echoes, wild and strange,
A soundscape that never seems to change.
And when I head back, my mind still rings,
With the echoes that this city brings.
I know tomorrow I’ll return again,
On foot or by carriage, it’s all the same.
To these mythical places, where magic flows,
Marrakech, your charm forever grows.
Dr. Bouchareb Fouad
Marrakech, March 17, 2023
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Narcissism at its Extreme
1806
How handsome he is,
the man with the hat!
A true Sagittarius,
one of a kind,
dignified and bold,
fantastic,
funny,
extravagant,
enigmatic,
mysterious,
curious,
a dreamer,
gentle
and rebellious at the same time.
For his family, he is an idol,
for his colleagues, he is kind and witty,
for his friends, a center of gravity.
His days overflow with activity.
He defies every law.
A piercing gaze,
commanding respect
and regard.
Sociable,
and rather helpful.
A sly smile
never leaves indifferent
those who cross his path.
Some admire him,
those who fight him end up retreating.
His beauty can be seen from afar,
though faded in certain corners.
Beneath his bright hat he conceals
secrets,
mysteries,
dreams,
and desires.
His charisma is real,
a gift from heaven.
His elegance envies no rival.
A hidden strength,
a star that sings in the heart of a lost night,
a love song from the past
that defies infinity—
and it is better this way.
Other stars,
dazzled and amazed,
in a serene sky,
repeat their refrains
while awaiting the break of dawn,
the rising of the sun,
and the warmth of its rays, one after the other.
His kindness is legendary,
his friendship exemplary,
his reputation crosses borders
and rivals his peers.
Dr. Fouad Bouchareb
All rights reserved
Agadir, July 17, 2025
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Perfect Imperfection
3319
She has beautiful imperfection
The right kind of right
The sad song played happily when the black dog critic cries here after her Fragility and lies from un-cropped truth- this is something entirely surreal Hold on to embrace her necessity, and life gives life to her again
The failed faucets of memories are for the taking- hurry up, love and let’s start to make mementos
See the seas to sight and songs played loudly, quiet between the space of us
I am trust and bare bones, I see the perfect imperfection in passing lines formed on your face
Imperfection by society's eyes and mouth, unmoved and unbreakable determination - you make the bitter taste sweet.
You are perfect imperfection.
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Perfect Imperfection
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Love
4783
Love!
Love is a destiny We hardly choose the moment to love It happens one evening or one morning
It happens by pure chance
It leaves you confused and haggard One day when you least expect
it You didn't see
it coming from afar It happens in the blink of an eye...
Without an appointment...
It makes you soft...
It makes you lose your mind...
It makes you run away from home Like fire,
it burns you with passion Love at first sight is legion
You'll get your share,
your ration Without logic...
But it's beautiful despite everything we endure
It's a pure feeling
When it's sincere It's magical
It's fantastic Despite its pains and sorrows,
its sleepless nights Until morning
It's the elixir of life It's endless ecstasy...
It happens to you by magic...
Content in loving takes you away from everything...
It besieges you from everywhere!
It takes over!
It will drive you crazy sooner or later!!!
Dr. Fouad Bouchareb El Medano / Tenerife August 24, 2025 Inspired by a text by Jalal Eddine Erroumi Arabic and Arabic All rights reserved
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Love
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Towards a New Era: The CAA Advocates for Fairness and Representativeness in World Athletics
12051
At its latest congress held on July 14, 2025, in Abeokuta, Nigeria, the Confederation of African Athletics (CAA) adopted a resolution that could shake up the governance structure of global athletics. At a time when the debate around modernity and representativeness in international sports institutions is intensifying, the CAA proposes major reforms for the organization World Athletics (WA).
**At the heart of the reform: towards fairer governance**
In light of recent developments in global sport and the imperative to ensure transparency and efficiency, the CAA believes it is time to revise the statutes of World Athletics, the global governing body for athletics. The primary goal is to strengthen continental representativeness within the WA Council.
This reform necessarily hinges on key points in the resolution, notably fair representation by continent. The CAA suggests the establishment of a fixed quota of representatives for each continent within the Council. Such a measure would give each region an effective voice, limiting the overrepresentation of continents already firmly entrenched in international decision-making bodies. The CAA also proposes that members of the World Athletics Council be elected by the continental associations themselves, rather than by the global general assembly. According to the CAA, each continental association should directly elect its own representatives. The only exception in the proposed reform concerns the presidency: the position of World Athletics President would remain subject to the traditional election by the WA General Assembly, thereby preserving a form of institutional unity.
The resolution goes further, proposing that for all World Athletics commissions and working groups, the appointment of members should also fall under the authority of continental associations—according to quotas predetermined by WA regulations. This approach aims to ensure genuine diversity in the technical and strategic circles of global athletics.
This represents a new impetus for international sports democracy. The CAA’s initiative aligns with a worldwide movement demanding greater democracy, transparency, and balance in the governance of major sports federations. Several observers consider that such a reform, if supported by other continental associations, could serve as a model for other sports and contribute to a balanced, representative, and inclusive international sports world.
However, the proposal will face multiple challenges in its implementation. Despite its ambitions, the resolution must overcome several hurdles. Obviously, consensus must be reached with the other continental associations. It will also require negotiation with the World Athletics Council, which may fear a loss of influence for certain continents. Finally, the regulatory texts must be adopted within a timetable compatible with the desired institutional evolution.
Carried by the spirit of Abeokuta, the CAA’s proposal could well usher in a new era for athletics. It reaffirms the legitimacy of emerging continents and raises the fundamental question of fairness in international sport. Time will tell if this reform ambition will resonate globally and lead to a profound transformation in the governance of World Athletics.
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What really is conviction?
11602
If you can tell for sure that whatever you want to have in your future would really belong to you, then you actually don't have a future; you are just navigating through time.
It is important that we appreciate that the great people the world celebrates were never so certain that they will achieve the things they have. Yes, there were moments when they believed they would do great things, and then there were those singular moments when they actually realized that they were meant for great things. But never were there moments before such moments of the euphoria of the culmination of their deeds were they ever so sure of the prospects of the future.
This is therefore the human condition. The one that makes life worth living. The one whereforth springs the meanings of all purpose.
Notice the keyword here is to believe!
In every step of the way, great people tread the paths of belief. An identity, an appreciation of a life that could potentially be worth nothing, be meaningless and result in total complete waste. Yet, they walk that path anyway. They walk these paths also quietly aware of the rewards of their deeds.
To quote a book, "it is in times when we succeed, when things seem to be working in our favor, and our egos expand like a pufferfish, that we are most easily blind-sided and in danger of the greatest fall. It can be a cycle for many of us, until we learn how to break it, how to be unaffected by either success or failure, and just keep moving forward, towards our goals"
That is conviction!
"When I close my eyes, I see a thing. I did this thing. I made this thing. It is so beautiful. and powerful. and everyone loves it. everyone says this is really a great thing! everyone agrees that this is going to change their lives for the better forever. I smile because I imagined this thing, and I did it, and it was beautiful in every aspect. It did it's job just like I wanted it to and I fulfilled my purpose."
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Being Doctors
11609
Being a doctor...in my generation!
Medicine was an art practiced without flaw by a rare horde of people dedicated to their lauded work,
who often remained stuck in the hospital to be that lifeline of oxygen and life.
We remained clear-headed.
We weren't greedy at all.
Our medicine, whatever anyone said, and in all honesty, brought honor and happiness.
It was our reason for being. Without it, we would be nothing but poor people, ultimately given over to doubt.
Dr. Fouad Bouchareb
All rights reserved
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Being Doctors
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Moving away from me
8796
By leaving me you exhausted me, and it's cruel
Have mercy on me my beautiful
You fucked up my passion
But one day you'll find your sanity
You cross me carelessly
Me who loves you and that's all the difference
They were beautiful our lovers' kisses
If you don't remember them
Ask your lips
They are still in fever
Our bonds were so strong
So much so that when our blood squirts
We don't know if it's yours or mine
Ask the night why these stars despite their splendor
And their glow
Are not worth that of your smile
O moon, if you accompany me in my loneliness ………and if one day I agonize in the meanders of space
Tell the darkness that the martyr of love is dead........
and sprinkle stardust on my shroud
Dr Fouad Bouchareb
Inspired by Farid Al Atrache's song >
https://youtu.be/57Xezl_YR6c?si=JVP_kEQZCY8rZbNF
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Moving away from me
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Infernal passion
5736
Fire of passion
To the one whose fire of passion burns me
How to win your heart, tell me
I remain lost and confused and I have no choice
I gaze at the stars and lose sleep
Yet you promised me the earth and the stars
And you swore that like a branch you would resist the wind
And that you would hold firm
But at the first breath you bent
And you shied away at the risk of breaking everything
Long gone are the days of your promises
Of joys and gladness
Your indifference is morbid
It kills me and drains me
You walked away after a fleeting romance
Yet it is neither your habit nor your style
It was then that I understood that you were gone for good
And I sat down and gave myself over to the wind
Mourning your departure
The night then How late it is
I put on mourning clothes
And wept, overcoming my pride
I will complain to the judge of passion
And denounce your schemes and your ways
Only he will know how to do me justice
And repair your wrongs
So you will feel what I feel
And you will burn just like me by the fire of passion
Dr. Fouad Bouchareb
All rights reserved
Inspired by a mawal of Andalusian music
January 1, 2025
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Infernal passion
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The flower of my dreams
5906
The flower of my dreams
Oh ! Flower of my dreams grown in my heart
And that they took me away
Wrongly, what a horror!!
hands have crumpled it cruelly
Yet her beauty dazzled the eyes
A gift from the God of heaven
She bewitched young and old
Now the fire of my passion has gone out
My heart lies empty and bruised
I sacrificed my life
I lost the rhythm of my melodies
And like a bird perched on a branch I dare
sing to my faded, to my rose
Poetry and prose
Hoping to see her resurrected
And regain its former splendor
Thus dreams hopes will be reborn
She will shine with her beauty
And will be the star of my bouquet
Inspired by the song of Farid Al Atrache (يا زهرة في خيالي)
Dr Fouad Bouchareb
July 19, 2022
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The flower of my dreams
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Pigeon
6211
I saw a pigeon in the valley
who was crying in sorrow and called in vain
his lover who left him this morning
He repeated to anyone who would listen to him
how much his heart although tender
feels now emptied of love
after this departure that left him as dead
He lost the joy of living
and love in turn
He finds this journey through the desert quite long
and no one is there to keep him company
It’s obvious he misses her and it’s quite clear
And sinks into sadness and melancholy
Even with time it is impossible for him to forget
the one he nevertheless loved madly
In love, his heart is well bruised
and does not help him overcome so much spite
And even if his appearance seems royal
His state of mind is so pitiable
Translated by Dr Bouchareb Fouad
October 19, 2022
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Pigeon
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To all women I live ❤️
6378
To all the women I love
Great and sublime celebration
that makes my head spin
For great ladies
We love all these women
who stand up to us
for much greater equality
of friendship and fraternity
What would we be without these beautiful creatures!
Gift from heaven, jewels of nature?
With hearts completely made of gold
Avoiding harming us
Full of love and passion
Pride of the entire nation.
These grandmothers we adore
These mothers we love
These aunts we cherish
These wives we adore
These sisters we protect
These colleagues we rub shoulders with
For the love we share
So happy birthday, ladies
Open your sesame to us
Because without us men
And despite all our faults
Our presence with you
Is not superfluous
Far from it…
Dr. Bouchareb Fouad
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To all women I live ❤️
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The Garonne
6142
The Garonne
On the Pont Saint Pierre
I contemplate the Garonne
Majestic as always
Its waters flow
And purr slowly
As if by magic to say hello to me
On the Pont Saint Pierre
The Hôtel-Dieu Saint-Jacques
rises like a crack
Nostalgic for medicine
of alchemy and penicillin
On the Pont Saint Pierre
I walk humming a chance at love
waiting for nightfall
And watching the day slip away
Dr. Bouchareb Fouad
Toulouse, October 5, 2022 and
May 31, 2025
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The Garonne
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Blind love
6130
Blind love
To the one who looks at me and pretends not to see me
While she is the source of my sorrows and setbacks
Yet she confesses to others that she loves me who believes
Leaning on her balcony every evening
She doesn't care that I always be there at my perch Waiting for a signal from her, a hope
To the one who looks at me and pretends not to see me
While she is the source of my sorrows and my setbacks
In spite I keep drinking And drinking get drunk every night
Sitting in front of her window on the sidewalk
To the one who looks at me and pretends not to see me
While she is the source of my sorrows and my disappointments
I say that this story is over now
And that elsewhere I will go to see
Dr Bouchareb Fouad July 5, 2022 Inspired by a piece of Andalusian music
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Blind love
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Blind love
6471
Blind love
To the one who looks at me and pretends not to see me
While she is the source of my sorrows and setbacks
Yet she confesses to others that she loves me who believes
Leaning on her balcony every evening
She doesn't care that I always be there at my perch Waiting for a signal from her, a hope
To the one who looks at me and pretends not to see me
While she is the source of my sorrows and my setbacks
In spite I keep drinking And drinking get drunk every night
Sitting in front of her window on the sidewalk
To the one who looks at me and pretends not to see me
While she is the source of my sorrows and my disappointments
I say that this story is over now
And that elsewhere I will go to see
Dr Bouchareb Fouad July 5, 2022 Inspired by a piece of Andalusian music
All rights reserved
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Le ciel et la lune
6629
SOUVENT JE SCRUTE LE CIEL
ET CE DEPUIS MON JEUNE AGE
JE CONTEMPLE LA LUNE
JE VOIS SI ELLE SEMI OU PLEINE
JE COMPTE LES ÉTOILES
JE CHERCHE CELLE DU NORD
JE DEVINE MARS
JE CHERCHE JUPITER
JE SURVEILLE LES ÉTOILES FILANTES
JE RECHERCHE LES OVNIS
ET AUTRES EXTRA TERRESTRES
JE REFAIS LE COMPTE DES ÉTOILES
JE RECHERCHE D'AUTRES LUNES
JE PASSE DES HEURES COMME CA A COMPTER ET RECOMPTER
A VÉRIFIER LE NOMBRE D’ÉTOILES
ET FINALEMENT JE REPLONGE DANS LA RÉALITÉ
ET LE QUOTIDIEN
LE TRAIN TRAIN
ET QUAND LA NUIT REVIENDRA
JE REGARDE MON CIEL DE NOUVEAU
JE COMPTE ET RECOMPTE LES ÉTOILES
JE SCRUTE LA LUNE
JE LA DÉVISAGE
JE LA REGARDE EN FACE
BIEN EN FACE
ELLE ROUGIT
JE ROUGIS
ELLE S’ÉCLIPSE
JE SUIS SES TRACES
ELLE SE COUCHE
JE LA LAISSE ROUPILLER
JE ME LÈVE ALORS
ET JE SCRUTE LE CIEL BLEU
JE DÉTESTE LE SOLEIL
QUI ÉBLOUIE
JE METS DES LUNETTES
POINT D’ÉTOILES
POINT DE LUNE
SOUDAIN LE SOLEIL EST CHASSE
SES RAYONS AUSSI
SON ÉBLOUISSEMENT DISPARAIT
ET LA LUNE SE LÈVE ET SE RELÈVE
MAJESTUEUSE
COMME D'HABITUDE
ET EN DOUCEUR
ELLE ENVOIE SES DOUX RAYONS
POINT D’ÉBLOUISSEMENT
ET SOUS SON CLAIR
VOYONS LE CLAIR DE LUNE
JE SCRUTE LE CIEL
A LA RECHERCHE DE JUPITER MARS ET AUTRE NEPTUNE
SANS LASSITUDE NI AMERTUME
JE LA DÉVISAGE ENCORE ET ENCORE SANS REPIS
JE LA FIXE ELLE ROUGIT
JE ROUGIS
JE COMPTE LES ÉTOILES
JE COMPTE ET RECOMPTE
ET JE VOIS SI LE COMPTE Y EST
LA LUNE SE CACHE SOUS UN VOILE
ENFIN UN NUAGE
MAIS ELLE NE TARDE PAS A REPARAITRE
POUR SE CACHER DE NOUVEAU
JE LA FIXE ET REFIXE AVEC MON REGARD PATHÉTIQUE
ELLE ROUGIT ET VIRE AU JAUNE SA COULEUR MAGNIFIQUE
ET TOUTES LES AUTRES ÉTOILES EN FONT DE MÊME
Dr Bouchareb Fouad
Tous les droits sont protégés
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Le ciel et la lune
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Escape
7469
we know things in our minds and
we know things in our hearts
we're not truly alive until
we know in our heart
that we will die
the mind can be a prison
leave our heart open
so we can escape
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Escape
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What Anchors Cannot Hold
7860
I miss her now,
Though sense says that I shouldn't,
For when she shared my floating space,
I did all the things a careful sailor couldn't.
My compass gathered dust, my charts went unread,
Let slip away each task that kept us fed.
Lost track of time from sunrise until night.
Forgetting that a sailor needs his sight.
The weather shifted but my eyes were blind
To everything but her - until I'd find
The waves had moved unobserved,
And the boat had drifted far from paths I'd served.
I thought my love would be enough to bind,
Not seeing through the depths of my design,
That hearts can't hold what never was mine,
But a steadfast course makes hearts fall into line.
And so came the dawn - and with it came to mind
That every sailor leaves some love behind,
That no tide stays high,
And that safe ports deny.
That winds blow where they please,
And ships bend to their seas,
But stars still guide when harbors slip away,
And open seas hold promise of a new day.
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What Anchors Cannot Hold
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One Year Writing on Bluwr
8166
Bluwr.
A space where writing feels free.
No ads.
No distractions.
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.
Fueling creativity.
Inspiring what’s next.
Bluwr isn’t just a platform.
It’s a mindset.
A commitment to progress.
A space where your ideas aren’t stuck in the now—They’re shaping the future.
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One Year Writing on Bluwr
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Summer's On Your (WIP)
4156
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"
Cause we are here to love and not to die.
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Summer's On Your (WIP)
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Look Up
3302
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
-From the Universe
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Look Up
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A Masterpiece Called You
3512
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
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A Masterpiece Called You
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Lauren P. ( A Poem About Me)
3443
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
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Lauren P. ( A Poem About Me)
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My Crocheted Heart
3479
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,
And to me, most importantly, my crocheted heartland forever that way it remain
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My Crocheted Heart
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About nothing
3519
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?
Either way, who’s to say what a cat really thinks?
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About nothing
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I love you, left untrue
3998
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.
The end of an unwritten song. I love you, left untrue.
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I love you, left untrue
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Lament
3708
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?
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Lament
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Third Paradoxist Manifesto by Florentin Smarandache
3955
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;
- upset-poems.]
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