Search

The Four Faced Wind

Poetry by Valeria Castellanos

Tag

My Artwork

Time Travelers

Time travelers,
Let’s synchronize.
Close your eyes.
Reset.
Preset.
Don’t get upset.
Just go back.
Stay on track.
So, much easier than going into all the possible futures.
Maybe we’ll try that next time.
Anyway,
Yesterday.
And, the day before.
And, many more.
Back so far you can’t remember.
Back to the beginning.

A thousand years ago.
I don’t even know what people are saying.
Even people who say they speak English.
But, I understand human nature.
And, I understand the birds.
They have not changed.
They understand me because I sing without words.
They think I am the village idiot but,
They don’t dislike me because music soothes even the savage beast.

Three thousand years ago,
We are trying to make paper.
You can write on a leaf but,
Leaves don’t last.
They fall apart in the time capsule before the future ever arrives.
All too quick.
Still, things are where they should be.
The fish still swim,
And, the flowers bloom.

Forty thousand years ago,
We are painting on the walls of caves,
And, the aliens are here,
Mining gold,
And, playing around with our DNA.
They eye me with suspicion.
I sit around the campfire and try to act like everyone else, counting my toes.
The plums taste like plums.

Two million years ago,
Lucy is foraging.
The weather is unpredictable.
The land is not where it was in the future,
And, the only thing I understand is the wind.
I do not want to go back further,
Because I am only human.

If you don’t mind going further back than that,
I’m still a little curious and wouldn’t mind a chat.
I could meet up with you at:
Time Travelers next meeting will be held on
Wednesday of last week at 7 pm.

Laughter

1535371621a-picsay
“Laughter” – My Digital Artwork – V. Castellanos –

Last night I dreamt again of the Everglades.
They have become an obsession.
I have imbued them with my suffocating adoration, and
My overwhelming greed.
I feel the romances there, throbbing under the ground,
In the green sap of the cypress trees.
It is spring again and they are in love with one another.

Their love is composed of the same force as gravity,
As curiosity,
The same attraction that holds together atoms, molecules and solar systems.
It is the reason all of the ghost orchids bloom together on the same morning, and
Why all the wild heron sleep together in the same tree.

The wet, black, alligator earth knows it is spring.
She is dreaming of capture and kidnapping,
Of selfishly taking what is wanted,
Of never letting go.
She is dreaming of the kisses impressed by the footsteps of birds, and
The flicking of the lizards tails.
She would keep them forever if she could,
As permanent as tattoos,
Just as I would keep the kisses given to me, but
As this is not possible,
I sit instead with empty pockets,
Watching the beatles in the morning sun,
Put on their gaudy armor, and
Set out to conquer the world.

Who but the witch doctor morning glories,
Can read the contortions of the clouds?
Who else knows who will survive to see the green flash of the setting sun?
Who but the tree frog magus can understand the words of the raindrops?
Who else knows who will win and how far each will go?

I sit with empty pockets, and
I’m pleased to be in this vast, amoral space,
Where there are no angels and no devils,
Where neither good nor evil exist,
Where no one dies of a broken heart.

This is a catch as catch can world.
Images mean nothing and manifestation is everything.
Time is measured by activity, and
Everyone is known by the total results of their actions.
The immense illusion of serenity has begun to crack, and
Fall apart, revealing displays of competition and combat.
The tension of extraordinary desire.
The shadows break and reveal a cathouse of sex,
A demand for continuation,
A bordello of acquisition and submission,
A realization that immortality is not a possibility.

I would wish to stay here forever,
Delighting in things just the way they are,
Happy with the energy of being alive, right now.
I would fill my pockets with the intentions of rainbows,
Or, the inventions of the absinthe intoxicated ibis.

Perhaps when I awake the Everglades would have taught me to forget,
That life turns into nothing,
To remember that the only thing of importance,
Is your laughter, and
My laughter.

V. Castellanos – June 2013

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑