Never Settle

@Real Men Lifestyle

Why settle every morning for the same black and white,
seven spoons of sugar and a spoon of mold mixed together like you’re always told?
why settle every day for the same old ways,
take the bus at five past eight, two dollars forty cents, coffee black and see-trough pants?
why settle every night having pizza and a beer on your couch
than a Xanax to lay down, to never dream and never dare and never try…
Why settle in Seattle, when there’s so much going on around the world?
Why settle in Seattle when adventure calls its horn…

Open up your eyes, absorb the very sound, sharpen up those teeth and break the habit,
never to return, never to submit, never to defeat…never settle!
Quit that boring job and the bus you know so well, take a plunge in to the deep,
drop the shoes and walk into the rain like a derailed choo-choo train,
chase the neighbor’s dog around the pool with a viking hammer made of bone,
there’s a pub on Charleston street, crusader of true meaning go get a pint!

Never settle, so they said, Georgia men with many beers ahead,
never settle for a number, always dig beyond the morning call,
more than a buzz alarm, more than a shiny thing, more than a phone,
and when you got her on the hook you just go and you don’t look,
never settle in Seattle when there’s so much going on around the world,
Never Settle in Seattle…

Never Settle for One… Get Two!

Missing Sunday

@Lubasa - Killing time sketching

She was killing time in Montserrat
as she felt the boiling of the stone-chair in the cotton heart he digs
and she was holding back the anchors that led her to this place,
she took a photo of the band and two guys in leather jacket with a haircut to regret,
little prince upon a picture of a story that comes back
and a simple dress in almost white, an almost lover to confess,
the roses guide her steps to stairways leading to uncover all that rest..

He used to burn a pocket full of wonders in his chest,
arms around the trembling body of a secret shady deed not to forget
and the memories so sweet of the books she used to read and of those with funny breed,
and he used to let her to the facts while the night would do its heist and others slept,
bloody hands was all she had to turn from labor into calling mirror pieces, ash and sugar, fourteen years of days to last till the sunrise of a blast…

And she was killing all her time on a Sunday afternoon,
people heading up and down, whiskey, vodka and cigars
and the words would come and go raining tears in her soul,
while two strangers on a bench never got to have a chance,
on a Sunday afternoon when she’s loosing all again
in the darkness with no cover, with the eyelids to the floor
and the morning act of glory that reminds her of the old…

Nașterea

Return to wonderland

Am să te rănesc…am să te ucid fără să te ating,
sunt făcut din ițe, din firele de iarbă, sunt făcut din prea multe nuanțe,
și o să te doară, când am să te pictez în culori de toamnă,
nu sunt eu salvarea, șoaptele sunt vorbe menite să coboare înserarea peste fruntea ta…
fugi acum cât mai departe, rupe-te de zările cu nori,
eu ard ca o speranță, dar focul mistuie ninsori
iubit-o pașii ți-i îndreaptă spre certitudini nu spre noi;
eu sunt durat în piatră, rece ca torentul ce mă spală,
poate oare mâna ta așezată peste maluri să sădească ghindă?
Poți să înțelegi tu oare,
să te iubesc și să nu te chem la închinare,
să îți scriu în rostiri numele de fecioară fără să-l citesc sub cruce,
că am să spulber vise și am să răstorn credințe?
Poate ai să mă ierți când soarele răsare,
poate vei schița un zâmbet când ai să vezi un spectru al zilelor trecute,
sau vei trece mai departe,
frumoasă din orele cu basme,
dar mai presus de toate îți doresc să guști din nemurire,
așa cum tu nu vei putea înțelege,
femeie, că dimineața nunții noastre a fost pe veșnicie…

Ode

@ http://www.boldsky.com

Ode to my feet that keeps me standing,
to each of the pillars that never gave up caring when the world was mine to hold,
to the tall mountain trees that push against the storms,
and to the masts that hold against my troubled seas,
ode to the dirt on my toes and the scars with their stories untold,
I am writing an ode to the very best friends and the caress of your warm hands,
poetry for the lonely, a language for the few,
an ode to the sand steps washed up by the rain,
to the names I cannot pronounce, to the numbers and the unexpected…
Ode to my feet that walked upon your shadow,
to the bones and the muscles that kept me standing,
to every fiber and nerves and the vessels that did not shrink when fear cornered me,
ode to my feet that against my best intentions brought me closer to your dream
and did not break away when I touched the lips
and did not skip a beat when I did another deed,
ode to the plants that I squashed when I danced,
to the ants and the plans
and the past upon which I pressed heavy boots to pass
one thought closer,
two steps nearer to the dream I never hoped to hold…
Ode to my feet that keeps me standing,
ode to the gift,
ode to the heat…