"I am a poet who composes what life proses, and who proses what life composes" ~Kahlil Gibran

جبران خليل جبران



Poems in alfabetical order


A written farewell


Silence echoes from wall to wall

seeking consolation,

a fugitive wind dishevels empty sheets

on the abandoned bed.


Her warmth long chilled,

his grief still to be slaked,

a restless spirit haunts memories

on faded photographs.


Distant chimes of mourning bells

witnesses to the final curtain

of their theatrical act,

tearful rain obliterates a written farewell



Adrift on an illusion (In coma)



Adrift on an illusion

like a shipwrecked survivor

I follow the stream-flow

towards the early morning mist


No compass do I possess

to steer my meandering course,

devoured by the thickening fog

swaddling me with dampness


An illusive figure beckons to follow

through the maze of delta streams

into the daylight where her tears of joy

welcome me back to our reality






An army of fearless windblown plunderers

shedding their storm rain

a shower of longbow arrows

scavenging the defenceless barren uplands

scarred by the erosion of culprit torrent rivers



A stealthy advance of invading mackerels 

veils the crimson tinged evening sky

nature`s patterned celestial blanket

denying to its dismay

the sun´s farewell of coloured splendour



An endless patchwork of mountains and prairie

a lurking terrain of candy floss

devours suddenly a descending `plane

to be discarded to gloom and drizzle

falling from an overcast canopy



Dry thy tears sad morn


Dry thy tears sad morn

Thy lover on morrow´s eve will you again embrace,

Whilst my woe finds no solace

Till again my eyes with joy behold

Her ineffable beauty.


Had I pondered less upon my plight

Fate a more precarious game would play

Yet I believed the folly of losing one`s heart

Never was an affair of mirth,

Rather of mindful contemplation.


Repentant of my deliberation,

I learned to solve the riddles of the heart:

Thqt valour should more influence sway,

For love is not at one`s convenience,

And passion often heedless






Dissolution reflects in her eyes

untruths mock her gullibility

like drops of poison

tears of reproach

contaminate her consciousness


Hands full of emptiness

wounded by rebuked caresses

succumb finger by finger

to shameful repentance


An abandoned shore at ebb-tide

deprived and full of scorn

she awaits her full moon

to embrace again a tidal flow



El Hatillo


I return in dreams

to my house painted all in white

home, haven and retreat


I stroll again on balmy evenings

through the square of my youth

a village patchwork of my past


The giggling girls with new romances

their eyes reliving the fantasies

of their imagination


Lovers ignorant of my presence

as they travel on their flying carpet

to their world of Eden`s gardens


A meringue

which crumbles apart

on tasting the reality of their mundane lives



Fair maiden, I love thee not…

Fair maiden, I love thee not

as I derive pleasure from the fragrance of spring blossoms,

for their beauty is no match to jealous breezes,

which scatter, unceremoniously,

their faded, frail petals.


Fair maiden, I love thee not

as I take delight to hear dawn`s feathered minstrels,

tuning my summer days to highest spirits,

of which, to my despondence come autumn,

I am grievously deprived.


Fair maiden, I love thee not

as I marvel a winter`s sunset,

burning the heavens with its crimson flames,

ere the darkness devours its prey,

releasing it on morrow`s eve, at nature`s will.


For I love thee more than nature`s prodigies:

thy gentleness, which sooths the wounds of my defeats,

thy caring countenance, which calms my tortured nights,

when the moon sheds not its clemency,

thy unbounded love, which feeds my soul

and blesses all my days with bliss. 



Forgotten promises


Shipwrecked in a storm of unleashed desires

the star-strewn heavens our compass,

guiding us to treasure -troves of enticement


The accomplice sheet smoulders still

in the aftermath of burning passion,

our breath deafening the night


Oblivion takes command

`till calmer waters overwhelm

our tendril bodies


In the discretion of slumber

we discover `neath the stones

of the reproachful river-bed

our forgotten promises



Her naked footprints


Her garments

rays of sunshine

blinding the sight with pastel hues


Her breath

as if bewitched

perfuming her speech with rose petals


Her ringlets

wind-blown labyrinths

capturing the early morning due


Her dance

a graceful gazelle

springing soundlessly in slow-motion


My arms

outstretched to finger tips

grasping in panic the emptiness

of her naked footprints


In the infinity of our souls


Your sorcery inebriated my senses

the evening star,

discreet witness of our pilgrimage

to our sacred temples,

tattooed our nakedness with her caresses


From the foothills of Mount Etna

we soared to summits of molten lava

to bury ourselves in our steaming crater,

the aftermath of our apocalypse


My kisses embraced your breath to revive my libido,

a seismic wave contrived by my conspiring testosterones

set aflame without leniency your sacrificed body,

to appease your whispered desires,

echoing through ancient legends


Engulfed in the heat of a volcanic eruption,

your very essence welded into mine,

this moment of sublime subjugation we stored

in the infinity of our souls






An eclipse

our bearings lost

carried on a monsoon wind

into the tenebrous void

our orientation bruised

through a labyrinth of burrows

guided by glow worms into the night sky


as stars

one to the other

we bestow eternal light



The Necromancer



Electrified with lightening daggers

deafened by drums of war

the heavens seek asylum from

her chariot of fire in full charge,

driven by tormented dragons,

blazing across the awakening morn,

dyed crimson


Spitting flames of perdition

to illuminate volcanic clouds

they scorch temples of inglorious gods,

whilst eruptions of molten lava,

from her mutilated eyes,

banished into perpetual darkness,

set aflame the breeding grounds

of loathsome cockroaches,

screaming pagan curses

for their coitus interruptus


Raped on the altar of Stonehenge

full of revenge she mocks the ferryman Charon,

defeats the depths of Styx

and storms in rage the necropolis´ gates of Hades

to claim her oracle,

imprisoned souls condemned to infinite purgatory



Oh! Night of joy


Oh! Night of joy which finds no end

and lifts my very soul to pinnacles

from where the gods observe our doings

and grant us pardon for our mischievous thoughts


My lips are mute, silenced by your beauty

my breath trembles full of apprehension

of the delights to be bestowed,

a king`s crowning was never of this magnificence


Blindfolded anticipation nestled in your caress

where my wantonness is tantalised by perfumes sweet.

Rescinding the remembrance of forgotten hours

I lose myself, my identity misplaced


Your warmth smothers my enraptured senses

they yearn to melt into rivers of lustful avarice

meandering over your naked breasts

and there in peace to dwell till dawn intrudes.



Oliver  - A winter`s morn


The belfry bells refused to chime the hour

Tired and rusty they hung disused

Scarred from years of toil

Without requital


His eyes awoke in the half eclipse

Of the morning light

Filtering through the naked window

Patterned with crystalized frost


In the dimness of the corner

The outline of the petrified angel

Whose wings had never learned to fly.

The reason for its ironical smile


Dressed in rags and shivering

He followed barefoot his own shadow

Cast by the waning candle

The only warmth this bitter morn


Pitiful souls at breakfast

Licking dry their wooden bowls and spoons

Starving wolves devouring their prey

In humble silence


Provoking Fagin`s latent rage the urchin asked for more

To satisfy his painful hunger

Till exhausted in the  darkness of the evening

He may sleep again



Opium lips



Opium lips

a kiss from which

in delirium

my unleashed lasciviousness

kindles the intrepidity

to discover your hiding places

and taste the bitter-sweet


of your virginal






I close my eyes to relieve the pain

mocking faces with piercing eyes

grimaces of carnival masks

torment my conscience


Names remembered with affection

others long buried

in the foolish attempt

not to remember


Peels of distant bells

recall both sadness and joyfulness

somersaulting my mind

into confusion


Drops from melting snowflakes

slid down my cheeks

my lips tasted their bitterness

my heart ignored reason

and froze


My senses are anaesthetized

by the fragrances of spring blossoms

our separate ways meandered into one

the current of life`s river swept us away


Coldness ascends my body

I gaze at the winged messenger

I close my eyes again

and hope for forgiveness






With mourning night shrouded day 
in a brief intermezzo of condolence

for a deception.

She yearns for his rays of comfort

at break of dawn.


From repentant skies rain tears

masking from curiosity her trembling body

deprived of his burning glow,

which, once allowed to wane,

will flame no more.



Rusty leaves



in silence we ignore our mutual blind gazes

seeping into our sterile hearts


Draped in coldness

our mornings lose themselves in opposed horizons

and fade into oblivion


Wounded from defeated debacles

our tormented evenings seek refuge

in contemptuous inebriation


Even the swallows abandoned their nests

trees shiver in their nakedness

condemned into heaps of self-pity

their shed rusty leaves

linger and wait

for the malevolent gusts

to disperse them into dust




In search for inner peace,

hypnotised by the breaking waves

my mind succumbed to drowse



Without haste

 my thoughts drifted aimlessly

over pastoral landscapes


A sudden eclipse disrupted my solace

her flowing tresses shed a shower

of sea-drops to refresh my brow.


Charmed by her beauty I pursued her laughter

´till our eyes devoured the distance

separating our embrace.


Prompted by the setting sun

she flustered in my ear her name,




The Citadel



Night seduced a reluctant sun

ominous shadows of hungry hyenas

witness their scornful laughter,

mocking the pregnant dreams


Rescued by a stronger force

the capsized venture

withstood the trials of usurped courts

to win the days of future pride


Dancing sunbeams in hallowed halls

echo the fervid footsteps

ascending the seraphic staircase

to reach the summit; the citadel



The last days of summer



To the warmth of the south

the swallows already took their leave

without entering her dream to say farewell,

awakened by the early morning dew

dampening like orphan tears her cheeks,

she is greeted by a fugitive ray of sunlight  

escaping from the bondage

of returning hordes of clouds


The lustre in her eyes

washed away by the night of storm

her aspect shrouded in shades of grey

as the last days of summer

resign to their fate 



The Necromancer



Electrified with lightening daggers

deafened by drums of war

the heavens seek asylum from

her chariot of fire in full charge,

driven by tormented dragons,

blazing across the awakening morn,

dyed crimson.


Spitting flames of perdition

to illuminate volcanic clouds

they scorch temples of inglorious gods,

whilst eruptions of molten lava,

from her mutilated eyes,

banished into perpetual darkness,

set aflame the breeding grounds

of loathsome cockroaches,

screaming pagan curses

for their coitus interruptus.


Raped on the altar of Stonehenge

full of revenge she mocks the ferryman Charon,

defeats the depths of Styx

and storms in rage the necropolis´ gates of Hades

to claim her oracle,

imprisoned souls condemned to infinite purgatory.



The River Boconó


It took me by surprise

surging over the sunbathed rocks

plundering its way into my thoughts


Paralysed and breathless

I followed my ravaged day-dreams

taken off balance and as captives

strewn in its spray and swept away

in a pitiless race to succumb at last

to the engulfing embrace of the river Boconó



The Somnambulist


From the open door to her Atlantis

a sea-breeze disturbs his silent sheet,

his lips savour still her erotic kiss

an invitation to trespass


He crosses the pebbled threshold,

she awaits his contrived intrusion,

surrounded by her dancing sea-urchins

jealous of his presence


Her latent eyes shed tears of joy,

baptising the confluence of their thoughts,

her angel breath shrouds their secrets,

betrayed by the treachery of his awakening eyes



The Witness


She permits him to enter her mind,

her heart, even to share her shame.

A witness to her struggle for independence,

a severance with her mundane life


She relates to him her dream,

herself the heroine of her own escape,

an open door; so many open doors.

Still she remains on her patterned floor,

in her world of symmetrical perfection


Her constant fear to flee,

closed doors condemning her to repetition,

strangulating her hopes of emancipation,

depriving her of the sweet taste of freedom



When stray cats fell in love



Searching my mind of memories stored,

I found your perfumed letter of farewell,

asking for forgiveness

for the inclement nights,

when stray cats fell in love


Balancing on the shoreline

for an eternal moment,

I await the tidal flow

to send out its messenger-waves,

with your kiss of reconciliation



Veiled Archways


Veiled faces

truths unspoken conceal

Veiled images

longings unfulfilled disguise

Veiled windows

with instincts untamed corroborate


Veiled archways

from the persistent breeze

the unravelling

of life`s riddles withhold





Veiled by the early morning mists,

the bleak and wuthering heights loom over

the barren moor landscape of the Brontes’ windy Howarth.

Was the eerie silence broken now

by Catherine’s mournful cry for Heathcliff?


Further still the Dales roll out their pastoral carpet,

a scenery chosen for some majestic abbey,

its fallen beauty in captive isolation

of its own history.


The once satanic stacks, now stilled forever,

witnesses to England’s glory days,

await with condemned pride their sentence

or conversion.


A roman town on the banks of the Ouse,


walled fortress against some unknown foe,

forgotten in the mists of time.

What treasures still are to be discovered beneath this cathedral city?

The name of York later given

to some new world port.


A capital city and glorious house of Kings,

destined to lose a royal crown.

Remember young Rutland,

the Yorkists’ virgin rose,

cut down at Wakefield,

with the treacherous sword of the bloody rose of Lancaster.


The towering light above rugged Flamborough marks the limit,

for further out “white horses” command the ways of return

to Kingston’s safety.


A new pulsation drives the land,

the former proud ridings,

fragmented now,

from North to South, from East to West,

in lost identity.


From deep inside,

the roots,

the longing to be back “among ‘em”.

The salt of the earth,

the folk of Yorkshire.



Your bashfulness



On revealing your nakedness

my eyes are blinded

not to witness  

your bashfulness

but still

I perceive the breaking of storm waves

in the undulations

of your trembling body

It may happen that  you will experience a journey to yourself on this website!