Death and the Maiden

As if beauty was new, she lies in beauty,

Pale and serene like a Madonna lily,
Like an angel sleeping after his daily duty.

Cozy is the bed where resides her lividity,
And soft is the pillow where her head rests adorably:
As if beauty was new, she lies in beauty.

Warm is the silence of her breath and astray,
is her regard while her heart is dying softly,
Like an angel sleeping after his daily duty.

The moon stops weaving in her starry tapestry
And the rosy light of dawn is taking over slowly.
As if beauty was new, she lies in beauty.

Death wants to die for her ungrateful duty
Caressing with her cheek her chest, so gently
Like an angel in love after his daily duty.

Her winding hair she combs with starving avidity
And her still tepid lips she kisses silently:
As if beauty was new, she lies in beauty,
Like an angel sleeping after his daily duty.

The Roast for Charlie Sheen

I´m tired of writing. Not tired of stirring

My aristocratic bitterness in the marmalade pot

Of a Dramatic Monologue. Who invented that,

A Romantic Ossian? A Victorian Homer?

What a great explosion of pleasure I feel

What an incomparable shot in my blood it is:

The blast of its blow invading my cells

My highbrow remarks and opinions burst

In poetic rapture, total ecstasy

Describing the world and seeing the others

With the ineffable "smug look of a toad

breakfasting on fat marsh flies"

Or like a mean Angora cat in tuxedo-like fur

Stalking Chinese carps in a Ming garden pond.

Enough for today.

I already supped and skipped my wife over

But to get to sleep I need to denigrate a while

Something middle-classy in the idiot box:

It´s Celebrious´s Sabbath.

It´s Saturday Night.

So it´s time to inject myself with a

Looking-Down-on-Someone Speed Shot.

Charlie Sheen is being roasted.

McFarland and Tyson, Jeff Ross and Jeselnik,

Steve-O and William Shatner; Jon Lovitz, Kate Walsh,

The hot Amy Schumer and Patrice O'Neal.

What a pagan bunch against the Prufrock of our time!

One hour has passed and the question arises

Like a nighttime ambush in my matchless mind:

Would I dare?

Would I dare, I wonder

Me the poet - would I dare?

Show up on TV prepared to be roasted

The same way I roast?

Would I dare being

Tarred and feathered, wasted, shot, impaled

Summarily executed, plucked, burned, spiced, adorned,

Like a lamb or a goat in a Roman bacchanalia,

And be so Stoic, and calm, and cool cat

Smiling like a baked hog, ataraxic and wise

Serene Buddha cooked with an apple in my mouth

Not losing my smile, keeping my composure

While being mercilessly browned?

Would I dare? Would I have the nerve?

The wit, and the humor, and the quick response?

Could I refrain my lordly bitter highbrow,

The future revenge and the eye for an eye,

And transmute the alchemy of hate

Into graceful arrows of zippy sharp words?

Could I be serene and never resentful?

Would I have enough sportsmanship

When roasted by a gang like this,

My beloved buddies of binge and of excess?

Would I dare? Could I dare? Should I dare?

Woulda Coulda Shoulda, I the laureate?

Would I have the endurance, the military drill

The fox enlightenment, the mileage in battle

The skill to talk back avoiding the fury,

And finish this barrage with my small Rat Pack,

Well toasted, roasted to the bones,

Going to the funky bar across the street to celebrate

How we laughed, how we warmed up the brain

And battled for pleasure in the Norse paradise

Of Comedy Roast?

And break out a bottle of Nectar of Gods

In the name of our wounds miraculously cured

And reconstructed daily after such a slaughter

And say goodnight pals, my brothers in words?

How we love each other and invoked Loki

The spiteful foul mocker, ineffable god

The sharpest tongue ever, and sing his bar song?

"Before thee alone || do I now go forth,

For thou fightest well, I ween."

And see you tomorrow for another clash?

Would I dare, could I dare, should I dare?

Woulda Coulda Shoulda, I the laureate?

Now I have some fever, not able to sleep.

Everything is bigger, my TV has grown

Try to find a handgrip for my fear to stop:

Yeah - my wife is snorting -.

Or is not my wife, but the ghost of me

Cracking down on me for me to pay off?

Because, wait

Nobody said Prufrock and the Duke Alfonso

The ones that I roasted were part of my Roast

And I am the scapegoat going up on stage.

Ode to a Magpie

Today I want to praise you, king of thieves

And offer at your feet my fancy loot

I bring you rubies sleeping in my sleeves

And sparkling diamonds hiding in my boot.

Just flickering bling-bling I enjoy to steal

Being my house an homage to your nest

Just shiny glitters for my eyes are real

And imitating you I only like the best.

I came to you so we can share the booty

I stole from children, gentlemen and maids

Break out the booze and in the name of beauty

Let me repeat what your coat of arms says:

“My squawk is the finest in nature by far:

For bandits of beauty there´re no rules of war."

Doctor Gradus

Doctor Gradus has a mission:

D.H. Lawrence sweeten up

If Milton is great but all fiction

D.H. Lawrence is Star Wars.

Acting out like Saint Tobias,

He picks up an anecdote

Wrapping up his blatant bias

In an alien envelope:

An enlightened friend of his

In that old and nerdy class

Said befuddled Lawrence rhymes

But isn´t deserve all that jazz.

Dr. Gradus leads the liar

Thru Yellow Brick Road to the stake

Promising him with his lyre

A cabin of chocolate

-To keep him meek

And confident like a sheep -

Like Abraham with Isaac

In the road to Moriah.

The execution was easy next morning.

The last words of  D.H. were - while burning -

“Whilst smelling my flesh barbecuing

I appreciate sir, you´re in mourning.”

The Dance

I see the old house that sleeps under its roof

Victorian tent with snake immobile slates

Pixeled scales once violet and white

Now gently faded like an ancient quilt.

The rain has made its purifying work

Year after year, but the roof is still

A fancy ballroom for the birds to enjoy.

The night appears and pries into the walls

And I hear music spinning in 3/4.

Cheering remarks and the laughter of toasts,

And I decide to join the night and pry.

But there´s no one; just the rhythm of joy.

"Let´s dance the dance" a dancing voice invites me

And that´s all I remember of that night:

Only the bliss remains with me, for life.