LeMiffe » Random Poetry

Robert Johnson

lemiffe — Sun, 28 Mar 2010 17:21:50 +0000

A fearless, cold, impenetrably inhumane character, with a warm heart deep inside, and a tortured psyche.

He figured out a way to escaped his ravaged city. This Robert Johnson, a man I speak about.

People thought he was going crazy, you know, walking out from his house. He left 2 children behind, little ones, one of the 2 years old.

How was his wife going to cope with it?

He barely earned enough to pay for food, and his wife couldn’t work. Disease had distraught her back in 91′.

Nonetheless, Robert left for newfoundland, searching for newfoundglory. He must have walked for weeks or years. Poor Robert, dying of pneumonia on christmas eve, on a faraway doorstep, in the middle of nowhere, where time was timeless and space was spaceless.

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Push & Pull

lemiffe — Wed, 24 Feb 2010 09:54:59 +0000

I push and pull and push and pull, I must look like a fool,
I push and pull and push and pull, like when I was at school.
With all the lines I’ve made in life, and all the time I’ve sacrificed;
I push and pull and push and pull a lifetime like a mule.

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Trains and Planes

lemiffe — Mon, 05 Oct 2009 00:10:45 +0000

It is so fine, isn’t it? To travel on trains, planes and buses. From the morning, to the afternoon, overnight and day to day. From city to city, country to country, place to place. A man that moves is a man that sees, a man that sees is a man that knows, a man that knows is a man that can die and truly say he knew the world, saw the world, and lived in the world.

So these departure gates are there not to stop us, but to allow us to move on to the next town, to the next gate. Not to lock us in, but to keep us moving. And if we stay back, if we fail to see the world beyond these city lines, we fail to explore, and we fail to know more than what our own land has to offer to us. There is so much out there, there is so much beyond.

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An Ode to the Inverted Question Mark

lemiffe — Fri, 25 Sep 2009 13:22:30 +0000

Yesterday was National Punctuation Day in the U.S.A. and although I do not live in the US, I wrote this short ode to the Inverted Question Mark:

I am in love with the inverted question mark “¿”. It hangs like a light bulb, with such charisma and curves. It is but a mere symbol, however, a symbol so special to me. I am in love with this question mark, as it states the unraveling awkwardness of the world, a strange world in which I grew up in. ¿Is it true, my love, that a question should start with you? You represent a world with many languages, many signs, and many symbols. My inverted question mark, you represent change, beauty and awkwardness. My inverted question mark, you will always be my true undaunted love.

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Purple Sea, Purple Sky

lemiffe — Tue, 22 Sep 2009 23:27:10 +0000

The atmosphere ringed on for ages, with purple-green horizons staring back at me. And the eyes grew from deep within the trees. I knew I was there, at the right place, at the right time.

I wandered around the tree, one that would be cut down in the following months. I heard sounds of acoustic guitars rattling by near my head; while the bass drum, suspended in mid-air, bang swiftly to the rhythm of drum and bass.

The climbing plants created envelopes around me, and the canvas was covered, bloodshed. I new it was the place, but was it the time? I felt the grass whispering to my feet, don’t strangle me please, don’t kill me. And the buzzing of the birds, and the tweeting of bees, it rang through my brain, tormenting.

It was all going to fast, I could barely understand. It might be the time, but it might not be the place.

And I turned to the tree again, shivering. Icicles formed on the branches of the climbing plants. I was sweltering in the 40ºC mid-day heat. The sky turned orange, then purple again. I did not understand, I felt the violins scream around me. Or they might have been guitars, squelching at incredible speeds. Key change.

I touched the tree, as it slowly faded away into dreams, dreams of a past taken away from me, dreams of a photograph erased, dreams from a lost post, dreams from a memory.

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