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Distracted Thoughts
Distracted Thoughts
in Buch aus dem Romeon Verlag
1. Auflage, erschienen 4-2018
Umschlaggestaltung: Romeon Verlag
Cover artwork: L.F. dos Santos
Text: L.F. dos Santos
Layout: Romeon Verlag
ISBN: 978-3-96229-950-7
www.romeon-verlag.de
Copyright © Romeon Verlag, Kaarst
Das Werk ist einschließlich aller seiner Teile urheberrechtlich geschützt. Jede Verwertung und Vervielfältigung des Werkes ist ohne Zustimmung des Verlages unzulässig und strafbar. Alle Rechte, auch die des auszugsweisen Nachdrucks und der Übersetzung, sind vorbehalten. Ohne ausdrückliche schriftliche Genehmigung des Verlages darf das Werk, auch nicht Teile daraus, weder reproduziert, übertragen noch kopiert werden. Zuwiderhandlung verpflichtet zu Schadenersatz.
Alle im Buch enthaltenen Angaben, Ergebnisse usw. wurden vom Autor nach bestem Gewissen erstellt. Sie erfolgen ohne jegliche Verpflichtung oder Garantie des Verlages. Er übernimmt deshalb keinerlei Verantwortung und Haftung für etwa vorhandene Unrichtigkeiten.
Bibliografische Information der Deutschen Nationalbibliothek:
Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek verzeichnet diese Publikation in der Deutschen Nationalbibliografie; detaillierte bibliografische Daten sind im Internet über http://dnb.dnb.de abrufbar.
Distracted Thoughts
L.F. dos Santos
Introduction
My name is Luis Filipe dos Santos, In poetry, I found a way to release my thoughts into paper. Distracted Thoughts, is a well-flavoured book with bittersweet ingredients, well-disposed: Poetry and prose.
The result is a kind of stew, which reveals the strong as well as the weak points of mankind. Fiction with a trace of reality, an ideal blend to rouse up the numbness of our distracted souls. You will taste the divine flavour of what is ordinary.
lfilipesantos1@gmail.com
The Pine Tree
Majestically honouring the creator
in a quiet and secluded place
a rocky castle was built by nature,
elevated from the bowels of earth.
Archaic in structure, solid and inflexible
an architectural miracle
transcending a surreal stupefaction.
Rich in nourishment
for some biological species.
In the top of the cliff
the stage of the great maestro
succumbs to God is feet
among clouds cloaked with haze
refreshing its conspicuous roots.
In its long and steady branches
the nest of a golden eagle
dwells amid the leaves.
The wind whistled in its branches
scattering messages from a recent past.
Memories from fallen civilizations crucified by greed.
The maestro and its apprentice convey this revelation
by spreading waves of vibrant sounds
to all the trees of the valley.
Given to it by chance the divine faculty
because it is blessed by shape and splendour.
Glad to embrace its fate
picturing in energy what it receives.
Transferring for its fellows
in their inflicted blindness.
Memories from fallen civilizations crucified by greed.
The Piano
Black and white everyone in its vibrates.
A score to follow right or left in progress.
Notes of bliss in every piece.
Madness and stress fade
the spirit gains harmony.
Music is the key
a universal complex
just like love and sex,
two hands playing like ten
every filament confined in the stream.
Mozart worshipped the piano
a God within keys
glory personalised in ivory.
Sounds of heaven
pronounced for eternity.
Grand piano In pure wood framed
visual and purity not compared
to a lover, an event social,
there is no rival contra this body astral.
The Descent
A sublime ultimate descent
an epilogue of the sunny cloudy day.
Spreading light through its slender tentacles
piercing clouds, droplets, dust and shades of grey.
Cutting the breath off
remarkably narcissistic.
Serving the poet a delicious dish
argumentative, deign to exist.
Blue and yellow progressively
scatter away vanishing.
The red paints intensity
while descending.
Offering beauty and warmth
graciously bowing to the sky.
Lessening its contrasts of light
foreboding a goodbye.
Scattering the sound of the waves through the wind
the day succumbs to the night is feet.
Enchanting all the beings of earth
escorting them into calm and peaceful sleep.
The Ritual
Consumed by the waves of time
perpetually untouchable
in the penumbra
deeply inside the rocks is cave
a fleshless corpse lies.
Where the moonlight evanesce,
where the salt water
had no room to embrace.
Fireflies welled up surprisingly
to bright this mystical place.
Every night in the same field,
where hope and dreams
were formerly forged.
They enter the cave
wearing the spirit
of a resplendent woman
performing an unusual ritual.
Shimmering energies,
portraying memories
dancing freely bare-foot
among the apple trees.
Grass stirs
breeding sounds
of joyful laughs
to fade in the first rays of dawn.
The Return
Creeping along like a worm
stuck in mud infested with alcohol
spewing out guts and dreams.
Blank eyes, pallid orbs deep in bone
appearance a tangled mess.
He is lying on the autopsy table
declared dead.
He opens his eyes:
Where the hell are my glasses?
The Real Path
My will just as my soul
have painted the patterns
of this magnificent tapestry.
My life is not delineated yet
but transfigures itself
with every step I take.
Every breath feeds
my ravenous mind
releasing a million thoughts
of unravelled mysteries.
Alluringly attracting me
extending an invisible carpet
where I could strive safely,
disconnected from earthly criteria.
A wild mind aware of the essence of life
living freely connected with nature.
A biological calling, ingenuous and pure
beyond superficial clichés
a caring brave heart tamed
with the whip of freedom.
The Pact
The prince is fire in shape
image and splendour.
A magnificent species a flamed lover
in the art of amour.
No match on earth
nor in the moon.
Both succeeded
fertilising a bloom.
Under the magic brilliance,
of the mystical moon.
A grown-up being
was born.
A womb of soil,
rocks, roots, and dust.
The white haired princess`
breathing trust.
An incomparable beauty
emerald green eyes, round.
Ruby hues in her lips
her rose skin as hard as diamond.
A successful arrangement
a pact to balance the spun.
The princess was promised
to the prince of the sun.
Autumn
Leaves fall from the trees
dry fruits hang on their barely bare branches
with some resistant leaves.
The verdant soil now changes
into a pallet of warm colours,
red, yellow and brown hues enrich the royal tapestry.
The lazy sunshine tempers the breeze
scattering its golden rays,
painting in gold the vastness of the orb.
The playful wind whispering a cadence
of decay, sweeping away the leaves
in a journey of dissolution and decay.
The greens and browns turning
into sepia.
The nude desolate environment wears
shades of grey in his neglected veil of Autumn.
The ceremonial costume emerges to honour
the arrival of harsh, maleficent Winter.
The Bird Goddess
Her name is Iness.
She is dancing with all the birds of the forest performing
rituals.
Her bare feet softly caress the green plains
on the wet soils.
Like a small hummingbird
iridescent,
swiftly flapping her silk wings.
Hovering gracefully in the haze
freely embracing her fate.
The lady of the light
blessed with magic wings
to protect
to project God is energy,
flapping her wings
to clean the sins of the sinners.
To command her ravens to a sacred journey
gathering and guiding the wanderers is souls to the light.
The Magic Hood
She was lost
the day someone told her to go
and never come back.
Shadows of grey
painted and marbled of sorrow
the face of a teenager of sixteen.
Her eyes reddened drenched by tears
obscured by a muddy tainted hood.
Concealing the purple stains of grief,
carved on her skinny face,
personifying a perturbed soul demanding care
a human being lost
dragged into the darkest side of the abyss.
Screaming inside
blaming herself,
expecting while suffering.
Walking on the corridor of time
wandering thoughtful, justifying the unjustifiable.
She wore an invisible cloak as a talisman, as a shield.
A magic hood with a white rose sprinkled with blood imprinted
to conceal to protect her from the merciless claws of
fate.
The Ark
God has reserved this paradise
for a haven of a myriad of living species.
Below the radiant sun is veil
masked by the golden clouds
In this arch where hope prospers.
Among the yellow, greens, and brown
that painted the sane quietness of the milieu.
Time in snail is pace beguiles me,
and the spirit of her,
my precious.
Victory
Her first win
standard of hard work
and devotion
the constant improvements
attained inch by inch
bruise after bruise in the past
catapulted her
with the aura of excellence
to the present.
Champagne still bubbles
between her lips
the flavour associated
to the victory
fills her heart with joy.
Angel-or-Demon
Heaven and hell
darkness and light
dwelling in this temple
in consonance
since the dawn of time.
On this dim light stage
shadows collide
wearing beauty from living forms.
Gelid look corporal poems
mechanical expressions
mirroring transcendence in her affray.
On this pedestal of men
where the „tamest“ majestic creature
veiled by the light
dances in trance
endeavouring in dramatic moves.
Surreal pirouettes reverberating
waves of joy
to feed her ravenous demons.
The Hood
Drown in yesterday is waters,
her mother succumbed,
soaked in alcohol and pills.
Shadows of grey tainted and marbled in sorrow
the face of a joyful girl of eleven.
Her eyes reddened drenched by tears
obscured by a muddy, torn hood.
Concealing the purple stains of grief
carved on her childlike skinny face.
A perturbed soul demanding care,
wasted and thrown into the darkest side of the abyss.
Screaming on the inside
lamenting while suffering.
Blaming herself,
for the burden of being born.
The Stage
A dancing cloud of kaleidoscopic smoke
shimmering in the holy stage.
Vibrating at the sound of the violin
in complicity the crowd stands,
applauding in a plethora.
The nightmare was rough
induced by insecurity,
but the success is overwhelming.
Instead of drowning and sinking in the ocean.
Like a newborn star,
she is shining on the stage is pedestal.
Luscious
Her teeth pressing his flesh
in a concupiscent gesture.
Flowing gently whilst descend
flurry dismissed their conscious minds.
Lust scatters candid and proud
physiques like magnets
interplay in their eloquence.
Accurately in its flow
fire rising ardent in the core
blood effervescently boils.
Intimacy attached
in an extroverted ardour.
Endorphin conspicuously disobedient
galloping to its culmination.
Their frames trembling
succumb to fiercely desire.
The Hermit
Arching to the conventional summon of life
for the second time deforming its structure
establishing in that way the balance.
Exposing its branches
like wings piercing the sprayed fragments
scattered through the winds
without harming its roots.
Churning, embracing, the untamed menace.
In the same way men,
courteous, remarkable,
develop while living.
Withstand the coarse environment
depending on bestowed trifles
building strategies to step the future.
It is in the struggle of surviving that the senses are sharpened
preventing with strong foundations against all the odds.
In a freely seclusion searching for answers,
for divine nourishment.
Striving to convey love instead of void
in its mossy hermit lap, where life spread
in every inch of virgin soil.
A home, a place to settle down, a paradise on earth.
The Crime
The day is gloomy,
the air is cold difficult to breathe in.
The haze proudly spreads intensity
below the bright park is wood bench.
Leaves abound, surrounding
the peculiar place.
An evanescent image of a girl
wearing a white gown,
erupts the senses every single night.
Her eyes fixed on the park is steel portal
waiting for the prince,
yearning to prize him with the novelties
She was happy, she was so happy!
Her eyes glittered with joy under the park is lamp.
A rose without its sharp thorns,
innocent and kind,
carrying a baby inside her.
Time glided by, and dusk engulfed
the last ray of light, and all the bad entwined with it.
Happiness was overflowed by rationality
and she was unaware, vulnerable.
In the same bench, she was found,
cold, lifeless,
but in her face was traced a hint of serenity.
My Star
The cosy night adduces a new world
in the ballroom everything lures exceptionally.
The crystal glasses waiting for the champagne to bubble
caviar, oysters and sushi,
meals of heaven served by the muses of the show.
Luxury and lust dwelling in every inch
the odour of bon vivants fill the space.
You gentle peril in the labyrinth of emotions
holding my life in your heart.
Danger is your heaven.
You are neither a stripper nor a bad influence.
You sparkle among the lights
under the gaze of elation.
Let the music steer you in delight and grace
and ignore the crazy looks that crave for nailing their despicable
fingers in your rosy sweet and delicate essence.
My eyes rise and fall with the cadence of your movements
and you are spinning into the future, rotating to kiss the air of
my stupefaction.
You will soon leave the puzzle to denude into the safety of my
embrace.
The Sun is Veil
Freezing moments inspiring Poets
to dictate its prose, wearing this ancestral veil
the poets embody a mellowed spirit
that guide them through poignant interpretations.
Line after line written on silk parchment
eternal testimonies offering its prose encroaching,
clearing the tender state of the perpetual bond
that enslaves the mind of the free spirit.
This eternal invisible veil crimsoned eloquence
glorified, extended to the horizon
exposing the motherly lap of nature,
the womb of all living creatures.
A mystery that lies in the core of a concealed fascination
life spreads itself everywhere germinating in a flurry
extending its roots, its tentacles to provide nourishment
from the rulers of the day, the soil, the water and the radiant
veil.
The night is radiance illuminated by the veil
reflected through the white bright orb
giving the wolves time to release their wavering howls
barking, howling, whispering to the moon.
Offering ancient wisdom through the winds
the night is a stage full of remarkable musicians
a symphony of sounds, an unusual orchestra
howling, chirping, and warbling to pay homage to the full
moon.
The rotation will be soon concluded
a new phase is willing to cherish the sun is veil,
a new day preludes uncoiling routines
refreshed from a restful night sleep.
Joan is Bedside Table
Memories, feelings, substance
neither inanimate nor dull.
Sublimely unscripted
by the owner of the skull.
Roads travelled full
of danger, despair.
Battling the barbarian
insolent is air.
An altruist philosopher
a soldier, a lover, a human.
A poet of the humble
a legendary guardian.
Expressing tolerance
in the empathy of a task.
Stanzas scribed in books,
illusionary thoughts to mask.
The treasure was his muse,
the map showed the plan.
No gold silver or tokens
only a tiny name inscribed, Joan.
Thoughts
Heartbeat racing
beguiled by the folly.
I craved for tasting
the juicy flavour
of her scarlet blurred lips.
A Soft Breeze
A soft ephemeral breeze
caresses her nude sanctuary
mellowed by refined thoughts
her physical state was delightful
confined in the milieu
the sound of the surf levitates her senses
the smoothness of the refined sand
a prelude of a heavenly womb
a day that flourishes to be perfect
adorned with bliss.
The Road Is Thorny
The road is thorny and severe
she tempts to hold her mind focussed
bustling around.
Gabbing some excuses.
Tomorrow will be the same,
like the ant type genesis
every pheromone trails
leads to an accurate target.
People rush every single day
stress feeds nerves, consumes tolerance.
Stop lamenting,
routine is not a bad thing,
weeping around in every edge
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