The heart is pink
lips are blue
revolutions are lost
red is a liar
EL SEBBO
Category Archives: seb
White
White is the easiest metaphor
EL SEBBO
The poet’s consolation
A beautiful car
is nothing
compared to
a good conversation
EL SEBBO
Sphinx
What we could say
is hidden
behind our words
EL SEBBO
Precaution
I am wearing shades
because I am afraid
my eyes might exist
EL SEBBO
Perfection
sun goes down moon comes up
I hold one in each hand
EL SEBBO
Double lines
the apple-tree is blossoming
the songs of the birds again have meaning
EL SEBBO
Periphery
I am writing a poem in my garden
the sun at the periphery of my thoughts
EL SEBBO
Fall
When things fall
objects happen
EL SEBBO
The limit of poetry
rain
depression
poetry
more rain
Overweight champions
Their feet shake the ground
and the teeth in our skulls
Their gigantic arms
send dried leaves
whirling around us
Their laughter
booms enigmatic
like deep thunder
Who are they?
Who were they?
Nobody knows
and nobody
really cares
because the first
buds are blooming
and birds are a-singing
and the overweight champions
just become mountains
on the horizon line
very blue
very far away
EL SEBBO
The illusion of Socialism
A government ruled
by well-meaning bourgeois
is still a government
and it is still
ruled
by
bourgeois
EL SEBBO
Anonymous
Courage
is never
anonymous
and neither
is hate
but cowardice
ah
that’s another
story
EL SEBBO
Anniversary (to my father)
Ten years ago
you left us
under a cloudy sky
and the cold wind
was warmer than our bones
Well, today
the sky is pretty much
the same
except for the clouds
which are a little bit
whiter
but I guess
that’s just a trick
my memory
is playing on me
EL SEBBO
What I remember
What I remember
are images
The words are gone
and live a life of their own
They never call me nor write
but the images
are still with me
and sometimes
I do wish
they would pay rent
EL SEBBO
Billy the Kid
Caught at the dusty crossroads
of violence and justice – never
quite a man nor a boy
a question simply lingers:
quién es?
EL SEBBO
American wars (Fill in the blanks)
A good …… is a dead …..
EL SEBBO
Where does that leave us?
Love is
its own
metaphor
EL SEBBO
Bauhaus
Structures
Elements
Shadows
Your naked back
My heart like a keyhole
Wood
Steel
Wool
Footsteps on concrete
Love like a half-lifted curtain
Ich liebe dich
A three-step danse
Red lipstick
Black shoes
Your hand in mine
A cold sun
Sharp walls
Spring is coming
Ah ah
The purpose of art?
Usefulness
my dear
usefulness
EL SEBBO
Blue and white
White roofs
blue sky
the children play
in the bedroom
my fingers
silently
write this poem:
“it is cold outside
it is colder
inside my mouth”
EL SEBBO
Walking through the valley of the rich (Paris – Auteuil/Passy)
Never saw
so much dog shit
in my life
EL SEBBO
Down to the basics
rain rain rain
then
sun sun sun
then
poem poem poem
EL SEBBO
500 pieces
sometimes
life becomes
a puzzle
but you know
that all the
colored
cardboard
pieces
you hold in your hand
will never be enough
to finish it
Yet
bravely
you set them down
hoping
you can guess
the final image
anyway
EL SEBBO
Mirror, mirror
Eros is sore
EL SEBBO
Delicate
Delicate
isn’t my name
and yet I am moved
by the imbecile
gently led by his father
down the street
while screaming songs
at the top of his head
I am moved
by a white cloud
standing still
over the city
like a gentle threat
I am moved
by your breath
gently lifting the sheets
deep in the night
when I can’t sleep
Yes delicate things
move me deeply
and confirm
the rage hidden
at the core of my words
The rage of impotence,
hope and rebellion
– but not despair
Despair, you see,
is too delicate
for me
EL SEBBO
