Tag: poetry

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Lost and Found

beatrizesmer

In the tender years of youth, when the world was large and time stretched like an endless horizon, I pondered the rituals of parting in the throes of love. The hallways of adolescence echoed with the clasp of hands and the silent vows in each farewell embrace, a testament to the fervent pulse of young hearts. Home was a different theater, where the language of love was spoken in the dialect of discord. Doors became the messengers of unspoken affection, their slams punctuating the air like exclamation marks, while the night cradled the search for something purer amidst the cacophony … Continue reading Lost and Found

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A Love Uncontained

beatrizesmer

I am the hopeless romantic, a tangle of emotions, a messy canvas painted with longing. You, my dear, are the glass of something sweet—like a fine cabernet sauvignon that lingers on the tongue, leaving traces of warmth and desire. If archaeologists were to unearth my bones, they would find my heart—a crimson relic—still beating, fueled by the memory of you. It pulses within me, a rhythm that defies time and logic. How can mere mortals contain such intensity? The ocean stretches its azure arms, depths unknown, and the universe unfurls across light years. Yet, amidst cosmic vastness, we found each … Continue reading A Love Uncontained

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Honeyed Heaviness

beatrizesmer

In the quietude of a rain-soaked afternoon, I found myself adrift—a wanderer returning to the shores of my own existence. The world blurred at the edges, and my gaze, once sharp, softened into a dreamy haze. Eyes glazed, I traced the contours of memory—the delicate etchings of moments half-forgotten. They swirled like watercolors on the canvas of my mind, each hue bleeding into the next. Faces, places, and fragments of emotion merged, creating a mosaic of longing. The floodgates opened, and I waded through the waters of retrospection. There, in the shallows, I glimpsed my reflection—an echo of who I … Continue reading Honeyed Heaviness

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Chronicles of the Soul

beatrizesmer

My soul is a weathered manuscript, its pages etched by the gusts of wind that sweep through my existence. Each breeze carries whispers of forgotten moments, inscribing them upon the parchment of my being. Burnt tastebuds tell tales of hastily sipped coffee, scalding my tongue as I grapple with life’s complexities. The bitterness lingers, a reminder that even pleasure can scorch if consumed too swiftly. Chapped fingers, roughened by time and labor, trace the contours of memory. They brush against the edges of joy and sorrow, leaving imprints like ancient runes. These hands have held both love and loss, cradling … Continue reading Chronicles of the Soul

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The Art of Words

beatrizesmer

I like words like progress, extract, transpose, scape, scope, inform, purpose. Relational words, scientific in nature, poetic in imagery, musical in utterance. I like words that can be picked apart, that can devour and tell. Give me new reasons to delve deeper, to conclude, to prove. To prove me to you, to prove me to myself. They are relational, not just in syntax but in essence, scientific in precision yet poetic in reach, musical in every syllable that dances off the tongue. These words dissect the mundane, consume the banal, and narrate intricate truths. They are the architects of reason, … Continue reading The Art of Words

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Ink and Veins

beatrizesmer

Before I began to write poetry, I dissected song lyrics like a curious surgeon. Each syllable, each note—my scalpel. I sought the marrow of meaning, the pulse beneath the melody. My red spiral notebook, a confessional, cradled their verses. Milton Nascimento, Tom Jobim and Chico Buarque—maestros of language. Their words, like benevolent ghosts, whispered secrets across the pages. But oh, how they sat there, perched on the paper, their hearts masquerading as eyes. Big, bubbly letters, innocent as children, yet they knew not their own power. I absorbed them, these syllables, these notes. They seeped under my skin, mingling with … Continue reading Ink and Veins

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Embracing Life’s Journey

beatrizesmer

In the quietude of my darkest hours, let me be the mirror that unwaveringly reflects the depths of my soul, and the echo that resounds with the truths I’ve whispered to the night. As the world slumbers, teach me the art of self-acceptance, to find peace in the liminal space where seeds of hope gestate and await the harvest of tomorrow. Grant me the gift of days yet to dawn, where I may weave threads of compassion missed in today’s tapestry, mending the fabric of a heart that faltered in its purpose. Confront me with the visage of my own … Continue reading Embracing Life’s Journey

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Rhythms of Heritage

beatrizesmer

In the lineage of my soul, jazz and samba intertwine—a melody of past and present. The smooth allure of jazz caresses my senses, its improvisational spirit a testament to freedom. Yet, the samba beats within me, a pulsating force that moves me to the core. It is the rhythm of my ancestors, a vibrant echo of their resilience and joy. In every drumbeat, I hear their stories—their struggles, their triumphs. My feet, though they may wander, are rooted in the hallowed ground of the slave quarters. There, amidst the shadows of history, my spirit dances—a defiant flame against the darkness. … Continue reading Rhythms of Heritage

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Transient Echoes

beatrizesmer

In this brief existence, we are but fleeting echoes—foreigners in a cosmic transience. Our souls, like delicate particles of stardust, traverse the boundless void. Imagine: a speck of dust suspended in the sunbeam of eternity. We drift, unanchored, through epochs and eras, our essence woven into the fabric of time. Each heartbeat resonates with the pulse of forgotten constellations. This world, once vibrant and resplendent, now wanes—a fading ember in the cosmic hearth. The symphony of life falters, notes dissolving into silence. We, too, are part of this unraveling—a minuscule fragment in the grand unraveling. Yet, within our insignificance lies … Continue reading Transient Echoes

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The Mosaic of the Misguided

beatrizesmer

In the gallery of my life, I once displayed a mosaic, crafted with pieces of my essence. Each fragment was a chapter, a melody, a whisper of my soul. They were the right pieces—genuine, pure, and full of promise. But as fate would have it, they fell into the wrong hands. These hands, like careless curators, mishandled the treasures I offered. They took the laughter and returned to silence, accepted trust, and repaid it with betrayal. The right pieces of me, once vibrant and hopeful, were tarnished by their touch. I watched as my mosaic became a jigsaw, with pieces … Continue reading The Mosaic of the Misguided