Visions of HollyWood

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"I was lost among the crowd, just surrounded by people in an amusement park, tried to find out the distrust of the people, I missed how a salmon swimming upstream, jumping obstacles of life, dreams, and dreamed of giant brooms sweeping all wars"

Carlos Gomez.

In the world of poetry, the technique is very important, with a highly polished metric can be done a brilliant job, but when composing the inspiration, the primary thought that the author tries to show the readers is also very important, rhyme and verse decorate the work, but the essential basis of the writing is the content , or, what comes to the same thing, the theme of the story.

As well said SparrowSong in one of his publications, a poem is a sketch of a story, with more reason when it comes to a haiku, the art of only seventeen syllables to build a story.

* Empty Fairs*

The House in the shade,
Souls transpire,
All that horror.

The bed is empty,
Furniture breathe,
Time of pain.

The lost age,
The fairs germinate,
Within the rancor.

Lucas Lazar. Chained.

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* La Feria Vacía *

La casa en sombra,
Las almas transpiran,
Todo aquel horror.

La cama está vacía,
Los muebles respiran,
El tiempo de dolor.

La edad perdida,
Las ferias germinan,
Dentro del rencor.

Lucas Lazar. Encadenados.

Poetry in its entirety us approaches to the whispers that emit the hearts, but the haiku particularly by its construction leads us toward the most distant voices that live within the human, giving heart as result a poem fully released from servitude imposed by the rhyme, and configured in its essence by nouns and verbs.

When writing rhyme, story, Chronicle, or legend words are always flowing free, poetry requires time to relate, in my personal opinion, can subtract freshness to composition, and forces us to rethink what is most important, if the story... or the way it is presented.

When I write poetry in French, Portuguese, and Spanish, you syllables them and verse are much better adapted to the poetic rules as when I do it in English and Malay, but for that a legion of poets there which make it great and of which I drink continually, my poetry in English just comply with the goal of trying to count things Asian and Anglo-Saxon , and as I do with all my writings, I try to be understand and provide some knowledge to literary, artistic and personal life of the potential readers.

I make this clarification because with so much poetical wonder I don't mistake things and someone who I think is any pretense, hahahahahahaha, I like SparrowSong, that a poet I am a story Narrator, in my case, the song of the Lark, the Lark is a bird if that sings alone at dawn, but accompanied by hundreds of sparrows.

* Visions of HollyWood *

I have seen the birth of dawn,
I have seen the Sun,
To several sagas of actors,
Generation after generation.

The Douglas and Bardem,
The Baldwin and Carradine,
Frozen in time...
As shadows of yesterday.

I have seen rivers of humiliation,
Lakes of sulphur in men,
Thinkers and inventors,
Angels among the destruction.

Ice and fire in Eden,
With lucidity and hallucinate,
Trapped in silence...
Waiting for a new day.

I've seen the dawn, die
I've seen the birth the Sun,
Ignite irons between cartons,
Solidify a premonition.

Land and water at baden,
Caresses between the garbage,
A forgotten life...
Between today and yesterday.

I have seen emerge the worm,
Within a spectrum,
A valley of lamentations,
Chaired by aberration.

Lucas Lazar. Telling Stories.

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* Visiones de HollyWood  *

He visto nacer el alba,
He visto ponerse el sol,
A varias sagas de actores,
Generación tras generación.

Los Douglas y los Bardem,
Los Baldwin y los Carradine,
Congelados en el tiempo…
Como sombras del ayer.

He visto ríos de lava,
Lagos dentro de un crisol,
Pensadores e inventores,
Ángeles entre la destrucción.

Hielo y fuego en el Edén,
Con lucidez y alucine,
Atrapados en un sueño…
Intentando no caer.

He visto morir el alba,
He visto nacer el sol,
Arder hierros entre cartones,
Solidificarse una maldición.

Tierra y agua en el andén,
Caricias en un cine,
Un olvidado isleño…
Suplicando tu querer.

He visto surgir la larva,
Dentro de un Bujarasol,
Un valle de lamentaciones,
Presidido por la aberración.

Lucas Lazar. Contando Historias.

Poetry is a sketch of a story of fiction or a real world from history, shows the moods of the mind and the soul in the form of words, poetry is a sweet poison which once mixed with our blood already never you can leave, large anonymous poets and poets leaving their mark for eternity from Cavafis, Leopardi or Homer, to Lord Byron, Bécquer and Whitman, poetry in any language is big, beautiful and essential for progress, for love, for freedom, ultimately, for life in general, that's my best friends are the poets that unprejudiced naked emotionally and in a fit of humility counted things.

"Tick, TACK, clock steps do? The time continues sliding into the future. Tick, TACK, clock steps forward, tic, TACK, what to do? When is life lagging behind. Tick, TACK"

Chronicles of The Time.

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