Poem… night king, lord of the white walkers

night king, lord of the white walkers

–june 5, 2019–
reykjavík, iceland

by Luis S. González-Acevedo

“winter is coming,”
night’s snowflakes cry.
the wicked season’s ice is roaring
as the fires die
and charcoal chills spill toward our wall.
warning: the frozen barrier will soon fall.
HBO revealed you
as we fed you and scurried to your rescue.
such unpardonable sins!
so true!
such nonsense…
making us believe you died…
you didn’t? i know!
you’re waiting for emotions to subside
but when kindness and our brains grow cold,
this and more will show
that you escaped the screen & stream,
making your way into reality.
now, you lie in wait –you fiend,
sustained by our banality.
such fun… the violence,
glorified quirks & kills,
the dulling of good sense,
–of the beautiful, of course–
not the ugly and the currency wasters.
i’m ashamed to admit that you were fun,
unlike watching the melting of glaciers.
as we approach life without the sun,
i thank you, and i’m grateful.
what? what did you say, again?
is winter still coming?
does it hope that i consent?
but it regardless shall arrive…
when this final season comes,
and with great relief the moon sighs,
when all light from humanity runs:
i beg you, Bran Stark, just say goodbye…
forget me on that night,
erase all memory of me, just let it die.

night king, lord of the white walkers will appear in a future book of poems and stories (release date | July 2020)–



 

Poem… the old, the new

A new poem I wrote a couple of days ago…


the old, the new

–april 7, 2019–
springfield, ohio

by Luis S. González-Acevedo

seconds turn to minutes, then hours
without rest, all clocks inevitably run.
days fade to months because time is never ours,
and it’s far from fun
when sand spills through life’s hourglass.

new books read like those i’ve read before
new pages die in winter much like summer’s grass.
new songs sound like those already heard
their demise takes on the flight of a flustered bird
in hope that old turns new once more.

is it this?
is this it?
might it be that?
might that be it?

delightful is day’s end
when lights must flicker out,
consciousness grows dark,
souls give up their sparks,
vitality bends,
and those who love must do without.

it’s true…
the moment comes for all, for me, and you,
when what was unpredictable is predictable,
what once surprised becomes expected,
what could be everlasting turns perishable,
and the only cure for this untimely state lamented
is a timely final breath accepted.


the old, the new will appear in a future book of poems and stories (release date | July 2020)–


 

Poem… Time

Time

(translation|modification of Tiempo)

by Luis S. González-Acevedo

Time passes effortlessly in childhood.
Grains of sand form their cone quickly.
As children, we close our eyes without seeing the disgrace
of a potential death forging its throne.

Cheerful spring of laughs and fables,
of games, projects and days without time…
Life is a sweet and fanciful invention
that at each moment hastens its tempo.

Adjacent is the kingdom of adolescence,
replete with dominative spirits in pursuit of conquests.
With the governance of enigmatic minds,
the youthful proceed in confusing ways.

Years of Puberty, season without equal…
You awaken Aphrodite, sleeping in childhood.
You’re the channel
through which youth reaches nascent adulthood.

Adults, destroyers of the past…
Living instants of sweet present,
and expecting to live a yearned for future
in familial love: among blood, our people.

Time provides the seeds
for the harvest of spring infants.
March, April and May submit to summer’s hold,
so it may love them with severe tenderness.

Smiling… Following their first steps…
Phonemes ascend from their lips
and fall, decorating the sky
and becoming crowns for gods and the wise.

Inevitable winter, who called you?
Who erroneously told you that autumn was dead?
If I ignored you in the spring,
I now consider you deceased.

Eternally, I’ll reign over summer.
Winter turned back its forces.
Time will lash my life in vain,
envying the mortal who overcame it.


–You can find the poem in Caribbean Poet, by Luis S. González-Acevedo or the original version in Spanish in Poemas Caribeños, por Luis S. González-Acevedo–



 

Poem (10 of 12)… To Bed Without Gothic Jill

GothUmbrella
Copyright | Alexei Zatsepin @ 123rf.com

To Bed Without Gothic Jill

by Luis S. González-Acevedo

Sea green bluish eyes…
piercing through the bedroom window
dazed by the sea of empty glass
penetrating the darkness of the cold night sky.

Sea green bluish eyes…
anxiously expectant
catching glimpses of gothic ghosts
wishing they were the sunrise amber of glowing embers.

Embers burning in midtown…
Slowly drowning in the haze enveloped swamps…
Drowning embers…
Taking with them these sea green bluish eyes
into the sea of broken glass
shattered by the cold, dark winter’s night.


–You can find the original poem in Caribbean Poet, by Luis S. González-Acevedo or a translated|modified version in Spanish in Poemas Caribeños, por Luis S. González-Acevedo–


 

Poem: your snowman

snowman with camera
Photo by Balázs Benjamin on Pexels.com

your snowman

by luis s. gonzález-acevedo

–september 30, 2018–
columbus, ohio, usa


snowflakes settled over ground
so your trembling hands could mold
a snowman in the winter’s cold.
my chills of life have left you spellbound.

i’m the multitude of flakes & crystals,
the frozen sculpture of your dreams.
but seasons pass, and my fate is dismal:
spring turns arctic sculptures into crumbling figurines.

¿what melting fear do spring birds trill?
¿will wicked time bring my demise?
the memories of my christmas love will forever chill
your new year’s tremors with flakes of falling ice.