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

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Bibliografische Information der Deutschen Nationalbibliothek:

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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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