Lenny Orlando Camacho
Biography of Lenny Orlando Camacho
yes I love pizza... of course I love coffee... and yes I'm into poetry, and poetry is into me...
Lenny Orlando Camacho Poems
This Is What Life Is...
There are so many things I do that I do not want to do There are so many things I want to do that I am not doing
A Mad Knight
Poetry is a smile painted into words eyes described as magical doors lips turned into fountains of love
Most of my childhood memories are a lot of day-dreaming spiced up
[five] - Of Roses In A Decaying Memory
I never really liked picking roses, or any flower for that matter. Once, I was told I was a stranger
Strive For The Sun
The pencil is always calling me; the words are always forming like a storm; they push me on to that blank safety where I can always jump cry be happy and morn;
My lips are wanting a kiss from yours, a touch of madness that most call love. My lips are wanting to say your name, to touch your skin and burn with it.
Just Another Day
Today was just another day in which I ate and drank and worried (as opposed to some Holy words I once read) : I also prepared for lasting til tomorrow;
One Last Song
Sing a song that leaves me for deaf a firey tune that burns my heart
See The Water
SEE the water? there's the water it's a river, an ocean, a lake, a pond, a tear see it there? over there! that's the water it's ingrained deeply into the universe
Looking out some window at some random flying birds, I started to think how great it would be
There is an inclination in all human souls to seek out company; so, know this now,
For The Sake Of Freedom
it is time we love I You and You Me in the end only Love
A Backyard Friend
I guava tree, furnished gently by the sun, in summertime this tree had become my fun, my home, my hideaway, my brother, my all: The rippen fruit gave me strength, gave me love.
We are pendulums every last one of us pendulums is what we are we swing back and forth
Strive For The Sun
The pencil is always calling me;
the words are always forming like a storm;
they push me on to that blank safety
where I can always jump cry be happy and morn;
and all I need is ink paper words
to patch my broken wings
and strive again for the sun
with a little poetry
that, somehow, reforms my soul.