Windsor Guadalupe Jr
Biography of Windsor Guadalupe Jr
Like the thin lines of the Sun, I disappear by the moon light.
Windsor Guadalupe Jr Poems
Again, Again, Again, Again, Again...
Some people are sodden And redundant. This is a mad carousel - Mount each vessel
If you hold this heart emblazoned Past the veiled sonatas you call a home Then I would much incarcerate every zone With a fire that emulates from a Stockholm syndrome.
The Seafarer's Diary; Berceuse: #6
The stars are hoisted Upon the picturesque azure And they twine To craft constellations
Don'T Look For Me
Do not look for me. For I have not yet forgotten. I have not sent the epistles To oblivion just yet,
All The Broken Places
Opaque room, Heavy pillows, Impending doom, Marching bellows
Your hair, a city of chestnut brown With locks resilient like hands, steady ambidextrous hands And the chamomile bliss and breeze in the land, Subtly sit like an orphaned child
I Walked With A Tiger
I walked with a tiger, In his own maimed pace And I found myself Spineless,
Riverbank With A Winch
Of books that never shall I read, With a boundless taste to go threading, Withdrawn from derision of austere pasts, In the twentieth century decadence and lacking
People, People, Lovely Little People
The crooning Of the clocks, The redundant Machinism:
Sitting on a porch In splendid Paris as the doves Guffaw and then scour - We watch them flutter away
The zephyr propels the waters back to you, While it whistles in a symphony of solemn dreams and nights
To the modest mouse, Whose home, remotely shrouded
For You, A Million Times Over
I am a fool and I admit, But today, I wager everything that I own:
Lovely, Lovely People
The people are all out Of their homes, And into their cars With lavish seats.
How senseless can we possibly be?
With a skin far from the sun-kissed
The frail rain coating the man from the back of the pain
The bulwarks of the brute and carnal flesh,
And the calloused hands of conceit
The dreaded day that he will rise,
Not from the grave, but from the memories