Fabio Caparelli

Fabio Caparelli Poems

It was not me, who beside the sea,
Stumbled upon the shrapnel,
The bombs that fell, the flesh that bled,
The emptiness that was left instead,

Vapid, dry and isolated,
That's how we leave them.
Cold, frozen even,
Do you understand why we leave them there?

Death will not appease it,
Yet still we taunt and tease it.
Human eyes cannot see it,
Yet still we dress to be it.

Sa la piata mondujo sperra van casi vastick,
Bujo fandarda belisca fa la dinga mastick.
Potto gorlitto vantio bantio spodock mon gargoo,
Pesti molesti faka faka hoohoo.

Print these words and wave them in the air,
Write them down and shake them, I don't care...
Poetry in motion is what it will be
And a strange devotion is what will be seen.

My bungalow has many stories, but most of them are blue,
My garden has a secret and I'm guarding it from you.
Walk up the stairs and stare out the back window;
I will be hiding in the tall grass.

Years of blood, sweat and neverending toil
Culminate in this the perfect life, cream,
I'm the cat that's got it all around me,
Though she is more than a dairy product

The chicken laid an egg one day,
She didn't like the color so she gave it away.
Immediately regretting her decision, citing lack of vision,
She grew some extra wings and began her mission.

Thrice I died, but four times I clung to Heaven's left shin,
'In! In! ' I said, but they would not let me in.
I had no identification and I had no writ of passage...
My tongue was dry yet my palms were soggy,

Nas said Hip-hop is dead,
But it will always live on inside of my head.
I'll lie in bed spittin' lines like 'I'm versatile, my style switches like a faggot',
If it was truly dead... then it'd be food for a maggot.

A summer day in a vast expanse of green
lying on the ground looking up at the blue,
with my wonderful lady who likes to wear red
would be where I would like to be when I'm dead.

If I open this door my heart will walk out,
But if I keep it closed it will eventually break it down.
I have no reason to keep paying my lungs to breathe,
I'll do it myself, I don't need this bladder, I don't need this brain.

I'll see you at my funeral and I'll smile,
For the first time, I'll realize why, all those times you cried,
For once I'll understand, your tears were a gift that I didn't accept,
Now they are your curse.

Fabio Caparelli Biography

Born in Argentina to an English mother and an Argentinian father in a green bungalow, Fabio learnt at a very early age that he would never be able to walk. Using his pen, he drew himself some legs. He drew himself a smile and then he drew his mother a life that was not impoverished and restricted by an abusive marriage to a man with a handlebar moustache. Of course, these drawings were not real but with them, Fabio found an escape. As he became older, he began to speak Quechua, Letzeburgesch and English. English was his favourite and with it he began to use his pen of escape some more.)

The Best Poem Of Fabio Caparelli

Bombs Over Bangor

It was not me, who beside the sea,
Stumbled upon the shrapnel,
The bombs that fell, the flesh that bled,
The emptiness that was left instead,
Of sand based fun and sea activities,
Makes for a far more interesting walk,
We all love history, don't we?


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