a poem - Your hands are pure pain

Your hands are pure pain
and your lips pure lust.

There are no secrets between us in this night
but a silent crime that make us smile.

You are my dethroned queen
waiting for the mercy of an injuried God.

There was no regret when you murdered your brother
but a comfortable caress on my shinny knife.

Your hands are pure desire
and your lips pure sorrow.

There is no sun rising every morning
but clear darkness blessing our paths.

Your are my failed lover
waiting for the sacrament of our sinner fathers.

a poem - a soft and tender mother

Vera, unknown voice whispering lust
silence witness of my fantasies
the soft kiss that turns into a bite
untouchable for now.

Gods forbid me to please her
so devils come to my help.

Alone in the night she claims for my words
and ask for my body to be next to her.

Vera, desire and innocence to be discovered
to be taken to the darkest night
and let her feel the emptiness of my hand
a hand that want to caress her unseen smile
a hand that wants to grab her pale body
while our eyes explore each other dreams.

Vera,
a corrupted body
a naughty desire
a soft and tender mother
lets surrender to the red wine
and dance, just simple lets dance...

Carlos Lopez May 2017

a poem - she is...

She is dangerous and mischievous

pure innocence if you want at night

or evil and lust at sunrise

She is a demon to be unleashed

that wont hide her face any more

she may hold your hand and declare her love

if you dare with her dance.

But we aware

Gods made her impure

Devils claim her heart

She rebels against all

waiting for a man with the darkest desire

to knee in front her and offer her a poem.

Lenka, is my girlfriend

she surrendered to my canvas and camera

I caught her smile and fears in my dreams

where we dance every time before dusk.

a poem - empty lake

Serve me with words

colored of red

Guide me to the empty lake
where a king has been lost

Sing me a song of lust
the one you never danced

Forgive my purple desires
those which you never could please
and just after all my commands has been fulfilled

baptize me
spit on me
and tell the Gods that their son
is ready to be sacrificed.
Carlos Lopez

a poem - rape

There is blood on my hand

and a tiny smile on your face.

All I did was greet you with my anger

but you didn't remain quiet.

There is pleasure in my hands

and anger in your eyes

so I kissed you against the wall

while you closed your heart

letting the fear grow.

Then you run to the sun

letting my heart cold in the night

but my fierce God brought you back
so you belong to me now.

There is pleasure in my hands

and anger in my eyes

I will caress you with my knife tonight.

because you like this game
and want name written on your skin.

Lover ©Carlos Lopez

Day 17, A smile and a poem

Today was my son's birthday celebration. It was a nice time and from it and I want to share this photo, she is is the daughter of a friend. Isn't nice? even her face in not complete, her eyes show happiness. 

And this is a poem I wrote for her:

Sarinka tancuje

je mala a jde kolem

vesela a pekna

ona taky zpiva.

 

Sarinka ma přitle

Martin se jmenuje

a spolu si oni hraji

cely den.

 

Sara ma maminku

moc krasná

je i ona

a ja chci

jeji ruku držet.

 

Sara ma pět let,

malý kralíček

občas ona je

a pohádku pro ni ja chci rikat.

 

Moc tezky to bude

ale nevadi

umelec jsem

a neznám nic co nemuzu dělat.

 

Sarinka tancuje

ona ma

moc krasný usmev.

Život obcas bolí

ale ty jsi šikovna holka

tak budes presidentka

jestli chces.

Pan Carlos Lopez

Day 6, when alcohol helps inspiration

Not much to say today, simply that I wrote a poem after long time and yes, it was after drank a glass of wine :D
These hands are from a friend who I convinced to try to write a poem as well and as you can see, she had not finished her glass so her results were no as good as  I expected.

There are some links related to this topic, just google it or check this articles:
Does alcohol release the creative spirit?
How Getting Tipsy May Inspire Creativity
How Alcohol Inspires Creativity
The War on Consciousness BANNED TED TALK

a poem - a flower

"There is a flower I have found,

there is a smile I have kissed

and I want to keep on my hands

the flower that has kissed me"

 -

She hides from the sunlight

away in a dark garden

 where her brown eyes

cannot see mine.

Her name I cannot tell

reserved to the Gods it is

as from heaven to hell

all beauty and danger she is.

All what she wants is

a caress on her face

while the wind and sun sing

these magic words to her.

and as the time goes

the flower slowly rises everyday

to smile to the sun

and let herself be hold on my hands...

                                             C.L.

Untitled XXXIII. From the series The solitude of delirium.

a poem - The princess

I can see trough your eyes
 the little girl behind,
 feel your scratched hands
 looking for a nice heart,
 and hear your soul
 laughing at the sky.

However I cannot kiss you tonight
 neither flirt with your smile
 nor tell you my poems till sunrise.

But I will kidnap you tomorrow somehow
 close you eyes with my hands
 and let you imagine
 the princess that you really are.

                                                              Carlos Lopez, October 2014

a poem - Kiss my hand

I am here
above you
inside you!

Feel my wrath
and kiss my hand.
You are forbidden to smile.

On your knees!
and surrender your will
to the Gods and me
a mortal oppression.

I will eat you
fuck you
and burn what is left.

Buts is my weakness
your scratched hands
therefore every night
I made wax sculptures of them.
                                                         Carlos Lopez, November 2013.

a poem - Bitch

I am the one
whose beautiful smile
could not conquer your heart
and whose black hands
failed to scratch your skin.

I am the one
who in silent anger
proclaimed you:

Whore!

My profaned muse
let the red wine unite us in eternal lust
and lead our hopeless souls
to a painful ecstasy.

You, my purple desire,
with your bruised lips
lick my tears and tired body.
 and by the end of the day
with your disgraced hands
bless me.
                                                           Carlos Lopez, November 2012.

The bracelet. 2001. ©Carlos Lopez

a poem - Violence

Fallen Gods from the eternal dream
is time for human anger
and divine revenge
let's take back our ethereal kingdom
of lust and silence
let's gather under burned trees
and rise against the sitting tyrant.

  Merciless humans,

march to the battle at sunrise.

Pray forgiveness to the Gods and Saints
you will deny in future times
and once in the cold battle field
if your hands are tired and clean
immortality will be given to you.

Beautiful slayers of purified violence
light the heart of the beaten warrior
and collect his blood as a trophy.
Bring anarchy to our homes
where despair can reign
and Gods with Humans can finally
coexist.

                                                    June 2012, Carlos Lopez.

a poem - Green eyes

I cannot hide my eyes from your smile
and cannot avoid smile to your eyes.

I couldn't caress your tired face every morning
neither kiss your pale hands under the silent night.

It was a shy winter illusion,
an unnecessary battle of pagan Gods.

But I still dream with unknown golden words

and a marble silent beauty.

Have your green eyes cursed me?
or is my sadness that claim your name.

I cannot hide my eyes from your smile

and cannot avoid smile to your eyes.

                                         Carlos Lopez, March 2012.

a poem - Lenka

Lucid dreams every day,

Endless visions under your arms

Nothing will silence our drunken dance

Killing everything with your blue gaze

Angels will make us pagan Gods of the human kind.

                                                   Carlos Lopez. October 2011

Note: Dedicated to  my friends called Lenka.

a Brno girl 17 - Marketa

One of the most interesting girls I have met is Marketa. I contacted her first for my series Intimacy, She works in a local art gallery and therefore she is surrounded by artworks so I decided to make a  bit of art with her and her name:

Minuscule stars have fallen from the promised sky when
A confused slave dared to ignore your dark eyes.
Red roses in your empty bed, wait for your pale skin every night.
Koliada, goddess from slavic lands, known is your grace and
Ephemeral your power, rise and call your knights
Times are changing and You must reign with an armed hand
Again this ancient land of lonely men and blue dawns.

                                                        Carlos Lopez, October 2011

a poem - Hero

*

I was born to be a God,

to equal my creator in his goodness and anger.

It was written I would be praised,

that I could play with the fate of the man

but

I was cursed to be their savior.

**

I am not a God,

just a human hero,
murdered by them and honored later by the same.
I am
an old statue of stone,

forgotten and broken.

Father,  forgive their ignorance.

                                                           © Carlos Lopez, July 2011

 

a poem - In your eyes is the universe I need to live

 *

Now that I have seen your smile

I know I have found you.

I know that in your eyes is the universe I need to live,

that I can on them imagine new worlds of wild fantasies

and create new words of surreal meanings.

I know that in your lips

I can feel the passion of a deadly kiss.

 

**

Every day

I dream I touch your hand

and feel how your hair

moved by the wind, caress my scarred face.

Every day

I dream we kiss in the forest

under the golden sunlight of a spring morning

and at night

I recite my humble poetry to you

while the moonlight shine on your pale naked skin.

***

I know ancient Gods have put you in my path, 

and is my fate to love you,

to make your soul smile

when your eyes cry.

                                                                           Carlos Lopez, June 2011

a poem - Princess of the Balkans

She

a perverted goddess

of milky sinful skin.

She

a forgotten soul

in a snowy forest.

She

a crystal knife

of shimmering beauty.

xxx

My corrupted muse,

don't cry on my dirty hands

don't caress me under gray skies.
Just be there, down in the ground
blessing all creatures that dare look at you.

a poem - Birth of an insurrection against profanes gods

I opened my heart with a silver knife
let my blood pray to evil gods
let my sins clean confused hands
and dreamed deep into purple nightmares
in whose lands
there won't be sunrise to forgive me
either no hands to warm my pain

Poor my penitent soul,
sleeping in unknown regions
will face greedy heavens
and will curse their sacred power.
                                        Carlos Lopez 2010