nice work if you can get it

by Claudia Martin 📜🪶
I know that intentionally, you made me forget my grammar
by coming with the recipe for only one medication, — Love!
And the problem with the warning scheme was simple... —
both, the cure and adverse reactions offered wings to travel
thru the air of fantasy, enough to find some beautiful visions
and to make me reborn in your whispers when you carry me
on your mind, as if I'd be a little girl in the poetry's drugstore
not the kind of cool town woman who takes out your breath
and does nice work if you can get it, my jazzy in your blood.

Explore Popular Posts From This Blog

clair de lune

by Claudia Martin 📜🪶
Image
« Votre âme est un paysage choisi que vont charmants masques et bergamasques jouant du luth et dansant et quasi tristes sous leurs déguisements fantasques. Tout en chantant sur le mode mineur, l’amour vainqueur et la vie opportune, ils n’ont pas l’air de croire à leur bonheur et leur chanson se mêle au clair de lune, au calme, clair de lune, triste et beau, qui fait rêver les oiseaux dans les arbres et sangloter d’extase les jets d’eau, les grands jets d’eau sveltes parmi les marbres. »  
Read more

meet me

by Claudia Martin 📜🪶
Image
Close your eyes. Feel me. I'm fragile. I do pirouettes thru butterflies' thoughts. There, we live our stories, still unwritten, but kept in the space of a bud's hope. Trapped in each other, I kiss your eyelids on twilight from now until forever, sweet dream of my dream. Your dream is... I... [meet me here], [meet me there], [meet me everywhere...]
Read more

was it not

by Claudia Martin 📜🪶
Image
was it not my purpose to fall in love with you but to be happy, to taste your wildish passion, the magic of a miracle you are, my storyteller, the writer costumed as a soldier of the words using the polychromic vestments of illusions provoking me, confessing till I'm pouring down amazing, for I hate you so much as I miss you
Read more

another story

by Claudia Martin 📜🪶
Image
Dear dizzy fall day from this time of the year, even if it seems to be the season of the witch, I dunno what kind of strategy are you trying. To be accurate, I didn't imagine our dating be so grayish and cold and without your golden and brassy and cuddled and warm sunshades. Fortunately, I was inspired to put on me some perfume with sprightly notes, enough for avoiding any wrong situation, also to reinvent another story, with each part of your sun, inclined on me, to look shinier. Guess that could be one of your deep excuses, in your hurry to see me, and is accepted. Yet, do whatever's necessary to fix up your mood. Even implore a competent one for a prescription… — P.S. — (Do it AˢSᵒᵒⁿAˢPᵒˢˢⁱᵇˡᵉ). Winter knocks.
Read more

sunsetter

by Claudia Martin 📜🪶
Image
i'm walking barefoot, through the dew of your words, of your visions seeing you smiling, — instantly, your goodness gets inside me feeling you gazing at me, — love shines on my skin my thoughts, — paradoxically, become shy and gentle sunsetter, — my emotions' climate, my essences... (can't be defined) i love… who are you... (no one knows...), yet, to satisfy any curiosity, i whisper, — (i love in a foreign language...)
Read more

salut

by 📜🪶
Image
My mind comports itself like a courtesan. If I’m looking for something, — (there is). Any answer is shown and advanced to me in detail by magic’s charm of the universe in my present time, so well monopolized somewhere in the past, where my actions have already transpired, and where I paid many tributes, in coins of love, converted at an exchange office of a galaxy, with, — my chic, — Salut… [in a hypnotic manner] Mon esprit se conduit tel qu’une courtisane. Si je cherche quelque chose, — (y a-t-il…). Toute réponse, est montrée et offerte à moi, en détail, par le charme magique de l’univers, dans mon temps présent, si bien monopolisé quelque part dans le passé, où mes actions ont déjà transpiré, et où, j’ai payé de nombreux hommages, en monnaies d’amour, convertis dans l’une office d’échange d’une galaxie, avec mon chic,– Salut… [d’une façon hypnotique]
Read more

in this place

by Claudia Martin 📜🪶
Image
i am the story of love, — [a love that respected and broke any rules...] [passion, romance, jealousy, fight, and harmony, — all that the waves of life brings and takes, expected and unexpected] [a love that wore diamonds and the mysterious pieces, issued by the knees of ground and lungs of the universe] [a love proudly and modestly in its suit, confectioned in the realm of dreams, — such real that looks unreal] … i am the story of love, the daughter of summer and winter, i've got every of their stuff in me, i'm chilly enough to soothe you, i'm fiery decently to heat you up, i am flesh and bone, i'm able to feel you in my navel i am the story of love, — i've got that certain thing... i was born to love you... you could be or not in this place of my story written with my nails moistened deeply in the bloody moon, [doesn't depend on me what you wish]
Read more

in the waiting line

by Claudia Martin 📜🪶
Image
Do you know how the devil tortures a soul? — It leaves it in the waiting line… burning up then guards slyly to see how you will alert any creature trained by your handmade ego.
Read more

always

by 📜🪶
Image
Are you sleeping? Have you walked through my dreams taking care for enveloping them with love? Did you find me hid in your soul contoured in a steam of the feelings, induced for me and the idea of love? Have you been helped by a song... ...or a mantra, to see me when you sleep? I know that I could be in your sleepy eyes anything you want, but most, I would like to be the best beautiful declaration of love. Keep me just so... (always......💕)
Read more

In my sky, at twilight

by Claudia Martin 📜🪶
Image
❝ In my sky, at twilight, you are like a cloud and your form and color are the way I love them. You are mine, mine woman with sweet lips and in your life, my infinite dreams live.       The lamp of my soul dies in your feet, the sour wine is sweeter on your lips, oh, reaper of my evening song, how solitary dreams believe you to be mine!       You are mine, mine, I go shouting it to the afternoon's wind and the wind hauls on my widowed voice. Huntress of the depth of my eyes, your plunder stills your nocturnal regard as though it were water.       You are taken in the net of my music, my love, and my nets of music are wide as the sky. My soul is born on the shore of your eyes of mourning. In your eyes of mourning, the land of dreams begins.❞
Read more