This poems were published in the journal 63 Channels, Fall & Winter 2007.
Self portrait by Carlos Ponce-Melendez
Squiggling lines try to define my confused face,
While my eyes, pathetically search for meaning
My Picasso mouth speaks the truth even when there is none
While my prominent nose destroys any hope of beauty
Dissident hair covers my forehead and my doubts
While my parabolic ears capture more banality that I can bear
My skin color is perfect and matches my intrusive eyes
While my whole look defies definition
No perfection here, just a human portrait,
While my soul shuns any encapsulation.
Vain by Carlos Ponce-Melendez
I didn’t know I was so vain
But a power mirror showed - on my own face -
An ugly blemish.
Where yesterday youth used to reign
A shabby skin is now plain - who wouldn’t complain?
Making my skin the source of my own disdain.
We are dead by Carlos Ponce-Melendez
A man is a composite of chemicals that breaths for a while,
And pisses everywhere wishing for eternity.
A man digests other organisms into litter
And feelings into ideas of unclear use.
A man creates music and weapons
Poems and poisons wishing for love
without realizing that he is essentially dead.
Self portrait by Carlos Ponce-Melendez
Squiggling lines try to define my confused face,
While my eyes, pathetically search for meaning
My Picasso mouth speaks the truth even when there is none
While my prominent nose destroys any hope of beauty
Dissident hair covers my forehead and my doubts
While my parabolic ears capture more banality that I can bear
My skin color is perfect and matches my intrusive eyes
While my whole look defies definition
No perfection here, just a human portrait,
While my soul shuns any encapsulation.
Vain by Carlos Ponce-Melendez
I didn’t know I was so vain
But a power mirror showed - on my own face -
An ugly blemish.
Where yesterday youth used to reign
A shabby skin is now plain - who wouldn’t complain?
Making my skin the source of my own disdain.
We are dead by Carlos Ponce-Melendez
A man is a composite of chemicals that breaths for a while,
And pisses everywhere wishing for eternity.
A man digests other organisms into litter
And feelings into ideas of unclear use.
A man creates music and weapons
Poems and poisons wishing for love
without realizing that he is essentially dead.
