Author: JulioSueco
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I want to write something beautiful, I don’t know what but I hope that I’ll soon know. I believe I like writing because somehow I too want to depict scenes. The problem is that I don’t have much to say. However, I like words so much I spend a great deal of time reading them.…
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I don’t know what is it about the Swedish nature that somehow always seems to seep in my writing. Language reflects the environment it is said. Presumably my writing betrays this influence. What is it that appeals to me so much in this essence I seem to want to depict so bad? I mean, do…
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The trees had been planted by some immigrants at the time Alaska belonged to Mother Russia. They were not native to this soil but adapted themselves very well, spreading far and wide across the valley and even proclaimed a natural reserve not so long ago. It now attracts tourists from afar as Siberia and a…
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There was only the air left between you and me As the moon glared behind the translucent clouds Inringed by the rainbow of your smile Thinking about you, sucking warmth of your memory Your lips Your smell, Your intoxicating love scent
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Greg drew sketches of objects his irises picked up ‘outside him’ he says. Carl on the other side of the studio wrote sketches. He used words like puzzle bits and his pencil like a brush. ‘The mind’ he said, ‘is the canvas’. There was a particular one that drew my attention, so to speak. It…
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I don’t know if it has been done before but since I certainly haven’t seen it done in the English language am giving it a shot. Although I must confess that it worries me that it has been done before. I frankly don’t know and am doing it, if and only, for the sheer purpose…
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Have you ever had a glass of clean, fresh, pure mountain water run your throat all the way, cascading down your ribs? At times the Nordic winds give the same feeling except that these gusts are cool and cold in a caressing manner. The spring heat is enough for the body to feel grateful at…
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There was only that one chance. The crowds were thick enough to create a diversion and grab it. The money bag lay idle in the counter, so it would be enough for a fire alarm to cause a small panic, stretch the arm, grab the dough and make a run for the door. The only…
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After thought – after sought
I think that sometimes I overwork my poetry. I think I need to let it stop there it ends, in that brief moment I get when I’m overwhelmed with its inspiration, lulling me, whispering me its heartbeat. And if I ever manage to capture its essence, I need to allow my dream catcher to snatch…
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Dreamcatcher
Airs of change blow by the meadows of the threshold Alluring me into its fold I leap forward to rest on its pasture Laying back, I feel them run over me Contemplation slowly takes of me The future, is it worth? Caressing the possibilities of a past long gone Embracing dreams of yore I hold…
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Western Zilch
Passively scouring the media Sifting through human remains Am bombarded my eyes shot red Left riddled with half-cooked notions I trod on in ether all teared Through the barbwired wide world web Seeking not knowing what Respite perhaps from the pain Of seeing all those deadly aims I stand idle in oceans of hate Watching…
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When the trees started to swoosh with the force of the winds my hair began to be caressed by the gusts of the fresh morning breeze. My neck felt the coolness of the early hours light and I kept walking against the gales and ended up loving the chilly air touching my face, I fell…