Poetry & Prose

It’s always the way it goes;
you come across a forest
filled with green leaves
and rocky paths.
And thinking,
I have a brave heart,
you wander inwards
toward the dark.
Only once the sunlight’s passed
and you are stuck
not knowing which way to start
that you see the difference
in knowing yourself
and knowing your heart.
Don’t lose hope,
you’ll find a clearing.
It can’t be far.

Michel LazzaroExpectations

Soaring toward another world
with ships crashed on empty shores;
the moors of mist and fog vanishing forever,
replaced with lava fields, choking smog;
traversing the night, dead stars for light,
heads burning as we squint
our eyes, dreaming of oceans deep below
these fiery peaks.


Out there, somewhere,
fragments remain, ghosts of planets,
stained darkening sunlight,
millimoments dwindling toward the final,
and we are alive to see the infinite
sweeping inward, expanding outward,
encasing our souls in the ends of time.
Carrying us home.

Michel LazzaroA Billion Years from Now/Searching Still

freddie-photography:

Top 10 Landscape Photographs of Summer 2014

As Autumn is now here, I thought I would put together my favourite landscape photographs that I have created over the last season.

These have been taken across England and Wales, showing what a beautiful few months it has been on just this small island. 

By Freddie Ardley Photography

Check Out Freddie’s: Facebook Twitter Instagram Website

There we were, in a place
we’d never thought we’d be
a complete and new happiness
thought lost out at sea.
I counted all the pretty sparkles
beneath your skin and teeth
and when I rose to taste your lips
I couldn’t think straight —
am I finally somewhere
I’m supposed to be.

I was alone and happy
and poetry and madness
was knocking down the walls
but you were a painting
of the night sky rushing star streaks
across the universe —
I couldn’t help but breathe you in.

Hold me close now.
Feel the moments passing by.
We are all waiting for a time
that will never end, never die.

Michel Lazzaro | A Growing Embrace 

They will trespass in your garden
with blind eyes and fertile palms
spraying water on the weeds
and waiting for the flowers to grow spikes.
And when the bees come and the suns burning,
the flames rising and the streets calling
their name, they will run away;
they will hide in the concrete jungle, in the skyscrapers
built of glass prisons.
And you will have no choice but
to flee also.

The house you grew up in, the trees you nurtured
and the branches you climbed,
will uproot and wind their way into your heart.
You will walk past doorways with wood carved poppies
and never enter, beside paintings of Lillys floating downstream
and shy away, past mirrors made of cracked glass
and cringe, over rivers reflecting their face
and high-rises made from their mistakes.
And you will survive.
Your feet will drag behind you.
And you will survive.
The summer sun will remind you of the flames erasing
your every thought and moment.
And you will survive.

One day you will return
to a desolate landscape
covered in ash and smoke
and the wind will rise
to blow away the remnants of your pain
and hidden beneath the dirt
a single bud will burst.
A leftover hope of something not lost
just missing.
And you will not survive any longer;
you will thrive.

Michel Lazzaro You Will Survive To Thrive

meorzo:

*the sound of raindrops and the smell of fir branches*

it’s tough and gritty
the sand paper kiln
we work with our scabbed feet
and track stained arms;
spilling blood and sugar over the sides
rushing toward the sea
hoping the tide was in
and the moon is hiding
behind opaque clouds
and infinite stars waiting to die,

barely smoking rings
of silver and a single
gold band hidden
between palms —
married too young —
they always pitied the young.
mistake covered sadness
tastes like twelve years
of whisky and they can forget
about their crying kid
and sex they haven’t had
and perfume they need to remove
and the heart attack they’re waiting for.

tough and gritty looks
spare change clanging
and a half turned smile
at how far below the bottom
some people can still live.

Michel LazzaroSpare Change  (via elzaro)

I just wanted to say
the past has never felt real
when it hits 12:01
and the future crashes down
into ponds overflowing
around my bed —
floating toward a never ending waterfall.

I just want to say
the future fades away
when the sun rises
and my feet find a dirty floor
covered in empty wrappers
and scraps of myself
bleeding possibilities.

I just wanted to say
there is a moment
in the middle of the day
when a thousand voices are blaring
and my heart is mourning
all the endless failures
and possible betrayals
waiting to rise behind me
and crush the road before me;
and do you know what helps me —

nothing.
I just fall apart
and wait for the universe to lend a hand,
in helping rebuild this fracturing poetry.
As I have done before,
as I will do again.
As we all have,
on the infinite journey
toward the center of ourselves.

Michel LazzaroWeight of The World/Searching for Wings

Can’t you feel the future holding it’s breath
as you walk down empty streets at night,
stopping between each lamppost, in the darkness,
waiting for a miracle to flash across the sky.

The concrete is cracking underfoot
with the groan of a million lost adventures
as you flick your knife across the clouds
counting planets in the smog; shining, muted lights
barely reach your feet.

Don’t you feel the future holding it’s breath
as you stand beneath a universe unfolding —
no one in sight.
Don’t you count the moments it would take
for your entire world to change, as you are whisked away
to live another day, in a future dreamed of
always.

We stand beside walls and trace doorways to a million worlds.
We walk beneath the sun and watch for flares to erupt around us.
We lie awake and ponder what kind of heroes we could be.
We fall asleep and dream of all the miracles missing from this life we lead.

Michel LazzaroStardust Caught In Our Eyes

Carry that, there —
the crossroad dirt gold —
carry it on your shoulders
a few blocks only, they swear.
Bend down and heave. Up.
Strain your back and walk.
Collapse, twitch and moan.
Turn the corner with the straps
breaking.

Home is a hospital bed
graveyard, with all your loved ones
holding picket signs; yelling,
give us our freedom back.

Release your hold
on tomorrows promises
and roll sideways down the mountain.
Don’t lose a battle with cloud shapes.
Faulty shapes were made
to make mistakes.

Michel LazzaroFaulty Shapes Make Mistakes

They will trespass in your garden
with blind eyes and fertile palms
spraying water on the weeds
and waiting for the flowers to grow spikes.
And when the bees come and the suns burning,
the flames rising and the streets calling
their name, they will run away;
they will hide in the concrete jungle, in the skyscrapers
built of glass prisons.
And you will have no choice but
to flee also.

The house you grew up in, the trees you nurtured
and the branches you climbed,
will uproot and wind their way into your heart.
You will walk past doorways with wood carved poppies
and never enter, beside paintings of Lillys floating downstream
and shy away, past mirrors made of cracked glass
and cringe, over rivers reflecting their face
and high-rises made from their mistakes.
And you will survive.
Your feet will drag behind you.
And you will survive.
The summer sun will remind you of the flames erasing
your every thought and moment.
And you will survive.

One day you will return
to a desolate landscape
covered in ash and smoke
and the wind will rise
to blow away the remnants of your pain
and hidden beneath the dirt
a single bud will burst.
A leftover hope of something not lost
just missing.
And you will not survive any longer;
you will thrive.

Michel Lazzaro You Will Survive To Thrive

it’s tough and gritty
the sand paper kiln
we work with our scabbed feet
and track stained arms;
spilling blood and sugar over the sides
rushing toward the sea
hoping the tide was in
and the moon is hiding
behind opaque clouds
and infinite stars waiting to die,

barely smoking rings
of silver and a single
gold band hidden
between palms —
married too young —
they always pitied the young.
mistake covered sadness
tastes like twelve years
of whisky and they can forget
about their crying kid
and sex they haven’t had
and perfume they need to remove
and the heart attack they’re waiting for.

tough and gritty looks
spare change clanging
and a half turned smile
at how far below the bottom
some people can still live.

Michel LazzaroSpare Change 

I don’t think my friends feel like dancing
in the moonlight over the ocean
on a spidersilk trapeze
as the stars burn our eyes out.

I don’t think my friends feel like crying
in a waterfall crashing down
around the bones and tiny poems
resting beneath my feet.

I don’t think my friends feel like running
on gravel roads and honeyed streets
where the people chop limbs off
and pretend they aren’t asleep.

I don’t think my friends feel like listening
to the silence in their blood.
They seem to hear a thousand voices
when all I hear is a vacant thump.

I don’t think I feel like talking
to the friends I once called home.
Are they here or have they gone.
Will we ever know.

I don’t want to hear the ghosts
of words I never said.
Are you ready to share this load
before we wind up dead.

ElzaroFriendships Fade into Unspoken Words (via elzaro)

We had a chance
in the colors
and eye reflections

we were crazy
to stand so close
to the edge of ourselves

we were bound
to bleed out
into the streets

we refused endings
in certainty; lust
never failing

caught loneliness
and stayed awake
forever.

Michel Lazzaro | Erotic Solitude