softly

Try speaking softly,
like in the movies and with a whisper,
let us kiss, I know your mouth’s joys.

At times I write as a poet
other times I yearn to be one,
fragrant as another poet that comes to mind.

I don’t know what poetry means,
except that my heart isn’t mine
when I unfold your poems.

I can write whatever I wish,
love poems you can understand,
thoughts that let me hold you tight
and kiss you, softly, but in the name of love,
I can’t.

Fidel Guerra,
Oregon, Feb, 16, 2020.
​

 

You are a poet and this is a beautiful poem. Thank you for sharing.

 

I've had a bad sore throat so I will adhere to your demands dear friend...
a wonderful poem as always!!

XOXOXOX

 

Lourdes C,
I am grateful, as you know I am, that I have been acknowledge, by you, for doing what I enjoy -
sharing my simple thoughts.

I am sorry I am getting back to you a little late -
but Mondays are just crazy and to top it up, there is a lots of construction going on.

Thanks for your kinds words.
Fidel Guerra.

 

Nice and smooth...

 

Hola Guadalupe,
how can I help it, dear amiga,
I love kissing and dying of love.

I hope you’re feeling better, but, it is funny and cool to know that you’re willingly open to my demands..well, when no one look at us....alright?

Gracias, always for being patient and kind with me.

yours and mine,
Fidel Guerra.​

 

What’s up Gus,
I love your exotic and speedy notes...
your civility, taste of balance and respect, as a grace for our daily poetry.

Gustavo,
en serio aprecio tu visita…
you know, we are roots from the same patriotic tree that reaches out to two worlds.

saludos,
fidel guerra.​

 

You are a POET and your God's precious gift is precisely softness.
Reading you is like floating in quiet clean water, dear Fidel.
Your poetry makes us imagine a better world.
Poetry is beauty and you always remind us that truth.

I am happy here, visiting you in this side of our house.
Hugs with admiration and a million blessings

 

Cecy,
when you’re an old guy,
or as young as I am right now,
poetry it’s rotted in a mellow soil of words,
it is a perfume…hushed whispers, a mazed full of secrets.

Dear friend,
carry on…forget whatever else is going on outside poetry.

I wish you the best,
Always,
Fidel.​

 

I got my voice back...can I scream yet???
ja ja ja
love your poem my friend