Cruising through

a town’s nightfall,

at the edge of a day

covered by coffin’s lead,

I see the freeway filled

with neon reflections.

I see the warehouse signs

of material hunger,

fulfilling the need

for something palpable.

I see absented minds,

I see the rain pouring down

like heavenly knives.

I see women in the drizzle,

with groceries

under their motherly arms.

I see wet children

on the supermarket parking,

running to the cars,

splashing the evening puddles.

I see young love turned old,

wasted in redundant quarrels,

Elderly men coping with pain.

I see the river of dirt

flowing down the gutter,

the misused words of hope

carved on homeless’ face.

I see men chasing

a fake representation of love,

I see the sleepy buildings

filled with the cracks of gloom.

And I see the gas stations

feeding the dreams

of speed and exodus

from the frivolous.


Cruising through

a town’s evening,

at the heart of a night

of obsidian skies,

I see a beaten moon

where all the love stories

go to die someday.

I see insomniacs

dreaming of

peaceful sleep,

longing for trains

with unknown destinations.

I see a lonesome girl

whose life is a radio dreamscape

filled with jazzy nights.

I see the graveyard shift

staring at me as I pass by.

I see the shady skyline

of suburban homes

packed with families

tired to the bone

of the motions of endurance,

hoping to get away

from their linoleum lives.

I see the ghosts

of the ones who lived here before

under the buttery lights

of streetlamps,

looking for their long gone lovers.

I see the stray dogs

taking hold of the alleys.

And I see the gas stations

feeding the dreams

of speed and exodus

from the frivolous.

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Luiz Canha Machado

Luiz Canha Machado was born in Porto, Portugal, in 1971. He started writing poetry at the age of sixteen, drawing inspiration from his own life, the XIX Century Romanticism and the counterculture movements of the XX Century.

19 Responses

  1. Dave Kavanagh says:

    Damn, Luiz this really had me holding my whist from beginning to wonderful end, it is darn close to perfect. So many good lines but I really felt this ‘I see young love turned old, Wasted in redundant quarrels,’ it reminded me of T.S Elliot’s ‘Rhapsody on a windy night’ with its nonstop intensity. Terrific poem my friend.

  2. Rpoett says:

    Wow! Good Poem! Caught me hook, line and sinker.

  3. I have added this to ‘Editors Picks’ Wonderful writing.

  4. Mario Vitale says:

    What a transition, great creation indeed

  5. bookgardener says:

    Very well done.

  6. Naomi Tate Maghen says:

    Luiz, this is a beautiful piece! The sad tone is almost that of an outsider looking in, as if the narrator doesn’t want to identify with all the waste and pain that he witnesses in society. Very compelling and well observed poem.

  7. Elizabeth Balise says:

    Good to see you here, Luiz. Reading this, it sure sounds like we come from the same place. Observant and compassionate write, my friend.

  8. Mario Vitale says:

    Excellent making all the right moves.

  9. Sally Bayan says:

    Luiz, I went high and low while reading this poem….I felt heavy with the truths you revealed, yet, I could not let go, I had to reach the end of your revelations….I learned volumes, from your words.
    Sally Bayan

  10. Victoria Donnelly says:

    Wonderfully observed. Palpable work Luiz so well written. I love “buttery lights” and this..
    “I see insomniacs

    dreaming of

    peaceful sleep,

    longing for trains

    with unknown destinations.”

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