Poems from Crazy Pupils by Victoria Morrison


He is more poet than me
He provokes in me the excitement of lucifer
I wish to flee from the three nails of the crucifixion
My wrists don’t hurt so much anymore.
like sore ankles
I don’t limp anymore
The sky turns to water in your presence
I know how to float in flooded graves
mercury nights
Enigma of the writer with hair on his face
Under the moon
Howl with foreign voices


From afar he looked like a man
It was a shadow in the form of a man
From afar he looked like a poet
It was a form of man
with the voice of a poet
In the light he looked like an angel
In the dark
I liked
Come! Come my love!
You will see that the reflection of my water is salty
Obey me


To not blame the men
We got married in the presence of a dead man
We got married in the presence of a dead man
With my heart in my hand
Friend of my heart drowned in poetry
We got married in the presence of a dead man
They dug a grave
We were put
Next to each other
in the wet mud
The crying comes from the empty graves
We got married in the presence of a dead man
The earth has forgiven us


We look more beautiful in black
More beautiful than the widows of our enemies
I reversed your death with a love spell
I pierced your flesh
blood stakes
I descended into madness to rescue you
In angel I returned you
You festered like a poem under insomnia
nobody’s Geometry
geometry of gods
We look more beautiful in black
More beautiful than the widows of our enemies.
crazy pupils
Kiss Me!
as if you don’t know me
impregnate me again and again
Throw the stone and hide
I will murder our children in the name of love
bite me


spectral silhouette
I got tangled up in your hair
It rains in a city full of leaves
yellow autumn
I visit you in the asylum
where reason is lost
I see you insanely talking with the virgin
she doesn’t listen to you
My joints creak like an old door
I dry myself
I am your light you tell me
Cocoon light when I take you in hugs
Under the cold light of fluorescent tubes
We are the closest thing to Michelangelo’s Pietá
I cleanse your drugged body
They have cooked your mouth
I give you to drink the rain
You have aged more than me
One by one I have seen your teeth fall
Even so
I still consider you handsome my sick poet
Created in the image and likeness of your mother
We make a blood pact
Of the wall
The shadow
The smoke from your big hands
Touching me
You hypnotize the voices
The time stops
I walk in the rain
I collect flowers.

The poet Leopoldo María Panero, died last night at 65 years old at the Juan Carlos I Psychiatric Hospital in Las Palmas de Gran Canaria, where he lived as a boarder in open regime. Panero will be cremated tomorrow at the San Miguel Funeral Home of Las Palmas de Gran Canaria, where his body will be veiled starting at 2:00 p.m. today. The Corpse of the Poet he will remain in the funeral home for a little over 24 hours, until proceed to incinerate him, something that is scheduled for 4:30 p.m. tomorrow.
Source: ABC.es Culture, July 7, 2014


The most ruthless of all souls
She is moved by the song of night crickets
The most brutal of all souls
Talk to the stars on a waning moon
the most despised
Sing with the voice of a nightingale
stays there
hours and hours and hours
hearing the wind
the most ungrateful soul
wash the feet of tramps
Heals hand wounds
Feed the pigeons in the squares
Smile at the children on the street
tour the cemetery
Read verses about the graves
Searching abandoned tombstones
Rest in sealed sepulchers.
Accompanies the silence that passes forgetting
and she gets tired
falls off
she turns off
Until the dandelions touch her fingers
She can’t open her tired eyelids
crazy’s pupils get bigger
hands are filled with oblivion.


Write poetry
miss the word
Language that bewitches the impure in spirit
Verses saved from the waters
Illegitimate child
Where does my tongue come from?
stumbles on the palate
I inject sounds
Where do my eyes come from?
Observe the bubbles of the fish mating
Fertilize under the water of the river.


Moonlit woman
windy sunrise
Fall from the placenta to the volcano
burn the soul
Germinate in root
mutate into bird
poet’s whisper
I belong to the wind
to the reflection of the sea

written by ©Victoria Morrison

Portada de Pupilas de Loco

Controversial, transgressive, provocative, direct, loving, desolate This is the poetry of Victoria Morrison in this
new book: “Crazy Pupils”. the forty four poems that the collection of poems brings together come from the limits
most extreme humans; tenderness and cruelty in hands of the disturbed beauty of some verses that bother
and move, as the voice should be, when you are in the center of the tragedy. Love, madness, death, oblivion, govern the order of this collection of poems. In this scheme, the poetry of Victoria Morrison is a way of exhibiting the torture to which existence subjects us just by breathing.

Dante Cajales Meneses
Cau Cau, Puchuncavi, Chile,
February 2020

Feature art photo Eyes series. Óscar César Mata, Latex and watercolor pencil. Buenos Aires, Argentina.

Leave a Reply

%d bloggers like this: