Categoría: Varios

  • Prickly pear oriole



    Falling from the tree,
    Like rose popurrí.
    Drops of sound, liquid joy.
    Rain or luck?
    Hidden yellow shadow.

    Yellow?
    Bright sun encased in black frame.
    And its song raining.
    Falling from the tree,
    Like rose popurrí.

  • Carpintero

    Tac tac tac.
    Madera.
    Tac tac tac.
    Un ojo negro.
    Tac tac tac.
    Revuelo.
    Tac tac tac.
    Rojo sobre blanco y gritas desde el encino:
    ¡Humano!

  • Whip

    Drain the night
    The day arrived.
    Gone the cold.
    Melted the frost.
    Yet I wait again.
    I know it didn’t go.
    It never does.
    It flutters by,
    Caresses to your recoil and…
    Zaz! The hit.
    The whip, the sting.

  • Of the things I gave up today

    Next year?
    No.
    Perhaps if I keep trying?
    No.
    Maybe with a little magic?
    No.
    Numb, numb and numb.
    I plan but feel like slumbering.
    I think I might but feel like getting lost in reading.
    Why am I even typing?
    Why the need?
    Said someone.
    Why the need?
    I thought too.
    Will I be brave enough to face the bumping lights?
    Or am I coward enough to go on zombying like the last ten years of nothing?
    Don’t mind me.
    This is just a drama.

  • Behind barracks

    The sky has become sorta white.
    Tasteless.
    Worthless.
    And it doesn’t matter how bright the stars.
    My heart can’t beat to their sight.
    Moon light?
    Blind.
    Rose scent?
    My nose is dead.
    The touch of a lad?
    I’m numb to fail.
    Rise and rise,
    The smoke.
    Nothing.
    Some exiled name from remain,
    Cause there were records of none.
    Burnt in the same cage of demise.
    Cinders behind.
    Without a teeth brush or shoe to put behind glass.

  • No wrong time, neither wrong site.

    Una vez más, de la colección  "Palabras"  que no ganó un concurso. 



    Sin lugares equivocados.
    Sin momentos incorrectos.
    Existe el espacio.
    Existe el tiempo.
     
    La tragedia no se basa en su inocencia.
    Es la pérdida.
     
    En negarles la existencia,
    por presunta ejemplaridad exenta,
    olvidando adrede.
     
    Territorios pre-acordados, campos de batalla,
    siempre que no sean dentro de nuestro lado.
    Esquirlas de elecciones infinitas detonadas,
    porque esa realidad no existe.
     
    NO.
    Es mejor creer que hay momentos y lugares equivocados.
    Gracias al cielo,
    que los muertos no son nuestros.
    ¿Cierto?
    Y cuando lo son,
    no debieron estar ahí.
     
    No debieron.
    Sin víctimas, ¿cuál guerra?

  • Rain season

    Poema publicado en Wattpad. Independiente de otras colecciones.

    Rain season

    Rain season is to end
    Whilst thistle waves to fog
    And cosmos are born,
    Pretty puddles of colour

    La estación lluviosa termina.
    Los cardos se mecen en la bruma.
    Y los cosmos nacen,
    charcos bellos de color

  • Lavender

    Publicado en Wattpad.

    Raising spears of purple ends,
    Dabbing into the sky.
    Your standing self
    And that fine time I spent,
    in your bed.

    Lanzas elevadas de finales violetas
    Pinchando el cielo.
    Tú de pie,
    Y ese tiempo bello que pasé
    En tu lecho.