Sunday, March 26, 2017

Simple, yet complicated

Simple, yet complicated:

Ideas, coffee,
talks of poetry
hair, eyes, lips,
and stories
not yet certain.

Refusing to be defined,
accepting, rejecting,
yet delighting
glances, ideas
and sensual chats.

Today I saw her,
her red lips
voluptuously desiring,
yet the mind

Moral trepidations
between her
and her mind,
yet her skin
her womb
her lips

Simple, yet complicated.

Friday, December 2, 2016

I met an old friend 
From not too long ago:

Eclectic chats
Within unimaginable
Of an artistic being
That I think I know;

Between shadows 
Of a nation,
In a leg that I 
cannot see. 

An undefined number
In her wrist,  
An inverted cross 
Crawling her forearm 

All of these and more, 
Between a green
And mustard 
There she was.

Her eyes piercing 
The light,
Her smile transcending
The atmosphere. 

Between this and that 
And a cat, 
And a walk
And more 
And nothing more. 

All suffices:
To imagine the shadow
In her back, 
That I cannot see;

The curtain,
The window,
The white alpaca 
Her skin,
And more 
And nothing more. 

Tuesday, December 16, 2014

A Raven Night

A Raven Night

What would they know?

My voice was shouting
Across the room an empty cross
To professed the crossing paths
That have awaken humanity:

The Love Song of T.S Eliot
Was drowned among the fools
That giggled and refused
To listen to its questions;

Whitman, at times, was thought
To be obscene among the puritans
And the half sleep that will wake
When sinful nouns forced their morals
And ethics to its crisis;

I sipped my wine and shouted louder
Verde que te quiero verde
While they continued numbly listening;

Then, La Casada Infiel and an intimate
Bullfight personal reflexion;
And I shouted louder and louder
Until I drowned all the noises,
The giggles, the ridiculousness;

The wine was blood
The flesh consumed
The cross erected
The fools gone.

What would they know!

Thursday, December 11, 2014

I once had a dream...

I once had a dream...

             I once had oxygen,
             I had a Dancing Serpent
             I, we, rained with fire.
             I, we, extended our existence together.

             Dreaming and reality was the same,
             the sheets, the covers, the forces of nature,
             the magic sand, the beach--not yet forgotten--
             the warm of your womb, the wind blowing,
             the kiss under the waves;
             the canary dying for us at Leo,
             were our dreams and reality.

             The magical reality was us,
              the magical dream was we:
              “it was such a beautiful dream”,
               and I, we, did not protected it,
               “from any remnants” of a cruel reality.

               Are we safe to be real, or is it time
               to prolong and protect the dream,
               before it kills us completely ? That is,
               if it is not already dead!
               I live to dream and die,
               and if I have died my dream,
               then to live without dreaming
               is to already be dead alive.

.                                               ... and then we killed it… for another.

Sunday, December 7, 2014

Dream One

Dream One:
I walked through my past and
saw the images and shadows,
Of a fragmented life;
Recapturing the essence of my being
in a pointless collection
Of memories;
The bricks were the pages
Of an unwritten childhood,
The pictures were testaments
Of a dream long gone,
The struggles were part
Of a reality,
And surviving was
The constant up-and-down.

I saw my self as
I see myself now:
Out of my body
Into my being,
Reflected in a memory
Not yet acquired,
Accepting the universe,
Questioning life.
One day I may see again
the pictures of today
Reflected into a past
Not yet known,
And I will question again,
Submerged into my being
Collecting myself again
In the palm of my hands.


The mundane pulled me aside
And I drowned in silence;
The reasonable and rhetorical
Explained the non-beings:
Planning was in order
And tribulations
Were the order of things.

But: I could not stop thinking
How the moon was orbiting
The contours of her body;
The wine reaching my being
Embracing her with drops
Of tainted and desired sin
Succumbed to possibilities
I was in the wine
The wine in her
Quenching our thirst,
Satiating not.
Background conversations
Of Adam and Eve,
The latter was a perfection
Of all things and creatures
Created for God himself;
Adam was the abomination;
The son of God and Eve
Who seduced his mother
And committed the original sin.
The wine continued
And I intuited myself
In every pour of her skin
Dipped in red wine
Commemorating her creation.
The conversations drowned:
The black and white image
Consolidated herself in me,
The blouse dropped
And I died a sweet death.
The mundane never came back.