The Wood – The begining

She had a body as a fairy  and lived  there for all her life….

Surround by trees…. Trees so so dark and tal that she almost could see the sun… So… She is habituated with shadows that compose all her world… And shadows, we know, they are not so simple…  they are the pure darkest…. With silent moves, whispers , deep lake … the mist… That terrified her  but not anymore….

She deal very good with this sensations and more  growing in her chest… Corrupted still… mind and soul…Mujer gótica en el bosque

You only could crave something if you know or if you see… A person…  a thing…. And she never desired anything because the wood  were inside her … And the wood gave to her all that she needs… since now…

A  dangerous eagerness to talk, to touch and be touched intensify inside her…. A fever… A thirst  … appeased by her hands… Sometimes hurting herself but satiated ….. She don’t know what  bruises is … even  why her discolored skin…  but only the end of the desire… complete, total….

She starts to create something or someone as a company

…  she saw  herself in mirrored puddles…

First the feet ~needing  to see  more~

As she  crawl and bend over

Creeping and begin

In my middle please in my middle …

They find her … and gave to her a dress

the first view, the first sight of herself

in a mirror…..

The light, the sun

burning her eyes and niveous skin

nails

drawing a path in a man’s body

taken to the woods

Now… She talks

~he took me to wander into dark night~
i thought…one more effort….

along the way he asked me
thou hast innocent eyes?

in silent walking… the rustle of my petticoats announcing

yes….innocents….

still…leading me to wander into a dark wood
despite all dangerous signs

along the way he asked me
thou hast hidden desires?

in silent i was

yes…hidden desires…

but the treacherous moon arises
suddenly….

catching me in surprise
a glimpse of me appears

bringing light to his blurry eyes….

astonishment and fright

in both hearts….

touching the blue vein with smooth fingers
a delight  ~finishing my pain~

drowning an endless thirst
no time for answers still

my fangs, hands, body on him
Muscle stiffness ~deep breath~

…Oh!

let me finish with you quickly
thou need that and i too

~he took me to wander into dark night~

An Armored Man

an armored man bought  a bread
a french bread … a sliced bread
starving as you are… you have to eat
pure… enjoying the salt
that it’ll give you the life
another night the same man
buy the same bread to you
and your thoughts guiding you to a remembrance
when you had
something more than a salted piece of bread
on your table
and you see yourself
alone… aloneBread

One Noisy Poem to a painful heart

i slammed the door

fleeting for them

cleck cleck cleck

{{{bam}}} {{{ bam}}}}
one click…. a- Ha…

I sat on my delicious chair

tinny sounds

ding ding ding

to every move

i closed the book

buff….so soft…

And

The crowd runs to me again

vrummmmmmmmm
knocking knocking
toc toc toc…bum

I shouted
“Not Now”

my head aches

ouch!

what is that sound?
not a sound but a rhythm
a trumpet, a trumpet on my mind
ratata…ratata….the poet is angry

Oh My God… that hurts….

everything hurts

deep in the poet’s heart

Now I am angry

losing my temper

and start to speak with myself
bla bla bla bla bla
walking as a crazy
clack clack…clacking

thinking…..having great ideas

@#$#%%¨

i NEED SOME SILENT
I SHOUTED….please!!!!

just so i know
some moments in my life

when in pain….

they are a onomatopoeia

Dear Sylvia

Dear Sylvia
So you know….as we were talking days ago
i was interrupted by the time
so short between us

I tried as you tried…one, two and three
Be happy it is not for poets

I dont give up and i think you don’t gave up also
You just was carved in marble…
classical

I had no time to look and say goodby

But lies above …as a shadow , as a cloud…
Full of rain, and lightnings….heavy
Mixed with my feelings
As a second identity of me
was good…
You… a ghost living at the third floor
Of my unconsciousness

I like bees…the hum …you know
Bees are so so fat and noisily fun
But not a box of bee
They are dangerous and they aren’t for us

I discovered through you
We try because of others
When we absorve the others shadows
Becoming dark …their darkness melted in us

So many wishes… who is the owner?
becoming a reflection of their desires
constant splashes on the river bank
The mirrors ..you know
But must be a place
to hide …maybe to rest

and i ask to myself if there has not room
without solitude, without cold

And no heaven, no hell
at least… not a shortcut… nothing so fast

Sylvia Plath

maybe God will build
a silent spot… you’ll sit, i’ll sit
to watch….silence and move

as you see my dear friend
I am  trying  as you tried

but

be happy…it is not for poets

Just my Hair…

i wanted to cut my hair
really…very short

as a man…

with that neck…so so clean
I wanted to protest against myself
NO! Was i heard

I wanted to cut off the tubes in my veins

NO!

The white man shot off against to me
What a fright!

He seemed so so right!

So…after that…i remember who i am
or i used to be

i put all tubes off from me
and yelled louder

YES!

I took my right way to home

walking alone and being myself free

but my hair

so strange feeling

nobody goes on unpunished

MM2
it is the same as always
long
until i know really, really who i was

Until that moment…. i am alone

Tim Tim!!!!!

i pass along my lines
built with words …tortuous

not walking by… but as water in a pipe
that is how my nature goes by

i pass so so fluid that no one notice me
it is simply my way to be, or i try

chablis

put me to freeze, please …it is a Chablis

As I am  as liquid and a tube to conduct me
even when my words are crooked

so  it is that way that i write

maybe the way i am
so so sorry by … Mr and Ms …

i did not know, but i have to fade in that way
even when i have a feast on my table

and i did not know, but people have to celebrate

so ~ i sat down, alone~ with silver and crystal’s vision
pouring the white wine

to mix and make me alone
one time more

what a taste Mr.
What a flavour Ms.

So, so sorry

The Orange Tree…

i thought she would not get in my memory
but there She is…. the remembering of my Orange Tree

when i was green and free ~ inside ~
and i used to sit down below her sinous feet

all that is fresh and good came out from my Orange Tree
the smell , the open form, the way how She moves up on the hill
almost playing with me… helped by the wind to give more grace
and my enchanted eyes to applaud

~such purity~

you can watch when you are ready
a pause inside and the most beautiful show ~could start~
one branch, sometimes touch your face
a glitter, thousands of sparkles
a caress if you dare to feel it
all scents in the world involves
you flooding you
if you dare ~to plunge~

~such rebirth~

All this comes from my Orange Tree…
green , tall and whatever you expect
and all changes ~ for you and around you~

the mysterious scent the magnificent ballet
a feast to any soul… if you want and stop there to feel
to fill you of faith …on men…on humanity ….on your own  God

It is just a tree….but you just right now….have yours
inside your living roommy orange tree

To me it is just my memory of one special
Orange Tree….