CLOSE HER LIGHT OF DAY
She dances under waterfalls
this maiden oh so fair
she becomes one with nature
wears flowers in her hair
with the whisper of her garden
forest bird songs kiss the land
she is blessed with inner beauty
But does not yet understand
ugliness, buidings and machinery
over the hill not so faraway
they are closing in around her
will soon close her light of day
RACHEL HENDERSON, UK
( copyright de l'artiste)
He tenido noticias
del sarcófago de acrílico latente
que arrojé al mar
una tormentosa tarde de hastío...
dicen que no hubo tal tarde
dicen que el sarcófago
nunca fue latente
Chiro (Mauricio Pérez Ruz) nació en San Juan, Argentina
en Agosto de 1969.
En 1997 Publicó: Milagro / Miseria (Edición a cargo del autor)
Año 2001: Fiebre, poemas incoherentes ( para algunos...)
(Ediciones El Níspero)
Año 2005, Tierna Violencia (Ediciones El Níspero)
Año 2005, ¿Has pensado un mundo sin calmantes? (Ediciones Biguá)
alone in my room I silently weep
Every soul has something to hide
every life has an unseen side
Just like the memory of a beautiful place
I want people to remember my smiling face
I want to cry with invisible tears
I want to give blessings as to receive
I want to decide when its my time to leave
This is my life, Its not yours to taint
I will decide which picture to paint
Isle of Skye, Uk
From every day that passed, he made a paper bird
Knowing that when he reached 1000
He could make a wish.
In the corner of the room they piled high
So fragile, strongly beautiful
They stopped me in my tracks
Such poetry was going on behind closed doors )
They didn't say a word.
Though I knew each one was bursting just to tell
The thousandth of the wish it held upon its beak
The wish perhaps that he could pull down the night sky
And cut a suit from it
To find all secrets of the Universe
Scrumpled in the pocket ?
( And a thousandth of that wish would be a word of what he read
Which whispered in your soul would set your heart on fire )
Or maybe what he wished for was far more down to earth -
That he could walk along a beach and leave his footprints in the sand
Knowing somewhere, someone was following ?
( And a thousandth of that wish would be the sound of one wave crashing )
Or maybe what he wished for was simply that each day
He'd taste a certain happiness upon his lips
(And a thousandth of that wish would be one drop of what he tastes
Which landing on the tongue dissolves to song...)
I'm bursting too
To ask “What do you wish for ?”
But it's not thing a person says
So let this poem ask those words instead
“What is it that you wish for ?
And could you fold one thousandth of it up into a bird and pile it high ?”
If you can,
This poem is for you: Take it, fold it up into a bird.
And when there are 1000 of them soaring in the sky
(copyright de l'artiste)
Stones take to each other naturally,
Like a family of sleeping creatures,
The large ones accommodate little ones,
To create a colony of hardness;
They rest in centuries of stark stillness;
They are elephant-heavy to lush grass.
Their colours employ the afternoon sun;
They are as warm as loaves from an oven.
Each one embodies its personal death;
They are cobbled memories of the sea;
They are the solid language of labour:
Each one weathered to a perfect image.
They rest, innocent of their history,
Like a grey display of featureless skulls.
They have tasted our sweat and absorbed our blood.
They rise and fall, symbols of man's conscience.
Their persistence has sculptured their silence;
They hint that their souls haunt other planets.
They are magnets for our primitive thoughts;
They are the armour of truths beyond us.
They shape our built fears of an afterlife,
They could tempt us into acts of worship.
Peter Thabit Jones © 2009