Dulcina's garden

If you cannot find the words...

2012-02-14T01:51:00.000+01:00

If you cannot find the words,

love, why be so worried...?

I can read the poem you write

on my lips, slowly, in every kiss,

the rhymes your eyes play when mirroring mine,

the fingered lines drawn in each caresse,

that mutual feeling of being boneless,

the warm verses composed by soft embraces

in passionate echoes hardly whispered,

the language of both our bodies melting as one

- that invisible butterfly touch in self fire -,
the purple perfume flowering in the dark air,
the naked beats of your heart in mine,
quick, in tune, my ever truly Valentine.

Nothing matters all around.

Clocks and thoughts lie still.

Let's play dumb and deaf,

love,

that tonight we are

somewhat like human angels

and I can understand

the secrets of your soul,

those sounds of silence...

For all hasn't been said

yet.

♥ May all of you have a Happy Valentine' Day! ♥

✍ Quote of the day:
"The story of a love is not important - what is important is that one is capable of love. It is perhaps the only glimpse we are permitted of eternity."

(Helen Hayes)

Bye-bye for now, dear friends

2012-01-29T02:27:00.000+01:00

Dear friends and readers,
Our satellite Internet provider Distecable will stop working in this area of Cantabria since February 2nd, so I won't be able to blog here till we can find another supplier.
I will miss you all!

✍ Quote of the day:

"We've heard that a million monkeys at a million keyboards could produce the complete works of Shakespeare; now, thanks to the Internet, we know that is not true."
(Robert Wilensky)

The origin of woman

2012-01-24T01:09:00.001+01:00

(I'm not an expert etymologist)

Idle Adam was alone

in idyllic Paradise

when, one morning,

just awake,

he saw someone

by his side.

- Wow, man!

- Yes, I am.

And since then,
because of her,
he has had
a lot of work.

✍ Quote of the day:

"Conversation between Adam and Eve must have been difficult at times because they had nobody to talk about."

(Agnes Repplier)

Intersection

2012-01-20T00:49:00.000+01:00

There
where
horizontal and vertical
humanity and verbum
meet
man
can
find
the
Word

Intercession

✍ Quote of the day:
"The timelessness of a concept has to be woven into the running warp of dying time, vertical power has to be wedded to the horizontal earth."

(Ella Maillart)

Silence

2012-01-15T01:23:00.002+01:00

Company

Loneliness,

sweet company ever,

don´t leave me

alone.

Silence

That never said word,

so worth the wait,

so well restrained,

keeps the secret

of harmony.

Echo

I heard
a voice
that once
was also mine.

Perfection

In a morning

of grace and glory

verb found

its perfect tense.

✍ Quote of the day:

"A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds."
(Percy Bysshe Shelley)

Drip-Drop (the other side of me)

2012-01-01T05:27:00.051+01:00

*
Drop after drop
two phallic figures,
phantoms in a cave,
grow up, grow down,
in rhythmical chords.
Male female mate
amidst sublime vapor
off a magic forest
of crystaline pearls.

Drip, drop.
Drip, drop.

The cavern is calling

echoes from the lake
that mirrors the sun,
live fulfilling faith.
The palace of darknes,
the temple of grace.

d
r
i
p

d
r
o
p

Calcite and water
dance with no end.
Up and down,
up and down,
erected in flight
from ceiling to ground.

Drip, drop.
Drip, drop.

From ceiling to ground
- passionately -

you drink my soft rain,
I drip patiently

in your melting pot,
both thirsty, unbroken,
both distilling love,
- ah!, this frozen fire's
sweet tiramisu -
till we reach each other
making the right knot.
The spirit of the cave
smiles in content.

- Find me,
free me,
fix me,
follow me.

d
r
i
p

d
r
o
p

- Feed me,
fill me,
feel me,
flow to me.

Year after year
we constantly grow
by falling , falling on,
through joyful, sad tears,
sharing same spring
above and below.

Drip, drop.
Drip, drop.

Opposites coincide
in fractal attraction
like magnets aside,
beginning and end
becoming the same,
in placid descent,
in slow ascension,
every second closer,
stronger and bigger
to be one and only,
invictus, complete,
eternally unique.

Drip, drop.
Drip, drop.

- Hold tight to my might
if you want to win!

Drip, drop.
Drip, drop.

Gloomy cavern weeps,
- chilly head,
frozen toes -
the light in the entrance
green transparent glows.

d
r
i
p

d
r
o
p

Tonight ...,
no wind in between,
but butterflies, bats
flying around us
in a frantic whirl.
Drops caress our body,
sweet cooling sweat
rolling down the skin.

Dripping has ceased,

shhh....

Dulcina is gone
and Gnomie's composing
his great final poem.

(Your pen will not faint
under my sustain)

Magic shapes are born:
a pure pyramid,
a solid triangle,
a golden heart,
an inverted cone,
a tulip in bloom,
a thin cylinder,
a marble spike,
a stony bone,
an inspired flame,
a diamond spire,
a perfect tall pillar,
a trimmed trinity
in perpetual kiss.

- Human life to me
is less than a second...

Drip, drop.
Drip, drop.

(This poem could not be complete without my Gnomie's words in his comment below)

- With each drop a tear of joy I wear.
Your life to me is second to none.

✍ Quote of the day:

"Be always at war with your vices, at peace with your neighbors, and let each new year find you a better man."

(Benjamin Franklin)

Hallelujah!

2011-12-26T02:14:00.003+01:00

Sing a song

the Son of God.

Sing a song,

sing a song.

✍ Quote of the day:

"It is Christmas every time you let God love others through you . . . yes, it is Christmas every time you smile at your brother and offer him your hand."

(Mother Teresa of Calcutta)

Letter to Jesus

2011-12-22T22:50:00.005+01:00

(This time a very simple poem dedicated to all those parents who don't know what to give their children for Christmas other than their love)

"Dear Jesus,

I wish

all children's wishes

come true."

And that year

parents bought

no toys

and

played

with their kids.

✍ Quote of the day:

"Remember this December that love weighs more than gold."

(Josephine Daskam)

Reverse

2011-11-30T04:25:00.021+01:00

(Felt naughty tonight)

sdrawkcab evom I

seod edit sa

gnitirw yltneg

dnas eht no

A doubt in front of my mirror,

a reflected duplication,

is right wrong when right is left?

What I'm supposed to believe?

Is that opposite my me?

Reversing...

like a coward,

like a scared babe,

like coming flood,

like gone ebb,

like a shooter,

like a deflating balloon,

like a runner on the end line,

like a red crab,

like a bony boomerang.

Free verse,

- no! -

reverse,

- oh!-

converse,

- ah!-,

sometimes inverse or diverse

- why? -

transversing forbidden lines,

- don't! -

playing adverse or perverse,

- uuuh... -

observed by mod-averse rulers

turning their face to the obverse.

See,
I am a verse in reverse

not averse to open converse,

but versus faithful conversion

if the change is just for change.

Against inertia,

against the theory of pendulum,

even against my compass:

sometimes it's sweet to get lost

to find a new Wonderland.

Is then this writing perversion?

For in such a true confession

more than alive I feel dead

in this Universe of Verse.

I move forwards

as tide did

gently rubbing

with the sea...

✍ Quote of the day:
”Poetry is the deification of reality."

(Edith Sitwell)

Lost

2011-11-25T03:34:00.058+01:00

(On the International Day for the Elimination of Violence against Women, I've dedicated this poem to all women victims of machismo, not including feminists or women's liberation movements which have nothing to do with the real problem)

Lost

in the abyss

of her lost dreams,

she found herself

on the edge

of a magic precipice,

where kind waves

saved her

from drowning

into life's reality.

"Mary,
you don't need
an umbrella
to fly."

Wings on,
fears off,
go-go-gooo!

So then
she flew away
from all machos rules,
from sick saxo sex ,
from rude words,
from wounds,
taught kids
how to mellow
this happy new world:
spoonfuls of honey
protecting good girls.

Aaah-men...

Original Lost by Karen Helgensen

The image of this post is a digital manipulation I've made based on Karen Helgensen's "Lost" in Red Bubble.

Her wonderful work inspired the words of my poem.

✍ Quote of the day:
”Be very careful if you make a woman cry, because God counts her tears.
The woman came out of a man’s rib.
Not from his feet to be walked on.
Not from his head to be superior, but from the side to be equal.
Under the arm to be protected, and next to the heart to be loved."
(Hebrew Talmud)

Slaves of ourselves

2011-11-15T01:57:00.046+01:00

No chains, no whips, no tortures.

Paper means nothing to rapers.
Who´s the prince and who´s the pauper?
Those yellow, red and black barbarians
have emerged from catacombs,
fighting with no weapons, no blades, no bombs.
Beware,
a silent war´s overcoming us
and yesterday´s slaves will be tomorrow´s masters:
those dragons, tigers and lions
have run faster than the gazelle.
Time will tell…

-谢谢 Xié Xié.
- नमस्ते Namaskaram.
- Asante sana!

Paper power is coming to an end
and a great wall is surrounding us all.
Please, don´t laugh at the rich Emperor´s clothes.
Welcome, wealthy mandarin!
Colour doesn´t matter if it smells of gold…
The greedy elephant exploded over the mob.
You broke it, you bought it.
Look at those three wise men coming again from the east.
I am Shem. I am Ham. I am Japhet.

- Who knows where the north star is?

Everybody has dreams and paradises with different names.
Are you going to Firdaws, Vaikuntha or Heaven, sir?
Let´s listen to hopeful new voices from Babylon.
Who cares about the Big Bang …?
For a baby its mother is all its universe.
When the blind white man recovered his sight
he saw his wife was brown and pregnant.

- Too late, babe, too late.

Six, six, six,
Samson destroyed the pillars of Wall Street.
We had to trust those legal thieves.
Manipulation got its bitter reward.
Cameras in every corner for our security.
Yeah, a good excuse, boss.
I control you, you control me.
You can buy my body but my soul is not for sale.

- I´ll show you my face under the veil.

A giant yellow stream is overflowing the pale territory.
Noah, Noah, where´s your boat…?
Hidden hands, hidden eyes, hidden tongues
moving the stupid marionettes of the past.
A black high tide floods over the marble city
in echoes of justice or revenge, who knows?
No more blood, no more blades, no more blues.
A gentle kiss.

- Take off your gloves, my queen.

Bronze, topaz and azabache skins.
All corpses stink the same
and all skeletons look like ivory bargains.
Bones, bones and bones scattered across
the desert battlefield.
Only death is fair, said the grinning skull.

- Whose do you think it was?
- Nay, I know not.

Paper money can be torn or thrown to flames.

Same crowns for different kings.
The white era is over looking for nothing
in its empty pockets.
He offers us rainbows with colors of precious stones,
jasper, sapphire, emerald, jacinth and amethyst.
Too late for action…?

- I asked you for love, not compassion.

So many peaces broken into pieces.

And God is forgiving once and again
his Peter, his Thomas and his Judas Iscariot.
They still adore their old deities
while we are worshiping millions of gold calves.

- When will you learn?
When will you learn?
Will you ever learn…?

A young mom is lulling her baby under an ancient baobab.

The bamboo boy is listening to the Beatles,
Love, love, love…
while playing his thousand drums,
dreaming of a new land for everyone.
Words, words, words…

- I could do nothing but obey.

They´ve been collecting
precious stones in rivers of hope.
As fat Epulon was falling,
they were climbing step by step on tiptoe.
Maybe they will love us more than we have ignored them.
Who´s guilty and who´s to blame?

- Bwana, you taught me how to play the game.

Children of poverty
fed by their faith, their hunger and their desperation
have been crowding the earth.
Their mothers had no money for abortions.
Wombs on sale and tumbs rented
for a cheap rest.

Madam, I change my marbles for your gold necklace.

Ah, aah, aaah!

Buddah, Allah and Jehovah have a secret meeting
to decide who will throw the dice today.
One tree, two towers, three thrones.
Hosanna, Obama, Hosanna!
While the mob is singing,
be ready to be nailed to your cross.

- Father, forgive them,
for they know not what they do.

Slaves of ourselves

in search of a false freedom.
As Cain and Abel are sniffing cocaine,
new crowns are prepared to rule our kingdoms
with Superman and Hawking tied to their wheelchairs.
Tattoos and piercings adorn pale skins:
one more sacrifice for progress and modernity.

- A ticket to hell, please.
No return. Heaven is overbooked.

Many live in Sodom, many in Gomorrah and only a few in Zoar.
Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!
We do not want the ruins of our Roman Empire to be restored.
Never again.
Just believe in that white horse
who won´t be scared by the snake.
Behold and remember,
truth and faith are walking … trotting … galloping from afar.

-Ephphatha!

The thirtieth day of September two-o-o-eight.
I´m no prophet,
just a poor witness of change
ready to die in sweet oblivion…

- Eli Eli lama sabachthani?

Then Jesus said to the Jews who had believed in him,

‘If you continue in my word, you are truly my disciples; and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free." (John 8:21-32)

⚜⚜⚜ ⚜ ⚜⚜⚜

Note: I wrote this poem some time ago, shortly before Obama was elected President.

The date is in the words of the last stanza.

✍ Quote of the day:
"Poetry is not only dream and vision; it is the skeleton architecture of our lives. It lays the foundations for a future of change, a bridge across our fears of what has never been before.”
(Audre Lorde)

My Orpheus

2011-11-12T01:53:00.010+01:00

Smell of coffee
reaches our bedroom
in the upper floor
- dawn still awaiting
to break the dark -
while whispers of old prophets,
dancing in harmony with
Calliope´s voice
and notes of Beethoven,
fill the air
behind the close door.

Words whirl in a crazy ballet:
some rejected,
others taken,
a few doubted.

Erato smiles,
his beats increase.

- Don´t look back at her…

Keys rhyme
among vacuous echoes
- dumb angels -
following the cadent rhythm
of his soft fingers.

Daily routine
fighting sleep and drought,
prayers for that precious spring
hidden behind evil shadows.

The early bird
sings my name
in golden light:
it´s time to finish
the struggle.

The poet has won
and musical verses
adorn the virgin paper
in hope.

Wounds will heal,
scars will last.

With the first rays,
Zeus´s daughters
return silently
to Mount Helicon.

Clio,
in purple gown,
cannot see or hear him
in the aisle of the temple.

Day after day,
my poor poet
keeps playing his lyre for her,
her deafblind goddess.

He is my Orpheus
and he killed the snake.

Remember,

don´t look back at me…

✍ Quote of the day:

"I have no ambitions nor desires.
To be a poet is not my ambition,
it's simply my way of being alone"

(Fernando Pessoa)

Fighting age

2011-10-18T22:23:00.022+02:00

(Some kind of grey humour today)

I knew a lady once
whose face was ten times three,
her arms doubled her belly,
her boobies just nineteen,
her hands were eighty something,
her neck looked fifty-six,
her high knee like a baby's,
her legs tripled her lips,
her cute nose was a wonder,
her mouth full of false teeth.

A miracle of surgery
or magic, sorcery?
A consequence of gens,
a happy life or creams?
A life deal with a demon
or simple mystery?
Three women in just one,
a monstrous trinity!
Noah's grandpa seemed much younger,
- oh, Lord!-
more than nine hundred.

How old you think she is...?

By night, clothes off,
in twilight,
that is what I could see:
her elbows were hanging
- ¡no mercy gravity! -,
ten twisted toes appeared
- rheumatic prosody -,
her lenses left her pupils
- she couldn´t glimpse her tits -,
her blonde hair hid loose ears
- no matter how long rings -,
her fingers crossed while praying
- why face my destiny? -,
a bended back and ... tears
refreshing her pale cheeks.

Souls are not made of plastic.

The mirage of the image
by moon light was all gone.
Such fragile sexiness
has ended dead in bed.

That's her, that's hers!
The flesh under the doll.
Finally she's human, real.
The rest is just all fake!　

(Dedicated to Marilyn, Cher & Demi)

✍ Quote of the day:

"A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that wordly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul."
(Goethe)

About love

2011-10-14T14:37:00.009+02:00

Sonnet I

Who can resist the call of love´s perfume?

Who can deny the strength of its allure?

Only that one who´s never felt abloom,

as a dry desert with neither hope nor cure.

Who can remain strong in arms of treason?

Who can endure the troubles of regret?

For, when apart, the heart lingers in prison

chained to mild memories so heavy to forget.

No harder battle, no more fulfilling feeling

than that of lovers consumed in passion flame.

No better life than that of death when healing,

no bigger pleasure than being two as the same.

Love lies unconscious, full covered with blind veils

and, even old or wrinkled, its twinkle never fails.

✍ Quote of the day:

"Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words."
(Robert Frost)