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"... decimelo again, I understood nothing
distract me hopeless your lips that open
and close and open ... "






I like the trees are pink






VOS




Vos, you could with all the tornadoes
with those of fire, water, the winds of hate

and poisonous spores (which then appear on a tape oriental).
Vos, you drew my face
in unexplored desert sands
and gave my eyes mystique
you, that you are able to give life to the Dead Sea.
You, you wear in your hair blonde and Sweden

stones and
holiest of all lands.
You, you keep on your lips the taste of my
you that you have in your eyes that nostalgia Buenos Aires, which never goes away, you ...


Vos, inexplicable,
Vos, indescribable.







I like the trees are green

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** I thank Lydia, The Write and blog deloquenosehabla . blogspot.com for giving me the Award For Your Contribution To The Arts " (click on image to enlarge)

** I want to thank, too, Aguasanta and his blog
Aguasanta for the award "Blog With Chispas (click on image to enlarge )

THANKS BEAUTIFUL GIRLS! (: <3

-------------------------------------------- -----------------







Charlie.
.
.

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TU BOCA DOS

This

post is dedicated to someone very important in my life: $

(image of the great Marion Peck)





"... If you were born again
start again if
to get you back in my ship of time ... "










YOUR MOUTH



Your mouth ate my hatred
and kissed me.
and kissed her, too, my tears
clay and mud of my heart.

Your mouth burned my lips and turned my hell


who cried when it was needed
which said its truths,
which nothing is silent.

In her endless verses born

amazing stories


love letters of her birth, and never tires of birth, born
as flowers and fruit trees:
all the love, yours and mine, I live and cast
in every kiss us.

(anime pictures stolen from the web)

--------------------- --------------------------------------------------

wanted to thank Fran and his blog "The blog of ideas fugitive"
for the award "The Blue Rose of the Poets" (click to view image t to m original year)
was more than a thousand years! But it takes a bit to update my blog xD



---------------------------------- -------------------------------------







Charlie.
.

.

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drawing by me: "Cry" a cartoon series called "Mutilation"




* This is a poem rescued from a series of poems to which I called "The Seasons":




TENDERNESS OF THE DEAD BUTTERFLY




Along with spring she can be seen on the floor dead
with colorful wings,
the same as the wind be responsible for removing.
In the lines of a dead butterfly

I can read the confessions that I save time in heavenly signs within it rose
and played before saying goodbye. Poor you

not colorful garden of my eyes poor

miss you already
without ever seeing you (live) faded butterfly

you fell to the ground as a tear wound

some surreal eye and melancholy
Will you have fallen from my eyes?
Maybe that's why I generate
and so sad I cry, instead of salt:
dead butterflies.






chewing daisies pure hatred ...






"What for others is tenderness for me is ill beneficial"
(LG)









Charlie.
.
.

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Malevolent CHARITY DAY IN THE LIFE POETRY

the wind my hair I

Uff
a thousand days without posting anything, thanks to all who follow me like , even a hanging!
long ago do not write poetry to follow my impulses, and I'm experimenting with other forms ... But this so far is a blog of poetry, no?
xD well, luckily I have a file crazy:) are not very old alike but have already
the first time is a rare description speaks of the silence and the windows (I never have liked but they think) and the second is about an angel ornaments:

DEAD HOURS THAT MY BREATH

Three windows

in this room at night

three windows flashing

between the strange lights

the nocturnal world

sometimes revealing so many things,

my idle hours

through three windows

this room, this house

three windows, a triangle.

Room Three windows had

of my childhood,

had two windows in the attic next

where ghosts lived

but had one more, the hidden window

is that nobody looked toward the ceiling

where it entered the starlight

and amazing mysteries

around the cosmos,

through windows

my idle hours , breathing.

visible windows had bars

black painted metal and earth

where birds

who played was the branches of a tree.

Large windows for sun

always necessary

is beautiful regardless of their light

the sleep I wake

clear Sunday.

the wind my hair II

"... two days in life are never bad,
in any way that is life ... "

AN ANGEL

was an angel.

A golden angel, perfect

without arms, broken, child, perfect.

was on a table and around it,

other angels awaiting my gaze

but he forced me to keep looking.

A golden angel, perfect

lacked a foot,

was broken,

was a boy, perfect.

slept, still

had other angels

that nobody saw

and their voices came

farewell lullabies or

the

slept quietly,

and a tree behind glass

took advantage of the transparency afforded by

window and showed her, until now, green

Ponto

that would go out in this fall.

An angel

punished by time,

full time

sleeping still. Child

perfect.

An angel.

made me think of you.

Charlie.
.
.