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)
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 ... "
creatures dancing on the coldness of the night are men of athletic bodies, with the heads of unicorns, are on all sides hiding among the trees, pale beside them that are white from the root to the end of each of its branches of which drops off glass teardrops dancing stunned with the wind in the sky orange, pink at times and finally blue to black so
and end of all colors at once. Beyond
there are baskets of lemons and other fruits and women, goats, grouped in a small herd with lipstick and tiny horns and hooves. flowers are eaten mordiscones grotesque and kiss each other and make fun of men, absent. Crossing the forest in the distance saw Lake and upon reaching it, I sat by his side, seeing mermaids and mermen swim and fish and birds
and the lights of the stars reflected in that mirror
and natural turn flashing in my eyes and the moon, as bright as cold
making love to everyone in the water.
And all the magic that inhabits here around me, within my eyes and my hands can not get , after seeing a thousand worlds and then the spell get my hands away from yours,
my eyes from your eyes.
blue & red
"... and we grew up expecting Jacaranda flowers. costs As I leave, I find it hard to stay, I can hardly forget the smell of wet earth, the sea breeze ... " (Jorge Drexler)
* I want to thank Xtar and blog "Yra Reybel Republic" , for this award so cute, obviously do not follow the rules, lol, but I liked the compliment, it's very nice, thanks.
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