Poem You Like: julio 2012

martes, 31 de julio de 2012

Drinking Alone Under The Moon

Among the flowers from a pot of wine
I drink alone beneath the bright moonshine.
I raise my cup to invite the moon, who blends
Her light with my shadow and we're three friends.
The moon does not know how to drink her share;
In vain my shadow follows me here and there.
Together with them for the time I stay
And make merry before spring's spend away.
I sing the moon to linger with my song;
My shadow disperses as I dance along.
Sober, we three remain cheerful and gay;
Drunken, we part and each goes his way.
Our friendship will outshine all earthly love;
Next time we'll meet beyond the stars above.

domingo, 29 de julio de 2012

LA LLUVIA

La lluvia tiene un vago secreto de ternura,
algo de soñolencia resignada y amable,
una música humilde se despierta con ella
que hace vibrar el alma dormida del paisaje.

Es un besar azul que recibe la Tierra,
el mito primitivo que vuelve a realizarse.
El contacto ya frío de cielo y tierra viejos
con una mansedumbre de atardecer constante.

Es la aurora del fruto. La que nos trae las flores
y nos unge de espíritu santo de los mares.
La que derrama vida sobre las sementeras
y en el alma tristeza de lo que no se sabe.

La nostalgia terrible de una vida perdida,
el fatal sentimiento de haber nacido tarde,
o la ilusión inquieta de un mañana imposible
con la inquietud cercana del color de la carne.

El amor se despierta en el gris de su ritmo,
nuestro cielo interior tiene un triunfo de sangre,
pero nuestro optimismo se convierte en tristeza
al contemplar las gotas muertas en los cristales.

Y son las gotas: ojos de infinito que miran
al infinito blanco que les sirvió de madre.

Cada gota de lluvia tiembla en el cristal turbio
y le dejan divinas heridas de diamante.
Son poetas del agua que han visto y que meditan
lo que la muchedumbre de los ríos no sabe.

¡Oh lluvia silenciosa, sin tormentas ni vientos,
lluvia mansa y serena de esquila y luz suave,
lluvia buena y pacifica que eres la verdadera,
la que llorosa y triste sobre las cosas caes!

¡Oh lluvia franciscana que llevas a tus gotas
almas de fuentes claras y humildes manantiales!
Cuando sobre los campos desciendes lentamente
las rosas de mi pecho con tus sonidos abres.

El canto primitivo que dices al silencio
y la historia sonora que cuentas al ramaje
los comenta llorando mi corazón desierto
en un negro y profundo pentagrama sin clave.

Mi alma tiene tristeza de la lluvia serena,
tristeza resignada de cosa irrealizable,
tengo en el horizonte un lucero encendido
y el corazón me impide que corra a contemplarte.

¡Oh lluvia silenciosa que los árboles aman
y eres sobre el piano dulzura emocionante;
das al alma las mismas nieblas y resonancias
que pones en el alma dormida del paisaje!

jueves, 26 de julio de 2012

BEST FRIEND

I still remember the first day we met
We were too shy to say much at all
It's funny to think back to that time
Because now we're having a ball!

They say that true friendship is rare
An adage that I believe to be true
Genuine friendship is something that I cherish
I am so lucky to have met you.

Our bond is extremely special
It is unique in it's own way
We have something irreplaceable
I love you more and more each day.

We've been through so much together
In so little time we've shared
I will never forget all the moments
That you've shown me how much you cared.

Friends are forever
Especially the bond that you and I possess
I love your fun-filled personality
Somehow you never fail to impress.

The world could use more people like you
It would certainly be a better place
I love everything about you
You are someone I could never replace.

You are always there for me
When my spirits need a little lift
I cannot thank you enough for that
You are truly an extraordinary gift.

You are everything to me and more
I could never express that enough
Life is such a treacherous journey, and
Without you it would be even more tough.

Our story will continue to grow
With each passing day
Because I trust that with you by my side
Everything will always be Okay.

You are so dear to me
You know I will love you until the end
I will always be there for you, and
You will always (and forever) be my best friend.

miércoles, 25 de julio de 2012

A DREAMER OF DREAMS

You have come to me from a distant land,
Dreamer of dreams, to fill my hearts desire,
Sweet music flowing from your nimble hand
That plays within... to light my passion's fire.

A symphony of word and thought you bring.
Excitement builds upon crescendo's sound,
Brought forth in tones to make my light heart sing
For all the beauty that, with you, I've found.

A life is changed in just an instant's time,
All darkness fled before that brillaint sun
That shines from spoken words of softest rhyme
And speaks of treasures, only just begun.

This mystic meeting gives my heart a glow
That few have seen and only you will know.

martes, 24 de julio de 2012

ABBY

Every time we embrace,
I go to that far away place
When we just walk hand in hand.
I’m in never, never land.

Whenever I look into your eyes,
I begin to get butterflies,
Then my heart skips a beat,
And our lips passionately meet.

You are always on my mind,
Your face is all it can find.
I think about you every day
And know it’ll work out somehow, some way.

Some say we’re dumb and foolish
Some say we should do as we wish
But all my heart could ever do
Is tell you that I’ll always LOVE YOU.

miércoles, 18 de julio de 2012

EL DULCE SABOR DE UNA MUJER EXQUISITA

Una mujer exquisita no es aquella
que más hombres tiene a sus pies,
si no aquella que tiene uno solo
que la hace realmente feliz.
Una mujer hermosa no es la más joven,
ni la más flaca, ni la que tiene
el cutis más terso o el cabello más llamativo,
es aquella que con tan sólo una franca
y abierta sonrisa y un buen consejo
puede alegrarte la vida.

Una mujer valiosa
no es aquella que tiene más títulos,
ni más cargos académicos,
es aquella que sacrifica su sueño temporalmente
por hacer felices a los demás.

Una mujer exquisita no es la más ardiente
(aunque si me preguntan a mí,
todas las mujeres son muy ardientes…
Los que estamos fuera de foco somos los hombres)

Una mujer interesante
no es aquella que se siente halagada al ser admirada
por su belleza y elegancia,
es aquella mujer firme
de carácter que puede decir NO.

Y un HOMBRE…….
UN HOMBRE EXQUISITO es aquel que valora a una mujer así……
Que se siente orgulloso de tenerla como compañera….
Que sabe tocarla como un músico virtuosísimo
toca su amado instrumento…
Que lucha a su lado compartiendo todos sus roles,
desde lavar platos y atender tripones,
hasta devolverle los masajes y
cuidados que ella le prodigó antes…

La verdad, compañeros hombres,
es que las mujeres en eso de ser ‘Muy machas’
nos llevan gran recorrido…
¡Qué tontos hemos sido -y somos-
cuando valoramos el regalo
solamente por la vistosidad de su empaque…

¡Tonto y mil veces tonto el hombre
que come basura en la calle,
teniendo un exquisito manjar en casa’.

*Gabriel García Márquez

lunes, 16 de julio de 2012

The Meaning of Love

Both light and shadow
are the dance of Love.
Love has no cause;
it is the astrolabe of God’s secrets.
Lover and Loving are inseparable
and timeless.

Although I may try to describe Love
when I experience it I am speechless.
Although I may try to write about Love
I am rendered helpless;
my pen breaks and the paper slips away
at the ineffable place
where Lover, Loving and Loved are one.

Every moment is made glorious
by the light of Love.

viernes, 13 de julio de 2012

Déjame sueltas las manos...

Déjame sueltas las manos
y el corazón, déjame libre!
Deja que mis dedos corran
por los caminos de tu cuerpo.
La pasión —sangre, fuego, besos—
me incendia a llamaradas trémulas.
Ay, tú no sabes lo que es esto!

Es la tempestad de mis sentidos
doblegando la selva sensible de mis nervios.
Es la carne que grita con sus ardientes lenguas!
Es el incendio!
Y estás aquí, mujer, como un madero intacto
ahora que vuela toda mi vida hecha cenizas
hacia tu cuerpo lleno, como la noche, de astros!

Déjame libre las manos
y el corazón, déjame libre!
Yo sólo te deseo, yo sólo te deseo!
No es amor, es deseo que se agosta y se extingue,
es precipitación de furias,
acercamiento de lo imposible,
pero estás tú,
estás para dármelo todo,
y a darme lo que tienes a la tierra viniste—
como yo para contenerte,
y desearte,
y recibirte!

martes, 10 de julio de 2012

If Only You Knew...

If only you knew,
how my heart overflows with love for you.
If only you could see
the way you fill my hopes and dreams.
You're the owner of my heart,
the ruler supreme.
Even in the dark of night,
I've only to think about you
to feel your loving light
and from this world I drift
feeling as if
I'll never touch the ground again...
If only you knew.

If only you could guess
how I hear your voice when others speak;
for you hold the key to my happiness,
and it's always you my soul seeks.
If only you could feel,
how your very presence
has the power to heal,
all the wounds inside me.
You've made me abandon
the pain of yesterday,
and you've shown me
that the past can no longer
stand in the way
of what I hope to achieve...
If only you knew.

If only you could realize
the way you've shown me
that it's better to give
than to take,
and whatever I do,
I do for your sake.
I'm willing to give you my all
and expect nothing in return.
But, oh how I yearn
for you...
if only you knew.

domingo, 8 de julio de 2012

SENTIR

sentir que tu mano es mi caricia,

sentir que tu sueño es mi deseo,

sentir que tu mirada es mi descanso,

sentir que tu nombre es mi canción,

sentir que tu boca es mi refugio,

sentir que tu alma es mi regalo.

Sentir que existes...

sentir que vivo para amarte.

sábado, 7 de julio de 2012

My Desire

When I think of you,
It fills my heart with desire,
A passion full of fire.

I long to kiss your silky skin,
to nibble and bite you,
Igniting this passion within.

I long to peel off your clothes,
Exposing your gorgeous body
from your head to your toes.

I long to feel you in my arms,
to caress and hold you tight...
can you feel the love, not just my charms?

I long to taste the sweetness of your body,
I long to hear your whispers and moans,
So softly in my ear, "I Love You My Baby"

To be with you forever, each and every day,
To make love to you forever,
My Lover, My Girlfriend, My Mate.
All of this is my Desire,
To bring about our Passion and our Fire...

viernes, 6 de julio de 2012

Clenched Soul

We have lost even this twilight.
No one saw us this evening hand in hand
while the blue night dropped on the world.

I have seen from my window
the fiesta of sunset in the distant mountain tops.

Sometimes a piece of sun
burned like a coin in my hand.

I remembered you with my soul clenched
in that sadness of mine that you know.

Where were you then?
Who else was there?
Saying what?
Why will the whole of love come on me suddenly
when I am sad and feel you are far away?

The book fell that always closed at twilight
and my blue sweater rolled like a hurt dog at my feet.

Always, always you recede through the evenings
toward the twilight erasing statues.

You Live in My Heart....

You live in my heart,
i won't break it apart,
even if it makes me to cry,
i will love you till i die.

Blood doesn't flow in my vein,
ur thought flows in it as a pain,
I may not be the one for you,
i would have still loved you-
even if i knew....

My love is not written on sand,
for the waters to wash away,
it is written in my heart to stand,
all the difficulty that comes its way.

You still live in my eyes,
even after seeing all the goodbyes,
You can go to any place you desire,
the dream of being together will-
always burn like a fire....

I still smile looking into the life of yesterday,
to wipe away the tears that you bring everyday,
Nights seems to be getting longer and longer,
with thoughts of u getting stronger and stronger.

My love may not be one happy chapter,
like the saying "they lived happily ever after",
By loving,i have lost everything to you,
what i still possess is just the memories-
of once being with you....

miércoles, 4 de julio de 2012

And a Song of Despair

Tonight I Can Write
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
Write, for example, "The night is starry
and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance."
The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.
To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.
What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is starry and she is not with me.
This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.
The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.
Another's. She will be another's. As she was before my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.

*Pablo Neruda

THE ROSE

She to rose; eye to petal –
Scent of rose to hers; squaring up,
The rose and woman's enigmatic beauty.

Mystery of colour;
Sophisticated nose of rose
Convinces – is that a wavering mind?

Rose, wink to me and let me know!
Rose, ambassador – stealthy messenger.
Rose! you waft a cheeky charm
Beneath your regal poise.
Regaling her, you are the dance!

Rose, your velvet feel in silken hand
Has her succumbed – again!
You watch her dial his number,
And grinning in accomplishment,
Your petals open further.

* Mark R Slaughter

EL ALTO VUELO

El alto vuelo sigo
con mis manos:
honor del cielo, el pájaro
atraviesa
la transparencia, sin manchar el día.

Cruza el oeste palpitando y sube
por cada grada hasta el desnudo azul
todo el cielo es su torre
y limpia el mundo con su movimiento.

Aunque el ave violenta
busque sangre en la rosa del espacio
aquí está su estructura:
flecha y flor es el pájaro en su vuelo
y en la luz se reúnen
sus alas con el aire y la pureza.

¡Oh plumas destinadas
no al árbol, ni a la hierba, ni al
combate,
ni a la atroz superficie,
ni al taller sudoroso,
sino a la dirección y a la conquista
de un fruto transparente!

El baile de la altura
con los trajes nevados
de la gaviota, del petrel, celebro,
como si yo estuviera
perpetuamente entre los invitados:
tomo parte
en la velocidad y en el reposo,
en la pausa y la prisa de la nieve.

Y lo que vuela en mí se manifiesta
en la ecuación errante de sus alas.

¡Oh viento junto al férreo
vuelo del cóndor negro, por la bruma!
Silbante viento que traspuso el héroe
y su degolladora cimitarra:
tú guardas el contacto
del duro vuelo como una armadura
y en el cielo repites su amenaza
hasta que todo vuelve a ser azul.

Vuelo de la saeta
que es la misión de cada golondrina,
vuelo del ruiseñor con su sonata
y de la cacatúa y su atavío!

Vuelan en un cristal los colibríes
conmoviendo esmeraldas encendidas
y la perdiz sacude
el alma verde
de la menta volando en el rocío.

Yo que aprendía volar, con cada vuelo
de profesores puros
en el bosque, en el mar, en las
quebradas,
de espaldas en la arena
o en los sueños.
me quedé aquí, amarrado
a las raíces,
a la madre magnética, a la tierra,
mintiéndome a mí mismo
y volando
solo dentro de mí,
solo y a oscuras.

Muere la planta y otra vez se entierra,
vuelven los pies del hombre al
territorio,
sólo las alas huyen de la muerte.

El mundo es una esfera de cristal,
el hombre anda perdido si no vuela
no puede comprender la transparencia.

Por eso yo profeso
la claridad que nunca se detuvo
y aprendí de las aves
la sedienta esperanza,
la certidumbre y la verdad del vuelo.

*Pablo Neruda