May, 2014

Óyeme como quien ove llover

POSTED IN classic poetry May 7, 2014

 

 

Óyeme como quien ove llover

Óyeme como quien oye llover,
ni atenta ni distraída,
pasos leves, llovizna,
agua que es aire,
aire que es tiempo,
el día no acaba de irse,
la noche no llega todavía,
figuraciones de la niebla
al doblar la esquina,
figuraciones del tiempo
en el recodo de esta pausa,
óyeme como quien oye llover.

Sin oírme, oyendo lo que digo
con los ojos abiertos hacia adentro,
dormida con los cinco sentidos despiertos,
llueve, pasos leves, rumor de sílabas,
aire y agua, palabras que no pesan:
lo que fuimos y somos,
los días y los años, este instante,
tiempo sin peso, pesadumbre enorme,
óyeme como quien oye llover,
relumbra el asfalto húmedo,
el vaho se levanta y camina,
la noche se abre y me mira,
eres tú y tu talle de vaho,
tú y tu cara de noche,
tú y tu pelo, lento relámpago,
cruzas la calle y entras en mi frente,
pasos de agua sobre mis párpados,
óyeme como quien oye llover,
el asfalto relumbra, tú cruzas la calle,
es la niebla errante en la noche,
como quien oye llover.

Es la noche dormida en tu cama,
es el oleaje de tu respiración,
tus dedos de agua mojan mi frente,
tus dedos de llama queman mis ojos,
tus dedos de aire abren los párpados del tiempo,
manar de apariciones y resurrecciones,
óyeme como quien oye llover,
pasan los años, regresan los instantes,
¿oyes tus pasos en el cuarto vecino?
no aquí ni allá: los oyes
en otro tiempo que es ahora mismo,
oye los pasos del tiempo
inventor de lugares sin peso ni sitio,
oye la lluvia correr por la terraza,
la noche ya es más noche en la arboleda,
en los follajes ha anidado el rayo,
vago jardín a la deriva
entra, tu sombra cubre esta página.

 

 

 

Octavio Paz

Coming Ready or Not

POSTED IN contemporary poetry May 4, 2014

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Coming Ready or Not

“I’m coming ready or not”, you call; 
I scramble one last time, 
To find a dark secluded spot 
That I can claim as mine. 

The time for hiding’s over 
Yet I’ll play this game awhile,
I’ll let you come and find me 
And greet you with a smile. 

Come and get me, if you please 
I’m ready for you now, 
I’ve longed for you to find me 
Just no one told me how. 

How to find you with my heart
My eyes have blinded me. 
It’s taken me so many years 
But now I truly see. 

 

 

copyright 2014   Mandy Edwards

Sonnet

POSTED IN Stories May 2, 2014

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’s born to never have a perfect sight

I’s born to never have a perfect sight,
to nothing see while in the light of day,
to feel, and beg and wander like a stray,
until from heaven comes the light of night.
Then, eyes wide open, I light up the stars,
I take some adjectives and light the moons ,
the nouns will blossom trees from ancient Runes
and verbs will bring the cranes from their jars.
Gatekeeper of the Night I’s born to be,
to hide the wisdom shining in the dark.
My eyes were blessed with the Seer’s mark
and with the Seer’s blindness  plea to see.

For humankind is blind by night, so they,
they beg, and feel and wander like a stray.

 

 

 

 

Maria Magdalena Biela

The Phantom Horsewoman

POSTED IN classic poetry May 1, 2014

 

 

 

The Phantom Horsewoman

Queer are the ways of a man I know:
He comes and stands
In a careworn craze,
And looks at the sands
And in the seaward haze
With moveless hands
And face and gaze,
Then turns to go…
And what does he see when he gazes so?

They say he sees as an instant thing
More clear than today,
A sweet soft scene
That once was in play
By that briny green;
Yes, notes alway
Warm, real, and keen,
What his back years bring-
A phantom of his own figuring.

Of this vision of his they might say more:
Not only there
Does he see this sight,
But everywhere
In his brain-day, night,
As if on the air
It were drawn rose bright-
Yea, far from that shore
Does he carry this vision of heretofore:

A ghost-girl-rider. And though, toil-tried,
He withers daily,
Time touches her not,
But she still rides gaily
In his rapt thought
On that shagged and shaly
Atlantic spot,
And as when first eyed
Draws rein and sings to the swing of the tide.

 

 

 

Thomas Hardy

Dreams That You Dare To Dream

POSTED IN contemporary poetry May 1, 2014

Land Of My Birth

POSTED IN contemporary poetry May 1, 2014

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Land Of My Birth

Oh Mississippi, my beloved Mississippi
How I long to bathe in your dark rich soil
Where my life was spent in great toil

How you dare to say can I feel this way
This place that brought me such pain
 Labelled by slavery, cruelty, and shame

In the Delta’s belly we were thus conceived
Breed like animals because of others greed
Compensated by death for our sweat & toil
My ancestors’ blood fertilizes the rich soil

Oh Mississippi, my beloved Mississippi
Labels shan’t cover your Magnolia trees
Or the sisterhood created from your seeds

The cruelty of men shan’t dim your beauty
It is the blind I fear that refused to see
That Mississippi is an integral part of me

Though the master’s whip plotted my course
And I borne him brown babies to till his fields
I cleaned his house & breast fed his young
And by his hands our children were hung

Oh Mississippi, my beloved Mississippi
You are my mysterious womb of birth
Every mother knows labor pains hurt

How can I not understand your worth
My heart is planted deep within the soul
Of a sisterhood more valuable than gold

Oh my beloved Mississippi, Mississippi
I am not blind to your natural treasures
Even if men cruelty is still raging strong
It’s to you I yearn to come back home

 

 

 

Copyright

12 / 28 /05 – 1 / 02 / 06 Linda Jones Malonson