"chile" poems - Hello Poetry

"chile" poems

In the storm-tossed Chilean sea lives the rosy conger, giant eel of snowy flesh. And in Chilean stewpots, along the coast, was born the chowder, thick and succulent, a boon to man. You bring the conger, skinned, to the kitchen (its mottled skin slips off like a glove, leaving the grape of the sea exposed to the world), naked, the tender eel glistens, prepared to serve our appetites. Now you take garlic, first, caress that precious ivory, smell its irate fragrance, then blend the minced garlic with onion and tomato until the onion is the color of gold. Meanwhile steam our regal ocean prawns, and when they are tender, when the savor is set in a sauce combining the liquors of the ocean and the clear water released from the light of the onion, then you add the eel that it may be immersed in glory, that it may steep in the oils of the *** shrink and be saturated. Now all that remains is to drop a dollop of cream into the concoction, a heavy rose, then slowly deliver the treasure to the flame, until in the chowder are warmed the essences of Chile, and to the table come, newly wed, the savors of land and sea, that in this dish you may know heaven.

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14.4k

Ode To Conger Chowder

In the storm-tossed Chilean sea lives the rosy conger, giant eel of snowy flesh. And in Chilean stewpots, along the coast, was born the chowder, thick and succulent, a boon to man. You bring the conger, skinned, to the kitchen (its mottled skin slips off like a glove, leaving the grape of the sea exposed to the world), naked, the tender eel glistens, prepared to serve our appetites. Now you take garlic, first, caress that precious ivory, smell its irate fragrance, then blend the minced garlic with onion and tomato until the onion is the color of gold. Meanwhile steam our regal ocean prawns, and when they are tender, when the savor is set in a sauce combining the liquors of the ocean and the clear water released from the light of the onion, then you add the eel that it may be immersed in glory, that it may steep in the oils of the *** shrink and be saturated. Now all that remains is to drop a dollop of cream into the concoction, a heavy rose, then slowly deliver the treasure to the flame, until in the chowder are warmed the essences of Chile, and to the table come, newly wed, the savors of land and sea, that in this dish you may know heaven.

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Dec 21, 2019

Dec 21, 2019 at 11:08 AM UTC

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The street filled with tomatoes, midday, summer, light is halved like a tomato, its juice runs through the streets. In December, unabated, the tomato invades the kitchen, it enters at lunchtime, takes its ease on countertops, among glasses, butter dishes, blue saltcellars. It sheds its own light, benign majesty. Unfortunately, we must ****** it: the knife sinks into living flesh, red viscera a cool sun, profound, inexhaustible, populates the salads of Chile, happily, it is wed to the clear onion, and to celebrate the union we pour oil, essential child of the olive, onto its halved hemispheres, pepper adds its fragrance, salt, its magnetism; it is the wedding of the day, parsley hoists its flag, potatoes bubble vigorously, the aroma of the roast knocks at the door, it's time! come on! and, on the table, at the midpoint of summer, the tomato, star of earth, recurrent and fertile star, displays its convolutions, its canals, its remarkable amplitude and abundance, no pit, no husk, no leaves or thorns, the tomato offers its gift of fiery color and cool completeness.

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11.4k

Ode To Tomatoes

The street filled with tomatoes, midday, summer, light is halved like a tomato, its juice runs through the streets. In December, unabated, the tomato invades the kitchen, it enters at lunchtime, takes its ease on countertops, among glasses, butter dishes, blue saltcellars. It sheds its own light, benign majesty. Unfortunately, we must ****** it: the knife sinks into living flesh, red viscera a cool sun, profound, inexhaustible, populates the salads of Chile, happily, it is wed to the clear onion, and to celebrate the union we pour oil, essential child of the olive, onto its halved hemispheres, pepper adds its fragrance, salt, its magnetism; it is the wedding of the day, parsley hoists its flag, potatoes bubble vigorously, the aroma of the roast knocks at the door, it's time! come on! and, on the table, at the midpoint of summer, the tomato, star of earth, recurrent and fertile star, displays its convolutions, its canals, its remarkable amplitude and abundance, no pit, no husk, no leaves or thorns, the tomato offers its gift of fiery color and cool completeness.

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Aztec in arts Spanish in conquest The Mexican breathes And lives Taking control Controlling the taken, Our blood hot Like the chile we eat Don't expect any less Outside we are strong Desert cacti Sharp unforgiving and rough On the outside But the inside Water flows The love flows For la raza Death envies our vidas So rich and full Fearless And feared Tattoos cover our skin Like they did Our ancestors Soon we will rise Soon we will unite

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Aug 17, 2014

Aug 17, 2014 at 9:43 PM UTC

The Mexican Breathes

Aztec in arts Spanish in conquest The Mexican breathes And lives Taking control Controlling the taken, Our blood hot Like the chile we eat Don't expect any less Outside we are strong Desert cacti Sharp unforgiving and rough On the outside But the inside Water flows The love flows For la raza Death envies our vidas So rich and full Fearless And feared Tattoos cover our skin Like they did Our ancestors Soon we will rise Soon we will unite

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Goth Child nursed his mother's tattooed ***** Snapped **** with teeth Then grizzled grin at me and spit up I poked at my chile relleno Twisting hot cheesy sludge off prongs Tour jete with fork finishes in arabesque Between my own fangs I spit back scalding **** Goth Child points, says, "Pawpee, that man is scarewee" Pawpee turns his tattoo tears to see Flashes his gleaming grill I sink in my seat behind sightline of salsa squeeze bottle Chattering ivories

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Nov 23, 2015

Nov 23, 2015 at 2:19 PM UTC

Getting Toothy At The Taco House

Goth Child nursed his mother's tattooed ***** Snapped **** with teeth Then grizzled grin at me and spit up I poked at my chile relleno Twisting hot cheesy sludge off prongs Tour jete with fork finishes in arabesque Between my own fangs I spit back scalding **** Goth Child points, says, "Pawpee, that man is scarewee" Pawpee turns his tattoo tears to see Flashes his gleaming grill I sink in my seat behind sightline of salsa squeeze bottle Chattering ivories

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**only a ******* man could love a ******** poodle** everybody knows poodle one of the smartest breeds, not exactly a manly man's dog, but great to have around to feed, feed you, when alone, and you need a good conversation had me a good woman she would say: "hon, kindly fetch me this and that," **** dog would get her whatever she wanted, me, didn't mind at all, loved taking care of her, but the dog loved her more and be there and back before I could jack my feet off the couch she would say: "hon, come near, give me a nuzzle and a kiss, a cuddle and a lick" **** dog, double quick, cause it spoke better human than most, was in her lap burying her laughing with affection infectious, before I could jack my feet off the couch she would say: "honey love, meet me bed upstairs, love me sweet and complete, when done, please love me over again twice as nice" **** dog hearing the sacred holy word bed was up there in a flash, howling "what's taking youse guys so long," tail impatient drumming up a rock n' roll storm, while we slow pokey, taking our own sweetest time, humans messing around first with a little downtown downstairs, prefatory, preparatory work, both our feet lazy still on the couch kissing the cold away when we got to our destiny destination, had to kick that **** ******** foggy doggy outside, close the door, say no more, **** dog did whine and cry like a baby chile, till we couldn't take it no more and let that **** dog in she would say: "lover man, I love you better than twice I thought I could ever love another, cause you two idiots two-gether make me sweeter and completer than I ever knew I could be happier" like I said, only a ******** man** could love a ******* poodle**

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Jul 2, 2017

Jul 2, 2017 at 8:29 AM UTC

only a ******* man could love a ******** poodle

**only a ******* man could love a ******** poodle** everybody knows poodle one of the smartest breeds, not exactly a manly man's dog, but great to have around to feed, feed you, when alone, and you need a good conversation had me a good woman she would say: "hon, kindly fetch me this and that," **** dog would get her whatever she wanted, me, didn't mind at all, loved taking care of her, but the dog loved her more and be there and back before I could jack my feet off the couch she would say: "hon, come near, give me a nuzzle and a kiss, a cuddle and a lick" **** dog, double quick, cause it spoke better human than most, was in her lap burying her laughing with affection infectious, before I could jack my feet off the couch she would say: "honey love, meet me bed upstairs, love me sweet and complete, when done, please love me over again twice as nice" **** dog hearing the sacred holy word bed was up there in a flash, howling "what's taking youse guys so long," tail impatient drumming up a rock n' roll storm, while we slow pokey, taking our own sweetest time, humans messing around first with a little downtown downstairs, prefatory, preparatory work, both our feet lazy still on the couch kissing the cold away when we got to our destiny destination, had to kick that **** ******** foggy doggy outside, close the door, say no more, **** dog did whine and cry like a baby chile, till we couldn't take it no more and let that **** dog in she would say: "lover man, I love you better than twice I thought I could ever love another, cause you two idiots two-gether make me sweeter and completer than I ever knew I could be happier" like I said, only a ******** man** could love a ******* poodle**

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Mar 12, 2010

Mar 12, 2010 at 6:59 PM UTC

michael-reid-rubenstein

**** blue jesus

clinton rebukes israel over east jerusalem homes obama nasa plans catastrophic say moon astronauts alaska wolves **** woman's teacher out jogging ireland frees 3 cartoonist plot suspects sarkozy and brown attack u.s. over protectionism pope benedict's former diocese rehoused abuser priest chile puts quake damage at $30bn winnie denies interview criticizing nelson mandela climate change makes birds shrink in north america dr rowan williams is honored for work on russia weymouth ridgeway skeletons scandinavian vikings live bangladesh v england michael schumacher pledges to raise game in bahrain can the u.s. vice-president broker middle east peace? sarkozy's party faces socialist drubbing remote indian state set for development new york dust victims split on 9/11 deal german tells of childhood abuse by catholic priest a step closer to the american dream? lehman: how $50bn was buried in london ba strike union announces dates in march china's oil demand increase astonishing says iea china warns google to comply with censorship laws net clash for web police projects hsbc admits huge swiss bank data theft phil spector ****** conviction appealed sir david jason to voice cbbc animation climate change 'makes birds shrink' in north america thalidomide effect mystery solved blood pressure fluctuations warning sign for stroke winnie denies interview criticizing nelson mandela mogadishu residents told to leave somali capital same-sex couples marry in mexico city by mistake i clicked on wrong button and lost everything

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Jan 8, 2015

Jan 8, 2015 at 9:03 AM UTC

barcelonatvenvivo

Ver Barcelona vs Elche En vivo Online 2015

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It is not my story to tell: Languishing dreams in the midst of barbed wire fences, Fearless laughter, We add lemon, chile powder and salt to this border. They carry these stories, Heavy as a sack filled with indignities, Weighty, like your grandmother’s advice, Cumbersome, like this daily mental displacement. I have not bought big things as of lately, In my mind I plan my exits, I constantly check my relocation fund, “What if” is a constant in my lexicon. I often break in tears at the sound of an immigrant story, My emotions become gallons of water: broken and splashed by the boots of immigration officers, Little do they know, we are cacti: Tough and our seeds also flourish post mortem. I want to sing an immigrant song: Less like butterflies who migrate, But more like dislocated nations, Collateral flesh, caught up in steel thorns. Rest assured we will survive, Like leaves of siempreviva, Even after torn away from our stem, We will grow our own roots: Defiant, resilient, and with a stubborn willingness to belong. We are you.

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Jan 29, 2018

Jan 29, 2018 at 3:30 PM UTC

xuanito-de-la-puente

It is not my story to tell: Languishing dreams in the midst of barbed wire fences, Fearless laughter, We add lemon, chile powder and salt to this border. They carry these stories, Heavy as a sack filled with indignities, Weighty, like your grandmother’s advice, Cumbersome, like this daily mental displacement. I have not bought big things as of lately, In my mind I plan my exits, I constantly check my relocation fund, “What if” is a constant in my lexicon. I often break in tears at the sound of an immigrant story, My emotions become gallons of water: broken and splashed by the boots of immigration officers, Little do they know, we are cacti: Tough and our seeds also flourish post mortem. I want to sing an immigrant song: Less like butterflies who migrate, But more like dislocated nations, Collateral flesh, caught up in steel thorns. Rest assured we will survive, Like leaves of siempreviva, Even after torn away from our stem, We will grow our own roots: Defiant, resilient, and with a stubborn willingness to belong. We are you.

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You once said I read too much Le Carré or maybe Guevara, which could be true but I’m really just a hillbilly at heart with dreams of going to Chile with you on a fast boat running guns, but no más because you, you can dream forever without ever remembering who I was lying in your bed somewhere in Argentina reading Borges, wearing that black beret you brought with you from Bolivia, sweet Olivia, daydreaming of nights with Che.

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Feb 11, 2019

Feb 11, 2019 at 10:22 PM UTC

Daydreaming of nights

You once said I read too much Le Carré or maybe Guevara, which could be true but I’m really just a hillbilly at heart with dreams of going to Chile with you on a fast boat running guns, but no más because you, you can dream forever without ever remembering who I was lying in your bed somewhere in Argentina reading Borges, wearing that black beret you brought with you from Bolivia, sweet Olivia, daydreaming of nights with Che.

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the fog is home to me. I close my eyes, I am still standing in Santiago Chile. business people are rushing back from the lunch break. the outside restaurants teaming with customers. I look up, the Andes Mountains are head of me a weak pink fog veils them. my mom turns to me, ‘honey, that’s pollution’ I’m glad we have the real fog back home I close my eyes, I’m flying back from Atlanta Georgia. my fellow San Franciscans and I waiting to see our home, I almost tear up. our water had gone out that Atlanta summer and I remember there wasn’t a day under 105 there. the fog looks so tasty like I would be fully refreshed and rehydrated after only one bite. I close my eyes, I’m living in Boston for five weeks. a storm passes by now and again. the east coasters complain that the fog is ruining their city’s sunny reputation. the southerners complain that summer isn’t actually there. I just smile and smoke, I love watching the smoke drift into the fog mingle, then disappear. I close my eyes I am standing in Rome my family- taking cover in a store overhang there was heavy rains and over cast , but no fog ever descended for a meet and greet on that day. I close my eyes , I am looking at the tall slender buildings in Vietnam along side the main highway of ** Chi-Man city it is overcast- the storm last night brought down a tree, crushing a poor shop with a sheet metal roof. the overcast hangs, and I am feeling a little nostalgia for home I open my eyes, I am back in the sunset district. I’m laying on my reservoir, looking out at the Pacific Ocean. the wind blows inland whatever weather on the westward horizon blows in in a couple of hours the fog sits at the horizon gathering itself up for it’s long strut to the beach and I wave to my old friend it’s good to be home.

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Feb 19, 2015

Feb 19, 2015 at 11:41 PM UTC

the fog is home to me. I close my eyes, I am still standing in Santiago Chile. business people are rushing back from the lunch break. the outside restaurants teaming with customers. I look up, the Andes Mountains are head of me a weak pink fog veils them. my mom turns to me, ‘honey, that’s pollution’ I’m glad we have the real fog back home I close my eyes, I’m flying back from Atlanta Georgia. my fellow San Franciscans and I waiting to see our home, I almost tear up. our water had gone out that Atlanta summer and I remember there wasn’t a day under 105 there. the fog looks so tasty like I would be fully refreshed and rehydrated after only one bite. I close my eyes, I’m living in Boston for five weeks. a storm passes by now and again. the east coasters complain that the fog is ruining their city’s sunny reputation. the southerners complain that summer isn’t actually there. I just smile and smoke, I love watching the smoke drift into the fog mingle, then disappear. I close my eyes I am standing in Rome my family- taking cover in a store overhang there was heavy rains and over cast , but no fog ever descended for a meet and greet on that day. I close my eyes , I am looking at the tall slender buildings in Vietnam along side the main highway of ** Chi-Man city it is overcast- the storm last night brought down a tree, crushing a poor shop with a sheet metal roof. the overcast hangs, and I am feeling a little nostalgia for home I open my eyes, I am back in the sunset district. I’m laying on my reservoir, looking out at the Pacific Ocean. the wind blows inland whatever weather on the westward horizon blows in in a couple of hours the fog sits at the horizon gathering itself up for it’s long strut to the beach and I wave to my old friend it’s good to be home.

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Oh Henry What a star you are! You always loved to be at the center of attention Your accomplishments in diplomacy are well known You brokered the peace treaty between Israel and Egypt You effected detente with the Soviet Union You opened up the way for Nixon in China You negated the Communist threat in Chile You said it yourself "Power is the ultimate aphrodisiac.” You have admitted that mistakes were "Quite possibly made" By administrations in which you served. You have questioned whether, 30 years after the event, "Courts are the Appropriate means by which determination is made". And Cambodia Henry? You were complicit In the illegal carpet bombing of neutral Cambodia Which sowed the seeds for the murderous Pol *** regime Pinochet was indicted for human rights violations Diplomacy is a ***** business You did what you thought needed to be done You remain cold and secretive Do you have any remorse or regret? The old Russian proverb is wrong Henry Time does not heal all wounds There is blood on your hands

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Sep 14, 2014

Sep 14, 2014 at 11:06 PM UTC

Henry Kissinger

Oh Henry What a star you are! You always loved to be at the center of attention Your accomplishments in diplomacy are well known You brokered the peace treaty between Israel and Egypt You effected detente with the Soviet Union You opened up the way for Nixon in China You negated the Communist threat in Chile You said it yourself "Power is the ultimate aphrodisiac.” You have admitted that mistakes were "Quite possibly made" By administrations in which you served. You have questioned whether, 30 years after the event, "Courts are the Appropriate means by which determination is made". And Cambodia Henry? You were complicit In the illegal carpet bombing of neutral Cambodia Which sowed the seeds for the murderous Pol *** regime Pinochet was indicted for human rights violations Diplomacy is a ***** business You did what you thought needed to be done You remain cold and secretive Do you have any remorse or regret? The old Russian proverb is wrong Henry Time does not heal all wounds There is blood on your hands

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quiero escribirte mil gordas, gordas formadas en líneas, gordas tiradas en el pasto, gordas con sus lonjas libres y sin fajas ni pantalones dos tallas menos que asfixien los tejidos de mi piel: quiero cantarte una gorda canción. gordas pinches gordas, gordo el culo gordo el corazón, gordas las piernas y los muslos, las caderas.... tentación. gordas !gordas son las anchas glorietas de la avenida gorda de la ciudad gorda donde todos los gordos y las gordas bailan un son que dice: tu eres golosa golosa y glotona, tu eres golosa golosa y glotona, pinche gorda poderosa tu eres fuerte tu eres diosa tus curvas son deliciosas templo lavado con miel para mi tu eres sagrada dulce, fuerte y cotizada gorda tu eres toda gorda, vos sos toda gorda, amante gorda, gorda estudiante, gorda madre, gorda hija, gorda espíritu santa. ¡bienvenidos a gordaztlan! donde mandamos las gordas y nuestro proceso de colonización conlleva amar nuestras lonjas, nuestra panza, nuestras chichotas. ¡donde nada es imperfecto! ni el lunar bajo del labio, ni los pelos de la panocha. ¡pasen pasen! por las anchas puertas de nuestro gordo destino, dicen que la vida es flaca pero gordo es el camino, en una mano el elote en la otra mano el pepino, con tortillas, chile gordo, gordolagas con tocino. ¡gorda! ¡gorda! sube tallas ¡y ven a bailar conmigo!

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Jan 20, 2014

Jan 20, 2014 at 6:12 AM UTC

xuanito-de-la-puente

quiero escribirte mil gordas, gordas formadas en líneas, gordas tiradas en el pasto, gordas con sus lonjas libres y sin fajas ni pantalones dos tallas menos que asfixien los tejidos de mi piel: quiero cantarte una gorda canción. gordas pinches gordas, gordo el culo gordo el corazón, gordas las piernas y los muslos, las caderas.... tentación. gordas !gordas son las anchas glorietas de la avenida gorda de la ciudad gorda donde todos los gordos y las gordas bailan un son que dice: tu eres golosa golosa y glotona, tu eres golosa golosa y glotona, pinche gorda poderosa tu eres fuerte tu eres diosa tus curvas son deliciosas templo lavado con miel para mi tu eres sagrada dulce, fuerte y cotizada gorda tu eres toda gorda, vos sos toda gorda, amante gorda, gorda estudiante, gorda madre, gorda hija, gorda espíritu santa. ¡bienvenidos a gordaztlan! donde mandamos las gordas y nuestro proceso de colonización conlleva amar nuestras lonjas, nuestra panza, nuestras chichotas. ¡donde nada es imperfecto! ni el lunar bajo del labio, ni los pelos de la panocha. ¡pasen pasen! por las anchas puertas de nuestro gordo destino, dicen que la vida es flaca pero gordo es el camino, en una mano el elote en la otra mano el pepino, con tortillas, chile gordo, gordolagas con tocino. ¡gorda! ¡gorda! sube tallas ¡y ven a bailar conmigo!

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i guess i need more mentally disturbed friends. i’m feeling lately like the scab that’s been picked off, forgotten, dried up, designating. people don’t understand when i say my heart feels like it will explode out of my lungs, throughmythroat and get caught between myteeth. my anxieties need a **** buddy, because making eye contact is even too much. and i wish i could stop assuming the worst. "jesus, you worry too much" i can’t help that i find the flaws, the nit picky things, the traits that i want to squish like blueberries. i can’t help that when i sit alone in my car, i think too often of swerving into highways and wondering what a deer sees before it dies. that’s why i don’t talk about this, i never can anyway, they swell and sit upon my tongue like when you ate that pepper whole and all i tasted was flames. my anxieties and i are the kind of friends where we speak nicely and are all smiles in front of one another, but as soon as we turn around, all we say is venom.

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Oct 28, 2013

Oct 28, 2013 at 11:29 PM UTC

chile pepper lips

i guess i need more mentally disturbed friends. i’m feeling lately like the scab that’s been picked off, forgotten, dried up, designating. people don’t understand when i say my heart feels like it will explode out of my lungs, throughmythroat and get caught between myteeth. my anxieties need a **** buddy, because making eye contact is even too much. and i wish i could stop assuming the worst. "jesus, you worry too much" i can’t help that i find the flaws, the nit picky things, the traits that i want to squish like blueberries. i can’t help that when i sit alone in my car, i think too often of swerving into highways and wondering what a deer sees before it dies. that’s why i don’t talk about this, i never can anyway, they swell and sit upon my tongue like when you ate that pepper whole and all i tasted was flames. my anxieties and i are the kind of friends where we speak nicely and are all smiles in front of one another, but as soon as we turn around, all we say is venom.

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THE LADY in red, she in the chile con carne red, Brilliant as the shine of a pepper crimson in the summer sun, She behind a false-face, the much sought-after dancer, the most sought-after dancer of all in this masquerade, The lady in red sox and red hat, ankles of willow, crimson arrow amidst the Spanish clashes of music, I sit in a corner watching her dance first with one man and then another.

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1.7k

THE LADY in red, she in the chile con carne red, Brilliant as the shine of a pepper crimson in the summer sun, She behind a false-face, the much sought-after dancer, the most sought-after dancer of all in this masquerade, The lady in red sox and red hat, ankles of willow, crimson arrow amidst the Spanish clashes of music, I sit in a corner watching her dance first with one man and then another.

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La calle se llenó de tomates, mediodía, verano, la luz se parte en dos mitades de tomate, corre por las calles el jugo. En diciembre se desata el tomate, invade las cocinas, entra por los almuerzos, se sienta reposado en los aparadores, entre los vasos, las mantequilleras, los saleros azules. Tiene luz propia, majestad benigna. Debemos, por desgracia, asesinarlo: se hunde el cuchillo en su pulpa viviente, es una roja víscera, un sol fresco, profundo, inagotable, llena las ensaladas de Chile, se casa alegremente con la clara cebolla, y para celebrarlo se deja caer aceite, hijo esencial del olivo, sobre sus hemisferios entreabiertos, agrega la pimienta su fragancia, la sal su magnetismo: son las bodas del día, el perejil levanta banderines, las papas hierven vigorosamente, el asado golpea con su aroma en la puerta, es hora! vamos! y sobre la mesa, en la cintura del verano, el tomate, astro de tierra, estrella repetida y fecunda, nos muestra sus circunvoluciones, sus canales, la insigne plenitud y la abundancia sin hueso, sin coraza, sin escamas ni espinas, nos entrega el regalo de su color fogoso y la totalidad de su frescura.

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1.9k

La calle se llenó de tomates, mediodía, verano, la luz se parte en dos mitades de tomate, corre por las calles el jugo. En diciembre se desata el tomate, invade las cocinas, entra por los almuerzos, se sienta reposado en los aparadores, entre los vasos, las mantequilleras, los saleros azules. Tiene luz propia, majestad benigna. Debemos, por desgracia, asesinarlo: se hunde el cuchillo en su pulpa viviente, es una roja víscera, un sol fresco, profundo, inagotable, llena las ensaladas de Chile, se casa alegremente con la clara cebolla, y para celebrarlo se deja caer aceite, hijo esencial del olivo, sobre sus hemisferios entreabiertos, agrega la pimienta su fragancia, la sal su magnetismo: son las bodas del día, el perejil levanta banderines, las papas hierven vigorosamente, el asado golpea con su aroma en la puerta, es hora! vamos! y sobre la mesa, en la cintura del verano, el tomate, astro de tierra, estrella repetida y fecunda, nos muestra sus circunvoluciones, sus canales, la insigne plenitud y la abundancia sin hueso, sin coraza, sin escamas ni espinas, nos entrega el regalo de su color fogoso y la totalidad de su frescura.

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Surely a train standing in the rain is a sad sight in Chile but what about those trains that leave stations like bullets in search for unhappy men at the crossroad of their life and certain death?

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May 10, 2016

May 10, 2016 at 3:41 AM UTC

Surely a train standing in the rain is a sad sight in Chile but what about those trains that leave stations like bullets in search for unhappy men at the crossroad of their life and certain death?

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She bohemian art shaman, a cosmic clown tribe, a Voodoo Chile; Hendrix-haired. Sometimes I think the Wankerverse* is the best description of where I like to make pancakes for her.... A kiss from her lips feels like a sunrise after a midnight Shpongle dance party.

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Jul 23, 2014

Jul 23, 2014 at 12:49 AM UTC

She bohemian art shaman, a cosmic clown tribe, a Voodoo Chile; Hendrix-haired. Sometimes I think the Wankerverse* is the best description of where I like to make pancakes for her.... A kiss from her lips feels like a sunrise after a midnight Shpongle dance party.

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Alta sobre la tierra te pusieron, dura, hermosa araucaria de los australes montes, torre de Chile, ***** del territorio verde, pabellón del invierno, nave de la fragancia. Ahora, sin embargo, no por bella te canto, sino por el racimo de tu especie, por tu fruta cerrada, por tu piñón abierto. Antaño, antaño fue cuando sobre los indios se abrió como una rosa de madera el colosal puñado de tu puño, y dejó sobre la mojada tierra los piñones: harina, pan silvestre del indomable Arauco. Ved la guerra: armados los guerreros de Castilla y sus caballos de galvánicas crines y frente a ellos el grito de los desnudos héroes, voz del fuego, cuchillo de dura piedra parda, lanzas enloquecidas en el bosque, tambor, tambor sagrado, y adentro de la selva el silencio, la muerte replegándose, la guerra. Entonces, en el último bastión verde, dispersas por la fuga, las lanzas de la selva se reunieron bajo las araucarias espinosas. La cruz, la espada, el hambre iban diezmando la familia salvaje. Terror, terror de un golpe de herraduras, latido de una hoja, viento, dolor y lluvia. De pronto se estremeció allá arriba la araucaria araucana, sus ilustres raíces, las espinas hirsutas del poderoso pabellón tuvieron un movimiento ***** de batalla: rugió como una ola de leones todo el follaje de la selva dura y entonces cayó una marejada de piñones: los anchos estuches se rompieron contra la tierra, contra la piedra defendida y desgranaron su fruta, el pan postrero de la patria. Así la Araucanía recompuso sus lanzas de agua y oro, zozobraron los bosques bajo el silbido del valor resurrecto y avanzaron las cinturas violentas como rachas, las plumas incendiarias del Cacique: piedra quemada y flecha voladora atajaron al invasor de hierro en el camino. Araucaria, follaje de bronce con espinas, gracias te dio la ensangrentada estirpe, gracias te dio la tierra defendida, gracias, pan de valientes, alimento escondido en la mojada aurora de la patria: corona verde, pura madre de los espacios, lámpara del frío territorio, hoy dame tu luz sombría, la imponente seguridad enarbolada sobre tus raíces y abandona en mi canto la herencia y el silbido del viento que te toca, del antiguo y huracanado viento de mi patria. Deja caer en mi alma tus granadas para que las legiones se alimenten de tu especie en mi canto. Árbol nutricio, entrégame la terrenal argolla que te amarra a la entraña lluviosa de la tierra, entrégame tu resistencia, el rostro y las raíces firmes contra la envidia, la invasión, la codicia, el desacato. Tus armas deja y vela sobre mi corazón, sobre los míos, sobre los hombros de los valerosos, porque a la misma luz de hojas y aurora, arenas y follajes, yo voy con las banderas al llamado profundo de mi pueblo! Araucaria araucana, aquí me tienes!

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Oda a la araucaria araucana

Alta sobre la tierra te pusieron, dura, hermosa araucaria de los australes montes, torre de Chile, ***** del territorio verde, pabellón del invierno, nave de la fragancia. Ahora, sin embargo, no por bella te canto, sino por el racimo de tu especie, por tu fruta cerrada, por tu piñón abierto. Antaño, antaño fue cuando sobre los indios se abrió como una rosa de madera el colosal puñado de tu puño, y dejó sobre la mojada tierra los piñones: harina, pan silvestre del indomable Arauco. Ved la guerra: armados los guerreros de Castilla y sus caballos de galvánicas crines y frente a ellos el grito de los desnudos héroes, voz del fuego, cuchillo de dura piedra parda, lanzas enloquecidas en el bosque, tambor, tambor sagrado, y adentro de la selva el silencio, la muerte replegándose, la guerra. Entonces, en el último bastión verde, dispersas por la fuga, las lanzas de la selva se reunieron bajo las araucarias espinosas. La cruz, la espada, el hambre iban diezmando la familia salvaje. Terror, terror de un golpe de herraduras, latido de una hoja, viento, dolor y lluvia. De pronto se estremeció allá arriba la araucaria araucana, sus ilustres raíces, las espinas hirsutas del poderoso pabellón tuvieron un movimiento ***** de batalla: rugió como una ola de leones todo el follaje de la selva dura y entonces cayó una marejada de piñones: los anchos estuches se rompieron contra la tierra, contra la piedra defendida y desgranaron su fruta, el pan postrero de la patria. Así la Araucanía recompuso sus lanzas de agua y oro, zozobraron los bosques bajo el silbido del valor resurrecto y avanzaron las cinturas violentas como rachas, las plumas incendiarias del Cacique: piedra quemada y flecha voladora atajaron al invasor de hierro en el camino. Araucaria, follaje de bronce con espinas, gracias te dio la ensangrentada estirpe, gracias te dio la tierra defendida, gracias, pan de valientes, alimento escondido en la mojada aurora de la patria: corona verde, pura madre de los espacios, lámpara del frío territorio, hoy dame tu luz sombría, la imponente seguridad enarbolada sobre tus raíces y abandona en mi canto la herencia y el silbido del viento que te toca, del antiguo y huracanado viento de mi patria. Deja caer en mi alma tus granadas para que las legiones se alimenten de tu especie en mi canto. Árbol nutricio, entrégame la terrenal argolla que te amarra a la entraña lluviosa de la tierra, entrégame tu resistencia, el rostro y las raíces firmes contra la envidia, la invasión, la codicia, el desacato. Tus armas deja y vela sobre mi corazón, sobre los míos, sobre los hombros de los valerosos, porque a la misma luz de hojas y aurora, arenas y follajes, yo voy con las banderas al llamado profundo de mi pueblo! Araucaria araucana, aquí me tienes!

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Forget the school children of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Or the 1,000,000 dead in Vietnam; 60,000 dead in Iraq; 30,000 and rising in Afghanistan. How many by our proxies in El Salvador, Nicaragua, Guatemala, Chile? Forget the millions dead in nameless civil wars or of preventable poverty and disease in various hell-holes around the globe. The rest of the world may be sorry, but not shocked: they have come to know the smiling murderers we have become. 20 dead of madness in Connecticut and the US wallows in drivel, kitsch, hollow words, self-pity, and media frenzy. A little arrogance here? Oh, we love our kids, (just no one else's), so let's put black ribbons on our cars and call that enough. Again, the culture of selfishness, greed, shallowness and patriotic stupidity rears its predictable head. No country that murders the world's children with a shrug should be surprised when that violence turns inward. "I am Vishnu Destroyer of worlds My name is Death" You can't have it both ways. "We must love one another or die." mce

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Apr 12, 2015

Apr 12, 2015 at 6:04 PM UTC

The Newton Massacre And Karmic Payback

Forget the school children of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Or the 1,000,000 dead in Vietnam; 60,000 dead in Iraq; 30,000 and rising in Afghanistan. How many by our proxies in El Salvador, Nicaragua, Guatemala, Chile? Forget the millions dead in nameless civil wars or of preventable poverty and disease in various hell-holes around the globe. The rest of the world may be sorry, but not shocked: they have come to know the smiling murderers we have become. 20 dead of madness in Connecticut and the US wallows in drivel, kitsch, hollow words, self-pity, and media frenzy. A little arrogance here? Oh, we love our kids, (just no one else's), so let's put black ribbons on our cars and call that enough. Again, the culture of selfishness, greed, shallowness and patriotic stupidity rears its predictable head. No country that murders the world's children with a shrug should be surprised when that violence turns inward. "I am Vishnu Destroyer of worlds My name is Death" You can't have it both ways. "We must love one another or die." mce

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Living the dream and living the cliche On route around the world Ticking boxes off the bucket list And collecting souvenirs A poncho in Peru Bag in Bolivia Charm in Chile Amber skin in Australia A tatoo in Thailand And bandaged bruises in Bangkok Living in the moment Helped me do it all

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May 14, 2014

May 14, 2014 at 5:24 PM UTC

Living the Cliche

Living the dream and living the cliche On route around the world Ticking boxes off the bucket list And collecting souvenirs A poncho in Peru Bag in Bolivia Charm in Chile Amber skin in Australia A tatoo in Thailand And bandaged bruises in Bangkok Living in the moment Helped me do it all

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i the neighbours like to shout while the sun come´ s out lily is off her pretty head to the sky dangles thread soft she spake no doubt how did this come about lifted shyly off her bed and to an alien wed (they resembled trout that fetching pout..) so i was duly bled and impregnated soon a mewling brat star blown and stout multi eye and headed plasma fed.. saviour of the planet..! born to poet.. born to lead man is saved..! ii well the world is in a pretty pickle if waiting for her alien love chile the sun has gone in awhile the sunday sea continues a smile hovers upon her red lip.. iii lily a dream cast her leaden glance sky wards.. lily takes from her sleeve her treasured cards.. a **** on her ****** and she´ s set on ward..! the future laid bare a seer a bird a bard her face drops bad..? bad.. these strange recollections inducing sad reflections caste one forth to endless circle- mad.. nothing about strange that but this my god free heart.. and the majestic lady.. buttercups to her eyes what is it.. nothing good a wild wood any black blood now this card is usually benign the goblets of wine not poison but swamp and sunk and choked seems clear not here a hovel and a grey evoked still trees and stiller eye there is dark that walk abroad behind and away soon cries like a unique word and yes black coagulation while meek and there struggle losing purr if we knew the end or even this card and this one so little cur normally a staunch friend souls want..! you will get what you deserve this skull says crafty devilry..! another cooling goblet.. lily..a strong pull.. upon the pipe of love..

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Nov 24, 2018

Nov 24, 2018 at 9:40 AM UTC

the neighbours like to shout

i the neighbours like to shout while the sun come´ s out lily is off her pretty head to the sky dangles thread soft she spake no doubt how did this come about lifted shyly off her bed and to an alien wed (they resembled trout that fetching pout..) so i was duly bled and impregnated soon a mewling brat star blown and stout multi eye and headed plasma fed.. saviour of the planet..! born to poet.. born to lead man is saved..! ii well the world is in a pretty pickle if waiting for her alien love chile the sun has gone in awhile the sunday sea continues a smile hovers upon her red lip.. iii lily a dream cast her leaden glance sky wards.. lily takes from her sleeve her treasured cards.. a **** on her ****** and she´ s set on ward..! the future laid bare a seer a bird a bard her face drops bad..? bad.. these strange recollections inducing sad reflections caste one forth to endless circle- mad.. nothing about strange that but this my god free heart.. and the majestic lady.. buttercups to her eyes what is it.. nothing good a wild wood any black blood now this card is usually benign the goblets of wine not poison but swamp and sunk and choked seems clear not here a hovel and a grey evoked still trees and stiller eye there is dark that walk abroad behind and away soon cries like a unique word and yes black coagulation while meek and there struggle losing purr if we knew the end or even this card and this one so little cur normally a staunch friend souls want..! you will get what you deserve this skull says crafty devilry..! another cooling goblet.. lily..a strong pull.. upon the pipe of love..

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I couldn’t wait for my class to end so I could run outside and find el carrito (Stand) I fell in love with the feeling and the taste before I even knew what love was. I stood outside holding my mother’s hand waiting for her to ask the times she did not ask I would pull on her plaid, decently long skirt and looked over towards the man selling raspados She knew what I wanted and she knew how much I wanted it. I focused on ... el carrito as if looking at it would be enough to call the gods of raspados to have mercy over me They cost $1.50. My mother gives me the money I run over The man says te faltan, no es suficiente (not enough) I was devastated, I began to take step back slowly, I dared to not look at my mother with this disappointment. I barely noticed the lady standing behind the man, she was the boss I noticed she was looking towards my mother Maybe she saw in my mother’s face something convincing, or maybe my confusion triggered a mother instinct Whatever it was, it was enough As I walked away slowly with my first heart break, the lady behind says, tiene antojo, tu daselo (She has a craving, give it to her) I thanked her with my smile and with a slight flitter in my heart of happiness and even more with my taste buds having a celebration just by looking at how this raspado was being made The beautiful sound of the mountain man, holding a metal, rectangular shaver of ice containing it all inside until it was ready to be placed in the cup. The small stones pile one by one when crushed Just big enough to hold shape and small enough to enjoy Then the miel con sabor a tamarindo being delicately set on top, like a creamy blanket in liquid form Si, con limon y sal, porfavor, y poquito chile (add salt and lemon, and a bit of spice... Please) because my mom taught me how to be polite and then, to my surprise the actual fruit tamarindo on top, a light brown coloring with a soft cover on the hardened seed inside It decorated with grace and delight, the treat awaiting for me I felt the richness There I learned my first lesson of kindness

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Mar 17, 2018

Mar 17, 2018 at 12:06 AM UTC

A Poor Man's treat?

I couldn’t wait for my class to end so I could run outside and find el carrito (Stand) I fell in love with the feeling and the taste before I even knew what love was. I stood outside holding my mother’s hand waiting for her to ask the times she did not ask I would pull on her plaid, decently long skirt and looked over towards the man selling raspados She knew what I wanted and she knew how much I wanted it. I focused on ... el carrito as if looking at it would be enough to call the gods of raspados to have mercy over me They cost $1.50. My mother gives me the money I run over The man says te faltan, no es suficiente (not enough) I was devastated, I began to take step back slowly, I dared to not look at my mother with this disappointment. I barely noticed the lady standing behind the man, she was the boss I noticed she was looking towards my mother Maybe she saw in my mother’s face something convincing, or maybe my confusion triggered a mother instinct Whatever it was, it was enough As I walked away slowly with my first heart break, the lady behind says, tiene antojo, tu daselo (She has a craving, give it to her) I thanked her with my smile and with a slight flitter in my heart of happiness and even more with my taste buds having a celebration just by looking at how this raspado was being made The beautiful sound of the mountain man, holding a metal, rectangular shaver of ice containing it all inside until it was ready to be placed in the cup. The small stones pile one by one when crushed Just big enough to hold shape and small enough to enjoy Then the miel con sabor a tamarindo being delicately set on top, like a creamy blanket in liquid form Si, con limon y sal, porfavor, y poquito chile (add salt and lemon, and a bit of spice... Please) because my mom taught me how to be polite and then, to my surprise the actual fruit tamarindo on top, a light brown coloring with a soft cover on the hardened seed inside It decorated with grace and delight, the treat awaiting for me I felt the richness There I learned my first lesson of kindness

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