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Dorothy A Apr 2012
The first time that Evan laid eyes on her, he told himself that he was going to marry her. Embarrassed by his own fantasy, he quickly dismissed that thought as fast as it came to mind, telling himself what an idiot he was. Yet, from time to time, in spite of his reasoning, the thought would invade his skull.

What a dumb idea anyhow! It was just lame, teenage fantasyland! Girls did that kind of junk all the time, saying they were going to be Mrs. So-and-so, and thank God nobody could read his mind to know what he was dreaming up! Like she would marry him! He felt like a dumb ****, great in athletics, but far out of her league. Not even having the courage yet to ask a girl out on a date, and now he was already thinking of marriage! Pathetic! Really! Only a freshman in high school, he felt he should know better, lacking the good common sense his dad always tried to drive into him and had himself.

Ginny Delgado belonged with the smart kids, the brains of the school, although she seemed to stick more by herself, away from any stereotypical clique. Evan had first seen her in his biology class, and he remembered when other students wanted to copy off of her test papers. She never allowed any of that to happen, though, even if it would gain her popularity, false popularity but attention just the same.

It was a surprise to him that Ginny seemed to have few friends. Mostly, girls who were nerdy and smart did not seem very attractive or put together. Ginny seemed to have it all. She was smart and pretty, but she never identified with any of the girls who thought they were hot—and all other girls were not—and so she stood apart as one who shrouded herself in guarded aloofness.

And now here he was at his 20th high school reunion, one he really did not want to attend, but talked himself into going anyway. Perhaps, he could shoot the breeze and run into a few old buddies, his basketball friends. He didn't think that much of Ginny since he graduated from Fillmore, much less anybody from all those years ago. There really wasn’t any reason to reminisce once high school was behind him. School was not misery for Evan Stewart, but it wasn’t a time where everything seemed magical and carefree, not like for some students who looked upon those days as some of the fondest memories of their lives.

It was the class of ’92, and a huge banner displayed across one of the walls read, “Welcome back, class of 1992! Fillmore High School rules!” There was a good turnout, and Evan recognized a lot of people, although there were fewer that he knew by name.  

Sitting under dimly light lights, around a bunch of round tables, Evan now sat with the other alumni, stuck in a crowded hall with music blaring away from the early nineties. He had his overpriced meal. He had his few beers.

But what now?

He was almost bored to death. He was beginning to watch the clock more and more, scanning the room to see if he could possibly find reason to stay longer.  But then something happened that he never expected to happen, never even would have imagined it.

And, suddenly, his heart started to pick up its pace.

Was that her?

Evan thought he had made out the vague shape of a possibly familiar figure, an amazing and sudden surprise. Was that Ginny Delgado?

He wondered if he was seeing things as he intently stared across the room at the shadowy prospective of Ginger Delgado. But with the low amount of lighting, it just might not be her but someone he never even met before. How awkward would what be?

If it was Ginny, she was sitting next to a guy who seemed obnoxious and full of himself. Even from afar, he appeared to be a guy who would be in everyone’s face, with wild hand gestures, talking away and giving nobody else a chance for a word in edgewise.  If that really was Ginny, was that her husband? What a trip that would be! All the sense he once attributed to her would have to have gone out the window, if that were the case.

Sitting at Evan’s table were several of the other guys that were also heavy into high school basketball. Most were married and came with their wives—nobody was alone as Evan was—and now they all tried to act like they were thrilled to be all gathered together to show off their accomplishments. They were all passing around stories of life after high school, after basketball—some with talk of their college days, their wives, their kids, their jobs and careers—plenty of drinks to go around, and some toasting to the good, old days and to even brighter futures ahead. Evan was never married and did not have any children, so he felt he had much less to say. Most of those guys were not even very interesting, even though they tried to make it out that they had achieved so much in their lives. They may have been out of shape and past their prime, but all of them tried to act like they were the same as they were twenty years ago. None of what they all said impressed Evan at all, even though he tried to be interested.

He kept looking at the woman across the room, and the more he looked at her, the more he was convinced he was spot on about her. She had to be Ginny! He should just get up now and have the guts to ask her! But what would she say? Yes, I am Ginny Delgado, and this pushy **** next to me is my husband?

Though he was twenty years older, Evan felt just as awkward and as scared as he did in his freshman Biology class. It was better to just let the issue be. He’d rather save face than look like a total fool.

Suddenly, the unexpected occurred, something that gave Evan’s heart even more of a stir than he initially had when he spied her presence. Was it possible? Ginny now looked like she was starring back at him, as if they had somehow miraculously locked eyes and she had an uncanny ability to notice him back, from that afar off, now being transfixed onto him!  

You’ve really lost it now. What do you think, that she really notices you and remembers you?

Ginny stopped paying attention to the obnoxious man beside her and kept looking in Evan’s direction. She even reached her hand up and gave a little wave out his way.

Timidly, Evan waved back.

Standing up, Ginny started to make her way across the room. The obnoxious guy next to her looked on after her, like he could not believe she had wanted to part company with him. Evan guessed she was not his wife—thank God for that!

No, there is just no way she is coming over to talk to you. Alright, maybe she is. Get a hold of yourself now! Stop acting like a teenager and act like you actually know something about women. Come on, Evan! Get it together! She is coming.

Evan was right. It was Ginny Delgado! But she stopped short of his table to sit a down at the table in front of him, next to another fellow classmate of theirs, a female student that he vaguely remembered, though he did not know her name.

It was almost a relief she did not come to sit with him! Yet the disappointment was equally there. Seeing her more up close, Evan knew for sure it was Ginny. She was still quite pretty, perhaps even more so now, her medium brown hair and her dark purple dress complimenting each other. Not wanting to stare, Evan couldn’t help but to shoot many glances her way, without trying to be too obvious.
          
She smiled a lot, glad to talk to another person that she knew, and probably glad to be away from the guy she was stuck with before. Her eyes sparkled, and Evan never remembered ever seeing her so unguarded. In biology class, she was quiet, like he tended to be. Now she seemed so different, seemingly freer to be herself. Evan rarely saw her smile in high school, but thought she was very serious and sophisticated.

Before long, the DJ was now playing Eric Clapton’s Tears in Heaven. Couples at all tables were making their way to the dance floor. Soon, Ginny was approached by some guy who asked her to join him for a dance. She shook her head, no. Nonchalantly, the man turned to the woman that Ginny knew and asked her. She gladly accepted, said something to Ginny as if to have her permission and understanding, and then took the man’s hand to go to the dance floor. Ginny remained at the table by herself, looking on at the dancers with seemingly little regret that she declined an offer.

This might be your only chance, idiot. Are you going to blow it and be a wuss? Go up to her and tell her that you remember her. Go on! It is your perfect chance. What do you have to lose? If she isn’t interested, just go then. You’ve spent enough time here anyway!

“Hi…Ginny Delgado isn’t it?”

Evan asked as he approached her from behind. He cleared his throat. His voice had sounded so gravelly, as if he hadn’t uttered a single word all night. And his heart was beating a mile a minute, and he swore it must have been pulsating through his shirt. He was glad he put his suit jacket back on, for he was probably sweating like crazy.  

Ginny looked up, seemed to look puzzled, but then smiled a little. “I remember you!” she said with growing enthusiasm on her face. “Oh, but I’m sorry. You are going to have to tell me your name again”.

“Evan Stewart”, he replied. “We were in biology class together Remember? We were sophomores.”

A succession of slow songs was now being played, and Ginny’s friend was enjoying the time with her new dance partner. She certainly was in no hurry to make her way back to the table to rejoin sitting and talking with Ginny.

“Oh, sure! I remember now!” Ginny exclaimed. “Evan Stewart. Of course! You were the tall, shy guy that everyone liked because you knew how to win one for us. You were big into baseball, weren’t you?”

“Well, basketball was my best sport. I liked baseball, too, and track”, he replied humbly. It was amazing! She actually remembered more him than he thought she would!  “

Can I sit down and join you?” he asked, his courage and confidence growing.

“Oh, do!” Ginny replied, eagerly.

He felt like he was in seventh heaven. How cool was this? Sitting with Ginny Delgado? It was a bonus to a fairly descent reunion.

“So what have you been up to for the last twenty years?” Evan asked. His face was flush with embarrassment, as if he was just a guy who happened to luck out, but had no real skill in socializing with a woman he once fantasized about.

Ginny laughed a little, putting her hand up to her mouth as if her response was inappropriate. She responded, “You want a few hours? Or should I just give you a one word response?”

Evan smiled, blushing, as he tried to appear smooth and confident. “A one word response?” he asked.

“Yes. I can say it in one word—roller coaster….oops, that is two words”.

They both just sat there as I Can’t Make You Love Me, by Bonnie Raitt, played on.  

“Yeah…I guess I could say that about my life”, Evan agreed. “Would you like me to get you something from the bar?” he offered. “A coke or a beer?”

Ginny stared out onto the floor, as if she never heard him. “Isn’t it amazing how everyone comes to see the same people they always used to hang out with and still intend to hang out with to this day?” she asked. “How boring and predictable!”

Evan looked at her, puzzled, “What do you mean?”

Ginny continued to look out onto the floor, the music now upbeat dance music, and said, “Well, I mean you see all the football heroes all hanging out with each other. The members of the debate team are all huddled together as if they are preparing for the next debate. The cheerleaders, the drama club, the science club geeks…nothing has changed has it?”  

Evan shrugged his shoulders. “I guess that is typical. But that isn’t me. Sure, I saw some of the guys I played ball with, basketball, but the truth is I am not really that interested in hanging out with them.”

Ginny turned to look at him, her hazel eyes intent and solemn. Evan added, “I don’t have any contact with any of them. Nothing against them. I just don’t”.

They looked at each other in the eyes for a while. The silence was awkward. It was as Evan’s watching and waiting for her reply was the cue for Ginny to open up, and open up she did.

“I went to UCLA on a scholarship. I became a history major, world history, American history, women’s history. I never intended to teach, not at first. But it just seemed a good fit for me, and I have had plenty of teaching jobs, junior high school, high school. I moved to Sacramento.  I was briefly married after I got my first real teaching job there.”

Ginny’s eyes glistened. There was a pain in them that seemed locked in deep, not really wanting to expose itself too much, but coming out nonetheless.

Evan listened on, eagerly, so she went on, her gaze towards the dance floor “It did not work out. He cheated. He did it more than once and with more than one woman.  And now that I look back, I can see how wrong it all was, especially after my miscarriage. At first, I was so crushed, and I wanted to try again, for another baby, to try to please him, Jim, my husband. Thank God, I didn’t go on and on with him. I am glad I came back here…..back to Springdale.”

She looked back at Evan. He quickly looked away from her glance, his eyes downcast to the table. She wasn’t kidding. Her life was a roller coaster. He did not know what to say, felt so inadequate.

He decided to just share, in return.

”I was engaged once. It was a long engagement. She was a friend of a friend. Lana was her name. She told me she wanted to be with me, but she just wasn’t ready to make the big leap just right away. Actually, I am kind of glad now that I look back. We both owned our own shops. She was a hair stylist and I owned my own car repair shop, but that was about all we really had in common. I mean not really, even though we both liked sports a lot. We never seemed to agree on anything.”

Like he did, Ginny just listened intently, not attempting to make any reply. Evan added, “She was willing to cut me down in a second. I see that now”.

“Well how do you like that?!”

Evan and Ginny looked up as the woman that Ginny came over to see arrived back from the dance floor. She was walking, hand in hand, with her new found dance partner, fanning herself with her hand and laughing.

“Ginny’s got some company, too!” she exclaimed, beaming at Evan.    

Ginny replied, “Rhonda Flemming, this is Evan Stewart. She used to be Rhonda Boehner back in Fillmore”

Ginny turned to Evan to introduce him to her old classmate. “Evan…Rhonda. Evan, I don’t know if you two ever met each other before when we all went to school”.

“I’m not sure I have, either”, he replied, extending his hand to shake Rhonda’s. Rhonda quickly grabbed hold of his and gave it an overly enthusiastic shake.

“Hi, Evan!” she exclaimed "This handsome man next to me  is Brian. I never knew Brian until he asked me to dance!” she said excitedly. “And I am newly divorced and so is he! How strange is that?”

Brian shook Evan’s hand and then Ginny’s. “How’s it going?” he asked, grinning with embarrassment at Rhonda’s forward frankness.

“Ginny is one of the smartest people”, Rhonda went on to Evan and Brian. “We were once partners in an English class. We had to write a paper about each other. That was so fun in an otherwise booooooring class. Remember, Ginny?”

Ginny rolled her eyes, and made a shooing gesture with her hand to convey that Rhonda did not know what she was talking about. “I’m not as smart as anyone ever thought I was. I just worked hard and did my best, but thanks anyway for the compliment” , she said, modestly.  

“Oh, you were, too, Ginny!” Rhonda disagreed. She had a gleeful glint in her eyes. “Always so serious, Ginny Delgado! “

Rhonda grabbed Brian’s hand. “Hey, Brian and I are going to go mingle and walk around and see what trouble we can get into. You two want to join us?  

Ginny and Evan looked at each other as if to say “No way!” Ginny responded, “I think we are just fine here, but thanks”

Rhonda winked at her and then tugged at Brian’s hand. The pair of them went off together, leaving Evan and Ginny to themselves.

Evan smirked at Ginny, and then they both started cracking up with muffled laughter. Evan paused and then burst out laughing again. “Where did you find her?” he asked. A tear actually began to run down his face from laughing so hard, and he quickly wiped it away.

Ginny stopped laughing, tried to compose herself, but busted out with even more laugh
Iraira Cedillo Mar 2014
61–80 of 11462 Poems
«2345»Viewsshow detailshide detailsSort by  
66
BY SUZANNE GARDINIER
I'm used to the emperor's bitterness
I can't find the sweet place unless you make me
. . .
Manuela
BY JUAN DELGADO
She wakes to the odor of sheep,
trying to rub it off her hands.
Dressed up in her native colors, . . .
El Tigre Market
BY JUAN DELGADO
As apparent as the rest, the asphalt cracks
are crowded with yellow weeds, the rust goes
beyond its bleeding color, and the lot's rails, . . .
Peculiar Properties
BY JUAN DELGADO
On my cutting board, I discovered them,
the tiniest of ants, roaming dots of lead.
At first, they were too few to classify, hiding . . .
A Point West of Mount San Bernardino
BY JUAN DELGADO
I.

            By the road she hovers in heat waves, . . .
The Evidence is Everywhere
BY JUAN DELGADO
I.

The Santa Anas, childlike and profound, . . .
45
BY SUZANNE GARDINIER
Wasn't that your cheek against mine last night
Gin Streetlight When somebody loves you Impossible
. . .
Fame is the one that does not stay — (1507)
BY EMILY DICKINSON
Fame is the one that does not stay —
It's occupant must die
Or out of sight of estimate . . .
Now I knew I lost her — (1274)
BY EMILY DICKINSON
Now I knew I lost her —
Not that she was gone —
But Remoteness travelled . . .
Tell all the truth but tell it slant — (1263)
BY EMILY DICKINSON
Tell all the truth but tell it slant —
Success in Circuit lies
Too bright for our infirm Delight . . .
Crumbling is not an instant's Act (1010)
BY EMILY DICKINSON
Crumbling is not an instant's Act
A fundamental pause
Dilapidation's processes . . .
The Poets light but Lamps — (930)
BY EMILY DICKINSON
The Poets light but Lamps —
Themselves — go out —
The Wicks they stimulate . . .
I would not paint — a picture — (348)
BY EMILY DICKINSON
I would not paint — a picture —
I'd rather be the One
It's bright impossibility . . .
This World is not Conclusion
BY EMILY DICKINSON
This World is not Conclusion.
A Species stands beyond—
Invisible, as Music— . . .
Aubade with Burning City
BY OCEAN VUONG

            Milkflower petals on the street
                                                     like pieces of a girl’s dress. . . .
Listen
Recall the Carousel
BY LAURA KASISCHKE
Recall the carousel. Its round and round.
Its pink lights blinking off and on.
The children’s faces painted garish colors against . . .
Akechi’s Wife
BY FRANZ WRIGHT
On one occasion Yūgen of Ise Province was offering to share, for a night or two, the comforts of his home with me when a distant, 
bemused expression came over his face as though at the recollection of a joke told him earlier that day; then, to a degree I would not have thought possible . . .
Been About
BY NANCE VAN WINCKEL
The rat traps emptied, the grain troughs filled.
The distance between sheep shed
and my own ice-melt dripping on the mat . . .
Listen
Boardinghouse with No Visible Address
BY FRANZ WRIGHT
So, I thought,
as the door was unlocked
and the landlord disappeared (no, . . .
DetoNation
BY OCEAN VUONG
There’s a joke that ends with — huh?
It’s the bomb saying here is your father.
. . .
Listen
«2345»
Robert meacham Apr 2021
Ramón Delgado- The most feared name in all Mexico.

One summer’s night in 1866 while fleeing from the Mexican Army, Ramón Delgado, infamous hired gun, and murderer, clung to his black steed whose convulsing frame showed evidence of violent exertion. Ramón whipped and spurred his mount until white froth oozed from the animal’s mouth and nostrils. Appearing as shadow across the low ridge, Ramón and steed outran the echoes created by the beating hoofs upon the rocks.

There was a time, ten years earlier, when Ramón, a tall handsome dark brown eyed, square-jawed man with black raven hair, and full Manchu mustache, held the rank of captain in the Mexican army. One day, upon returning home, he found his wife and two sons murdered by the hands of well-known local bandits. Fredrico, neighbor and friend, witnessed the murders and informed the mournful Ramon. Ramón unleashed a ruthless revenge, sought out the bandits, killing them one by one. In doing so, Ramón became hunted by the very army he had served. Some would say he had right for revenge; others thought the killings made Ramón lose his mind.

In a short distance, below the ridge, a small town lay asleep, except for the cantina. The cantina lured Ramón to an abrupt stop. He dismounted, quickly scanned the area, and then went inside. Six caballeros sat playing poker as Juan Hernandez played flamenco while his beautiful wife Maria, clapping hands and stomping feet graced the small dance floor.

Carlos Alvarado, the short black bearded bar tender, gazed at Ramón in mortal terror. Carlos, as did everyone else in the cantina, knew right away, who entered.
Ramón stepped to the bar grinning wryly. “Whisky and leave the bottle,” he growled.

Carlos, shaking, reached for the whisky bottle behind him on the shelf, nearly dropping the shot glass as he turned and sat it on the bar. Slowly backing away from the bar, Carlos offered, his voice weak, “For you Senor Delgado. No charge.”

Ramon laughed, grabbed the bottle of whisky and shot glass, and then, approached the card game. When he got to the table, one of the caballeros stood and offered Ramón a chair.

“Take my chair Senor Delgado.” The man backed away, turned, and left the cantina hurriedly.
Ramon sat in the chair, took a shot of whisky each time he looked at each of the five remaining men, and then slammed his glass to the table. “Let’s play,” he yelled.

One hour later, an empty whisky bottle is all that remained on the table. The very lucky Ramón scooped all the winnings in his pockets and then waved his revolvers above his head. Laughing deliriously, he stumbled toward the table where the senorita still danced. He began shooting close to her feet until she stumbled and fell to the floor.

Ramon placed his revolvers in the holster, turned and walked back to the bar. “Another bottle for the road,” he demanded.

Carlos looked past Ramón and moved quickly to the end of the bar. The complete silence in the cantina compared to a tomb.

Ramón sensed piercing eyes fixed to the back of his neck.
“Who is this who wants death?” Ramón uttered as he turned to face Juan.

Ramón saw Juan staring at him with deep-set dark eyes, remaining steady and full of revenge. Ramón did not see the steady hands that drew the pistols and fired the bullets of death.

A life, short, poignant, and haunted, ended by a single bullet. Ramón’s life pulse lay mangled on the floor. His disorder of demons lay nameless in shrouded form. At least now, they could no longer haunt the shadows of his mind.
His soul lay helpless in obscurity without an escape route.
As Ramón’s lungs choked in silence, his new loneliness befriended darkness and his soul
Zampuzado en un banasto
Me tiene su Majestad,
En un callejón Noruega
Aprendiendo a gavilán.
Graduado de tinieblas
Pienso que me sacarán
Para ser noche de Invierno,
O en culto algún Madrigal.
Yo, que fui Norte de guros,
Enseñando a navegar
A las Godeñas en ansias,
A los buzos en afán,
Enmoheciendo mi vida
Vivo en esta oscuridad,
Monje de zaquizamíes,
Ermitaño de un desván.
Un abanico de culpas
Fue principio de mi mal;
Un letrado de lo caro,
Grullo de la puridad.
Dios perdone al Padre Esquerra,
Pues fue su Paternidad
Mi suegro más de seis años
En la cuexca de Alcalá,
En el mesón de la ofensa,
En el Palacio mortal,
En la casa de más cuartos
De toda la Cristiandad.
Allí me lloró la Guanta,
Cuando por la Salazar,
Desporqueroné dos almas
Camino de Brañigal.
Por la Quijano, doncella
De perversa honestidad,
Nos mojamos yo y Vicioso,
Sin metedores de paz.
En Sevilla el Árbol seco
Me prendió en el arenal,
Porque le afufé la vida
Al zaino de Santo Horcaz.
El zapatero de culpas
Luego me mandó calzar
Botinicos Vizcaínos,
Martillado el cordobán.
Todo cañón, todo ****,
Todo mandil jayán,
Y toda iza con greña,
Y cuantos saben fuñar,
Me lloraron soga a soga,
Con inmensa propiedad,
Porque llorar hilo a hilo
Es muy delgado llorar.
Porque me metí una noche
A Pascua de Navidad
Y libré todos los presos
Me mandaron cercenar.
Dos veces me han condenado
Los señores a trinchar,
Y la una el Maestresala
Tuvo aprestado sitial.
Los diez años de mi vida
Los he vivido hacia atrás,
Con más grillos que el Verano,
Cadenas que el Escorial.
Más Alcaides he tenido
Que el castillo de Milán,
Más guardas que Monumento,
Más hierros que el Alcorán,
Más sentencias que el Derecho,
Más causas que el no pagar,
Más autos que el día del Corpus,
Más registros que el Misal,
Más enemigos que el agua,
Más corchetes que un gabán,
Más soplos que lo caliente,
Más plumas que el tornear.
Bien se puede hallar persona
Más jarifa y más galán,
Empero más bien prendida
Yo dudo que se hallará.
Todo este mundo es prisiones,
Todo es cárcel y penar:
Los dineros están presos
En la bolsa donde están;
La cuba es cárcel del vino,
La troj es cárcel del pan,
La cáscara, de las frutas
Y la espina del rosal.
Las cercas y las murallas
Cárcel son de la ciudad;
El cuerpo es cárcel del Alma,
Y de la tierra la mar.
Del Mar es cárcel la orilla,
Y en el orden que hoy están,
Es un cielo de otro cielo
Una cárcel de cristal.
Del aire es cárcel el fuelle,
Y del fuego el pedernal;
Preso está el oro en la mina;
Preso el diamante en Ceilán.
En la hermosura y donaire
Presa está la libertad,
En la vergüenza los gustos,
Todo el valor en la paz.
Pues si todos están presos,
Sobre mi mucha lealtad
Llueva cárceles mi cielo
Diez años sin escampar.
Lloverlas puede si quiere
Con el peine y con mirar,
Y hacerme en su Peralvillo
Aljaba de la Hermandad.
Mas volviendo a los amigos,
Todos barridos están,
Los más se fueron en uvas
Y los menos en agraz.
Murió en Nápoles Zamora
Ahíto de pelear,
Lloró a cántaros su muerte
Eugenia la Escarramán.
Al Limosnero a Zaguirre
Le desjarretó el tragar:
Con el Limosnero pienso
Que se descuidó San Blas.
Mató a Francisco Jiménez
Con una aguja un rapaz,
Y murió muerte de sastre,
Sin tijeras ni dedal.
Después que el Padre Perea
Acarició a Satanás
Con el alma del corchete
Vaciada a lo Catalán,
A Roma se fue por todo,
En donde la enfermedad
Le ajustició en una cama,
Ahorrando de procesar.
Dios tenga en su santa gloria
A Bartolomé Román,
Que aun con Dios, si no le tiene,
Pienso que no querrá estar.
Con la grande polvareda,
Perdimos a Don Beltrán,
Y porque paró en Galicia,
Se teme que paró en mal.
Jeldre está en Torre Bermeja;
Mal aposentado está,
Que torre de tan mal pelo
A Judas puede guardar.
Ciento por ciento llevaron
Los Inocentes de Orgaz,
Peonzas que a puro azote
Hizo el bederre bailar.
Por pedigüeño en caminos,
El que llamándose Juan,
De noche, para las capas,
Se confirmaba en Tomás,
Hecho nadador de penca,
Desnudo fue la mitad,
Tocándole pasacalles
El músico de Quien tal...
Sólo vos habéis quedado,
¡Oh Cardoncha singular!,
Roído del Sepan cuántos...
Y mascado del varal.
Vos, Bernardo entre Franceses,
Y entre Españoles Roldán,
Cuya espada es un Galeno
Y una botica la faz,
Pujamiento de garnachas
Pienso que os ha de acabar,
Si el avizor y el calcorro
Algún remedio no dan.
A Micaela de Castro
Favoreced y amparad,
Que se come de Gabachos
Y no se sabe espulgar.
A las hembras de la caja,
Si con la expulsión fatal
La desventurada Corte
No ha acabado de enviudar,
Podéis dar mis encomiendas,
Que al fin es cosa de dar:
Besamanos a las niñas,
Saludes a las de edad.
En Vélez a dos de marzo,
Que por los putos de allá
No quiere volver las ancas,
Y no me parece mal.
Ebrio de trementina y largos besos,
estival, el velero de las rosas dirijo,
torcido hacia la muerte del delgado día,
cimentado en el sólido frenesí marino.

Pálido y amarrado a mi agua devorante
cruzo en el agrio olor del clima descubierto,
aún vestido de gris y sonidos amargos,
y una cimera triste de abandonada espuma.

Voy, duro de pasiones, montado en mi ola única,
lunar, solar, ardiente y frío, repentino,
dormido en la garganta de las afortunadas
islas blancas y dulces como caderas frescas.

Tiembla en la noche húmeda mi vestido de besos
locamente cargado de eléctricas gestiones,
de modo heroico dividido en sueños
y embriagadoras rosas practicándose en mí.

Aguas arriba, en medio de las olas externas,
tu paralelo cuerpo se sujeta en mis brazos
como un pez infinitamente pegado a mi alma
rápido y lento en la energía subceleste.
¿Qué o quién me guiaba? No buscaba a nadie, buscaba todo y a todos:
    vegetación de cúpulas azules y campanarios blancos, muros color de sangre seca, arquitecturas:
    festín de formas, danza petrificada bajo las nubes que se hacen y se deshacen y no acaban de hacerse, siempre en tránsito hacia su forma venidera,
    piedras ocres tatuadas por un astro colérico, piedras lavadas por el agua de la luna;
    los parques y las plazuelas, las graves poblaciones de álamos cantantes y lacónicos olmos, niños y gorriones y cenzontles,
    los corros de ancianos, ahuehuetes cuchicheantes, y los otros, apeñuscados en los bancos, costales de huesos, tiritando bajo el gran sol del altiplano, patena incandescente;
    calles que no se acaban nunca, calles caminadas como se lee un libro o se recorre un cuerpo;
    patios mínimos, con madreselvas y geranios generosos colgando de los barandales, ropa tendida, fantasma inocuo que el viento echa a volar entre las verdes interjecciones del loro de ojo sulfúreo y, de pronto, un delgado chorro de luz: el canto del canario;
    los figones celeste y las cantinas solferino, el olor del aserrín sobre el piso de ladrillo, el mostrador espejeante, equívoco altar en donde los genios de insidiosos poderes duermen encerrados en botellas multicolores;
    la carpa, el ventrílocuo y sus muñecos procaces, la bailarina anémica, la tiple jamona, el galán carrasposo;
    la feria y los puestos de fritangas donde hierofantas de ojos canela celebran, entre brasas y sahumerios, las nupcias de las substancias y la transfiguración de los olores y los sabores mientras destazan carnes, espolvorean sal y queso cándido sobre nopales verdeantes, asperjan lechugas donadoras del sueño sosegado, muelen maíz solar, bendicen manojos de chiles tornasoles;
    las frutas y los dulces, montones dorados de mandarinas y tejocotes, plátanos áureos, tunas sangrientas, ocres colinas de nueces y cacahuetes, volcanes de azúcar, torreones de alegrías, pirámides transparentes de biznagas, cocadas, diminuta orografía de las dulzuras terrestres, el campamento militar de las cañas, las jícamas blancas arrebujadas en túnicas color de tierra, las limas y los limonones: frescura súbita de risas de mujeres que se bañan en un río verde;
    las guirnaldas de papel y las banderitas tricolores, arcoiris de juguetería, las estampas de la Guadalupe y las de los santos, los mártires, los héroes, los campeones, las estrellas;
    el enorme cartel del próximo estreno y la ancha sonrisa, bahía extática, de la actriz en cueros y redonda como la luna que rueda por las azoteas, se desliza entre las sábanas y enciende las visiones rijosas;
    las tropillas y vacadas de adolescentes, palomas y cuervos, las tribus dominicales, los náufragos solitarios y los viejos y viejas, ramas desgajadas del árbol del siglo;
    la musiquita rechinante de los cabellitos, la musiquita que da vueltas y vueltas en el cráneo como un verso incompleto en busca de una rima;
    y al cruzar la calle, sin razón, porque sí, como un golpe de mar o el ondear súbito de un campo de maíz, como el sol que rompe entre nubarrones: la alegría, el surtidor de la dicha instantánea, ¡ah, estar vivo, desgranar la granada de esta hora y comerla grano a grano!!;
    el atardecer como una barca que se aleja y no acaba de perderse en el horizonte indeciso;
    la luz anclada en el atrio del templo y el lento oleaje de la hora vencida puliendo cada piedra, cada arista, cada pensamiento hasta que todo no es sino una transparencia insensiblemente disipada;
    la vieja cicatriz que, sin aviso, se abre, la gota que taladra, el surco quemado que deja el tiempo en la memoria, el tiempo sin cara: presentimiento de vómito y caída, el tiempo que ha ido y regresa, el tiempo que nunca se ha ido y está aquí desde el principio, el par de ojos agazapados en un rincón del ser: la seña de nacimiento;
    el rápido desplome de la noche que borra las caras y las casas, la tinta negra de donde salen las trompas y los colmillos, el tentáculo y el dardo, la ventosa y la naceta, el rosario de las cacofonías;
    la noche poblada cuchicheos y allá lejos un rumor de voces de mujeres, vagos follajes movidos por el viento;
    la luz brusca de los faros del auto sobre la pared afrentada, la luz navajazo, la luz escupitajo, la reliquia escupida;
    el rostro terrible de la vieja al cerrar la ventana santiguándose, el ladrido del alma en pena del perro en el callejón como una herida que se encona;
    las parejas en las bancas de los parques o de pie en los repliegues de los quicios, los cuatro brazos anudados, árboles incandescentes sobre los que reposa la noche,
    las parejas, bosques de febriles columnas envueltas por la resiración del animal deseante de mil ojos y mil manos y una sola imagen clavad en la frente,
    las quietas parejas que avanzan sin moverse con los ojos cerrados y caen interminablemente en sí mismas;
    el vértigo inmóvil del adolescente desenterrado que rompe por mi frente mientras escribo
    y camina de nuevo, multisolo en su soledumbre, por calles y plazas desmoronadas apenas las digo
    y se pierde de nuevo en busca de todo y de todos, de nada y de nadie
Nat G Asúnsolo Jul 2013
Deberías de estar aquí a mi lado, bailando al mismo ritmo de la música; moviendo tu cuerpo de la misma manera que el mío, con nuestros brazos en el aire y nuestras manos entrelazadas.
Deberías de distinguirte, vestimenta llamativa y con estilo especial, tez clara cubriendo tu delgado pero al mismo tiempo ejercitado cuerpo, tu cabello  quebrado color ***** que lleba una cachucha plana decorándolo por encima; tus ojos azules con tus largas y pobladas pestañas cruzándose con los mios y tus labios, naturalmente rojos, esperando tocar mis labios.
¿Porqué no te encuentro? Si ambos procurámos estar en la parte delantera en cada comcierto, aquí estoy y no te veo.
¿Porqué no encuentro tu encantadora sonrisa que adorna tu forma peculiar de reír? Si estuvieras a mi lado la vería más seguido.
Debería de localizarte al momento de ver al hombre que está más emocionado y metído en la música del rave.
Las luces neon no iluminan mucho tu rostro, pero sí lo suficiente para darte un beso. Quizá así no te encuentre.
¿Dónde estás? ¡No te veo! ¡No te encuentro! Y es que aún no te conozco.
Mira, ésta es nuestra casa, éste nuestro techo. Contra la lluvia, contra el sol, contra la noche, la hice. La cueva no se mueve y siempre hay animales que quieren entrar. Aquí es distinto, nosotros también somos distintos.

-¿Distintos porque nos defendemos, Adán? Creo que somos más débiles.

-Somos distintos porque queremos cambiar. Somos mejores.

-A mí no me gusta ser mejor. Creo que estamos perdiendo algo. Nos estamos apartando del viento. Entre todos los de la tierra vamos a ser extraños. Recuerdo la primera piel que me echaste encima: me quitaste mi piel, la hiciste inútil. Vamos a terminar por ser distintos de las estrellas y ya no entenderemos a los árboles.

-Es que tenemos uno que se llama espíritu.

-Cada vez tenemos más miedo, Adán.

-Verás. Conoceremos. No importa que nuestro cuerpo...

-¿Nuestro cuerpo?

-...esté más delgado. Somos inteligentes. Podemos más.

-¿Qué te pasa? Aquella vez te sentaste bajo el árbol de la mala sombra y te dolía la cabeza. ¿Has vuelto? Te voy a enterrar hasta las rodillas otra vez.
Seniors are suffering!
Hospitals are closing!
Infants are starving!

Good News: Another Broadway show is opening!

Olive trees are dying!
Unemployment is climbing!
Small businesses are folding!

Good News: Another spaceship is launching!

Medical costs are skyrocketing!
50% of marriages are divorcing!
Global warming is escalating!

Good News:  Seasons are drastically changing!

Stronger volcanoes will be erupting!
Storms and tornado are increasing!
Oceans and rivers are polluting!

Good News: Stocks are up! The Market Bell is ringing!

Church attendance is dwindling!
People have stopped praying!
Choirs are no longer singing!

Good News: 4.7 trillion has been  appropriated for federal spending!

Icebergs are vanishing!
Forests are decimating!
Marine life is declining!

Good News:  Teen deaths from drug overdoses are ascending!


Farmers are hardly surviving!
Homelessness is soaring!
The crime rate is rising!


How do we stop bad things from happening?
Are we better off just ignoring?
Perhaps life as we know it is ending?

        Good News:  Let's just ignore everything!




By Milton L. Delgado
March 10, 2019
You may say this work is negative; however, there's an important message which I hope you'll get from its reading.
A glowing presence appeared before me; was I awake or was I asleep?
I thought her first a stranger; she wasn't a stranger at all.
“What is your name?” I asked. She answered: “My name is Photon.”
I thought how weird a name to be called.

“Who are you and where are you from?”
…thinking how mysterious she was.
“I was discovered over a million years ago,
and abide by whomever gives me cause!”

“You have known me all your life.” she exclaimed.
“I am powerful, mighty, and transcendent.
If not tamed, I deliver widespread loss and destruction.”
“Only God is omnipotent and omnipresent!” I clamored.

“That is true; but I was created that way for a reason.
Mistreating me results in death; respect me, and you will rejoice.
I can be a good servant, or a cruel master.
It is you who must make the choice.”

“Are you some kind of a god? Seemingly irritated she replied:
“I am not! The power lies in your hands, not mine!
You decide to use me for good or for bad. I must respond to both.
I can be a friend or foe...bring darkness or cause a light to shine.”

As her illumination began to dissipate, I  asked:
“Where do you go from here?” “All over! My work will never end.
My task is be a companion forever, to those who chose not to believe...
but the true, righteous, and faithful, they shall never see me again.”

“Just one more question,” I pleaded, 'before you go, tell me:
who are you really, and when will you again transpire?'
“I travel the world over and manifest wherever I am called.
My name is Photon; but I'm mostly known as fire!”


By Milton Lopez Delgado
May 16, 2016
I was inspired to write this Poem while reading a book by Billy Graham entitled: "Where I Am." I was very intrigued by the name of the last chapter: "The Eternal Flame;" I could not stop writing until it was completed. I must say: "It's one of my best works!" Of course, this is my opinion. I would like, however, to ask anyone who takes the time to read: 'My Name Is Photon", to send me your interpretation of this Poem, along with any comments, questions, or opinions  you may wish to share; I am hoping they will match my intent. Thank you.

Sincerely,

Milton L. Delgado
Here are a few ideas to do;
you'll feel better about you.

Make them your daily goals;
they're good for body, mind, an soul:

Be compassionate, generous,
and considerate.

When you give a gift;
you'll both benefit.

Hike in nature,
its reward is in your favor.

Watch a sunset;
It will help you forget.

Exercise more;
your health will soar.

Converse with a  stranger;
its benefit is a game-changer.

Take a deep breath of air;
it'll make you more aware.

Listening to relaxing music
will uplift your spirit.

Take the time to expend;
connect with a long lost friend.

Dance in the rain to your favorite song;
It will attract the throngs!

Smiling is a stimulus.
Laughter is contagious.

Eat dark chocolate;
it won't hurt your diet!

A mindset of playing,
is better than complaining.

Do what you love today;
tomorrow may be another D-Day.

Soak yourself in the sunlight;
it will change dreary to bright.



By Milton L. Delgado
12/28/17
Pobre y desgraciado Proculo.
Puedo comprender de una enferma manera
tu dolor y tu ira sedienta como el esclavo.
tuviste que observar con paciencia
como la inocencia
abandonaba el vientre suyo.
como el frío puño del tirano
penetro en tus entrañas
El delgado filo
entre la vida y la muerte.
El destino inevitable.
Pero aun no es el fin, abatido amigo
Es la venganza encarnada
que arrasa con aquellos
que viven del dolor ajeno.
que respiran la sangre.
De pasión sobrante y sueños de ceniza
un pálido palio llevo, un cortejo evidente,
un viento de metal que vive solo,
un sirviente mortal vestido de hambre,
y en lo fresco que baja del árbol, en la esencia del sol
que su salud de astro implanta en las flores,
cuando a mi piel parecida al oro llega el placer,
tú, fantasma coral con pies de tigre,
tú, ocasión funeral, reunión ígnea,
acechando la patria en que sobrevivo
con tus lanzas lunares que tiemblan un poco.

Porque la ventana que el mediodía vacío atraviesa
tiene un día cualquiera mayor aire en sus alas,
el frenesí hincha el traje y el sueño al sombrero,
una abeja extremada arde sin tregua.
Ahora, qué imprevisto paso hace crujir los caminos?
Qué vapor de estación lúgubre, qué rostro
de cristal,
y aún más, qué sonido de carro viejo con espigas?
Ay, una a una, la ola que llora y la sal que se triza,
y el tiempo del amor celestial que pasa volando,
han tenido voz de huéspedes y espacio en la espera.

De distancias llevadas a cabo, de resentimientos infieles,
de hereditarias esperanzas mezcladas con sombra,
de asistencias desgarradoramente dulces
y días de transparente veta y estatua floral,
qué subsiste en mi término escaso, en mi débil
producto?
De mi lecho amarillo y de mi substancia estrellada,
quién no es vecino y ausente a la vez?
Un esfuerzo que salta, una flecha de trigo
tengo, y un arco en mi pecho manifiestamente espera,
y un latido delgado, de agua y tenacidad,
como algo que se quiebra perpetuamente,
atraviesa hasta el fondo mis separaciones,
apaga mi poder y propaga mi duelo.
El andaluz envejecido que tiene gran razón para su orgullo,
El poeta cuya palabra lúcida es como diamante,
Harto de fatigar sus esperanzas por la corte,
Harto de su pobreza noble que le obliga
A no salir de casa cuando el día, sino al atardecer, ya que las
sombras,
Más generosas que los hombres, disimulan
En la común tiniebla parda de las calles
La bayeta caduca de su coche y el tafetán delgado de su traje;
Harto de pretender favores de magnates,
Su altivez humillada por el ruego insistente,
Harto de los años tan largos malgastados
En perseguir fortuna lejos de Córdoba la llana y de su muro
excelso,
Vuelve al rincón nativo para morir tranquilo y silencioso.

Ya restituye el alma a soledad sin esperar de nadie
Si no es de su conciencia, y menos todavía
De aquel sol invernal de la grandeza
Que no atempera el frío del desdichado,
Y aprende a desearles buen viaje
A príncipes, virreyes, duques altisonantes,
Vulgo luciente no menos estúpido que el otro;
Ya se resigna a ver pasar la vida tal sueño inconsistente
Que el alba desvanece, a amar el rincón solo
Adonde conllevar paciente su pobreza,
Olvidando que tantos menos dignos que él, como la bestia
ávida
Toman hasta saciarse la parte mejor de toda cosa,
Dejándole la amarga, el desecho del paria.

Pero en la poesía encontró siempre, no tan
sólo hermosura, sino ánimo,
La fuerza del vivir más libre y más soberbio,
Como un neblí que deja el puño duro para buscar
las nubes
Traslúcidas de oro allá en el cielo alto.
Ahora al reducto último de su casa y su huerto le alcanzan
todavía
Las piedras de los otros, salpicaduras tristes
Del aguachirle caro para las gentes
Que forman el común y como público son arbitro
de gloria.
Ni aun esto Dios le perdonó en la hora de su muerte.

Decretado es al fin que Góngora jamás fuera poeta,
Que amó lo oscuro y vanidad tan sólo le dictó sus
versos.
Menéndez y Pelayo, el montañés henchido por
sus dogmas,
No gustó de él y le condena con fallo inapelable.

Viva pues Góngora, puesto que así los otros
Con desdén le ignoraron, menosprecio
Tras del cual aparece su palabra encendida
Como estrella perdida en lo hondo de la noche,
Como metal insomne en las entrañas de la tierra.
Ventaja grande es que esté ya muerto
Y que de muerto cumpla los tres siglos, que así pueden
Los descendientes mismos de quienes le insultaban
Inclinarse a su nombre, dar premio al erudito,
Sucesor del gusano, royendo su memoria.
Mas él no transigió en la vida ni en la muerte
Y a salvo puso su alma irreductible
Como demonio arisco que ríe entre negruras.

Gracias demos a Dios por la paz de Góngora vencido;
Gracias demos a Dios por la paz de Góngora exaltado;
Gracias demos a Dios, que supo devolverle (como hará con
nosotros),
Nulo al fin, ya tranquilo, entre su nada.
No os espantéis, señora Notomía,
Que me atreva este día,
Con exprimida voz convaleciente,
A cantar vuestras partes a la gente:
Que de hombres es en casos importantes
El caer en flaquezas semejantes.

Cantó la pulga Ovidio, honor Romano,
Y la mosca Luciano,
De las ranas Homero; yo confieso
Que ellos cantaron cosas de más peso:
Yo escribiré con pluma más delgada
Materia más sutil y delicada.

Quien tan sin carne os viere, si no es ciego,
Yo sé que dirá luego,
Mirando en vos más puntas que en rastrillo,
Que os engendró algún miércoles Corvillo;
Y quien pez os llamó, no desatina,
Viendo que tras ser negra, sois espina.

Dios os defienda, dama, lo primero,
De sastre o zapatero,
Pues por punzón o alesna es caso llano
Que cada cual os cerrara en la mano;
Aunque yo pienso que por mil razones
Tenéis por alma un viernes con ciciones.

Mirad que miente vuestro amigo, dama,
Cuando «Mi carne» os llama,
Que no podéis jamás en carnes veros,
Aunque para ello os desnudéis en cueros;
Mas yo sé bien que quedan en la calle
Picados más de dos de vuestro talle.

Bien sé que apasionáis los corazones,
Porque dais más pasiones
Que tienen diez Cuaresmas con la cara,
Que Amor hiere con vos como con jara;
Que si va por lo flaco, tenéis voto
De que sois más sutil que lo fue Scoto.

Y aunque estáis tan angosta, flaca mía,
Tan estrecha y tan fría,
Tan mondada y enjuta y tan delgada,
Tan roída, exprimida y destilada,
Estrechamente os amaré con brío,
Que es amor de raíz el amor mío.

Aun la sarna no os come con su gula,
Y sola tenéis Bula
Para no sustentar cosas vivientes;
Por sólo ser de hueso tenéis dientes,
Y de acostarse ya en partes tan duras,
Vuestra alma diz que tiene mataduras.

Hijos somos de Adán en este suelo,
La Nada es nuestro abuelo,
Y salístele vos tan parecida
Que apenas fuisteis algo en esta vida.
De ser sombra os defiende no el donaire,
Sino la voz, y aqueso es cosa de aire.

De los tres enemigos que hay del alma
Llevárades la palma,
Y con valor y pruebas excelentes
Los venciérades vos entre las gentes,
Si por dejar la carne de que hablo,
El mundo no os tuviera por el diablo.

Díjome una mujer por cosa cierta,
Que nunca vuestra puerta
Os pudo un punto dilatar la entrada
Por causa de hallarla muy cerrada,
Pues por no deteneros aun llamando,
Por los resquicios os entráis volando.

Con mujer tan aguda y amolada,
Consumida, estrujada,
Sutil, dura, büida, magra y fiera,
Que ha menester, por no picar, contera,
No me entremeto: que si llego al toque,
Conocerá de mí el señor San Roque.

Con vos cuando muráis tras tanta guerra,
Segura está la tierra
Que no sacará el vientre de mal año;
Y pues habéis de ir flaca en modo extraño
(Sisándole las ancas y la panza)
Os podrán enterrar en una lanza.

Sólo os pido, por vuestro beneficio,
Que el día del juicio
Troquéis con otro muerto en las cavernas
Esas devanaderas y esas piernas,
Que si salís con huesos tan mondados,
Temo que haréis reír los condenados.

Salvaros vos tras esto es cosa cierta,
Dama, después de muerta,
Y tiénenlo por cosa muy sabida
Los que ven cuán estrecha es vuestra vida;
Y así, que os vendrá al justo, se sospecha,
Camino tan angosto y cuenta estrecha.

Canción, ved que es forzosa
Que os venga a vos muy ancha cualquier cosa:
Parad, pues es negocio averiguado
Que siempre quiebra por lo más delgado.
Florecita morena
Que te conozco
Pero aún no comprendo.

Florecita de amor
Que te quiero
Pero aún  te amo.

Florecita de lluvia
Vives envuelta en raíces
Vives en tu mundo oscuro
Con luces navideñas
Y yo aquí intentando
No fumarme el alma
Por entenderte...

Quiero pedirte
Que me abraces
Cuando el humo
Se coma mis huesos
Y no alcance la luz
De tu cuerpo.

Quiero que sepas
Que cada día me preocupo
Por tu delgado cuerpo
Por qué el sol no te queme.

Y yo se que con el paso
Del tiempo
El amor se hace bueno
Y qué para cuando mis ojos
Se cierren
Yo ya seré tuyo.
Let us remember today how much
God has loved us all.
And let us remember today
why Jesus Christ was born.

Love He told us in which to abide.
Love the reason He was crucified.

Este dia te recibimos Dios
en nuestro corazon.
Para darnoa vida eterno,
el Padre te mando.

Amor un regalo que uno puede dar.
El vino para nuestros pegados pagar.

Love, the greatest gift that one could give.
Love, is how we all were made to live.

Today love was born in Bethlehem
let us all come celebrate!

Our Savior and Lord of all The Christ,
Our New Born King!

Love each other is what we must do.
Love why Jesus came and died for you.

Let us remember today how much
God has loved us.
And let us remember today,
why Jesus Christ was born.


Milton L. Delgado
This is what Christmas is only about...everything else, in my opinion, is *******!
Carolina Mar 2018
No tengo recuerdos de haber nacido. Quizás nunca lo hice.
Quizás sólo soy un alma vagando eternamente sin sentido.
Aferrándome a lo único que me conecta a la vida,
unidos por un delgado hilo *****, demasiado fino para soportar la distancia que recorro.
Dolencias que llegan de ninguna parte, llegan para no irse. Tal vez un asunto sin resolver... o varios.
¿Qué debo hacer? ¿Hacia dónde debo ir?
¿Acaso me permito quedarme un poco más? ¿O debería desistir?
Dear Mom & Dad,
This is the first chance I had to write to you. I'm sorry if I made you worry. I want you to know that all is well and I arrived safe and sound at Camp Heaven. Everything around me is more beautiful than I could ever have imagined. The trip was short. I got here just after I closed my eyes and fell asleep. It was as if no time had past at all. I miss you so very much. I was told to tell you not to worry because I would be seeing you soon. Please pass this letter on to all my relatives, friends at home, and at school. I arrived standing before a huge gate. A Beautiful Angel was there waiting to greet me; he had very large wide wings protruding from his shoulders and was wearing a whiter than snow robe with a golden sash around his waist. A Sparkling Halo circled above his head; his whole being glowed as bright as the sun. I was able to see his face; it was unlike any face I had ever seen before...perfect, soft, and gentle. He greeted me with a loving smile. I asked him who he was; he answered with a low and echoed voice: "My name is Gabriel. I am an Archangel and Messenger of God." I could hardly believe what I was seeing: a real live angel! He extended his arms to me; I rushed and fell right into them. He embraced and held me tight, then said: "Welcome home Michael." As he held my body close to his, I felt a profound sense of love, peace, and joy flow throughout whole body unlike anything I had ever experienced before. Mom and Dad, don't feel bad but the love I felt was a thousand times stronger than anything I ever felt before. He then said: "Come Michael, all your brothers and sisters are eager to see and greet you. Grab on to my cloak." We traveled through the air for a short while and landed on this wonderful outdoor arena that looked like a King's Palace all shiny and bright. A large group of men, women, and children had gathered. There were kinds of animals  milling around. I noticed there were doggies too. I was so thrilled to see doggies. I saw lots of Black Labs, just like our Smoky Bear. Gabriel put his arm around my shoulder and announced: "Children, this is your new brother Michael; welcome him home!" Everyone cheered and applauded louder than a crowd at a sports stadium; they all came to greet me and gave me lots of hugs and kisses. I felt like a Super Star! Gabriel then said: "OK, enough kissing and hugging, it's time to celebrate!" I started hearing the sound of music playing but didn't know where it was coming from. I looked up; descending from the sky was an army of Celestial Angels playing the most beautiful and enchanting music I had ever heard. Each one had a different instrument: a trumpet, harp, bell, and others instruments. The Celestial Music permeated the entire palace. Then, suddenly,a huge  table and chairs appeared in the center of the palace; they glistened like gems! The table was longer than a football field and filled with a assortment of all different kinds of fruit, vegetables, and breads; the spread was enormous!  Gabriel  seated at the head table stood, lifted his wine glass high and said: "Children, I hereby propose a toast to welcome the arrival of God's new adopted son, our new brother, and new addition to The Family of God, Michael! The crowd lifted their glasses and shouted: "Here! Here!" and sipped the wine. The Angels started playing a tremendous joyous sounding song. Everyone shouted out say: "Welcome Home Michael! Welcome Home!  Michael!" Gabriel then said: "Hallelujah!  It's time to eat, drink, and be merry! Let the celebration and feast begin!"  Mom and Dad, I'm in Heaven!  It's more wonderful and beautiful  than words could ever express!  Although I miss you and all my friends very much, please know that I am as happy as I ever could possibly have imagined. Everyone is always filled with Joy and Laughter and truly show their Love and concern toward one anther. . Gabriel told me this will be my ' Eternal Permanent New Home and Family!' I can stay here forever and never have to worry again about getting sick, growing old, or have bad things happen. Please be well and take care of yourself. It's just like when you sent me away to those other camps for the summer, except this one is the greatest one of them all and will never end. I am in Heaven and here is where I was meant to be, where I belong, and where I will live in love forever and ever!  Well, I gotta go now; they're calling my name to join in on another exciting outdoor game.  I'll try to write again soon but it's hard to stop from all the fun I'm having. I love you both so very much!
Your son, Michael
 
By Milton Lopez Delgado
December 20, 2012
miltonandwanda@verizon.net
(570) 848-1682 (LL)
(570) 780-5253 (Cell)
This of course is my interpretation of how a young boy would explain Heaven to his Mom and Dad.
AND NOW, THE END IS NEAR, THE TIME TO FACE THE FINAL CURTAIN. MY FRIEND, IT'S BEEN CLEAR, MY DESTINY, SECURED AND CERTAIN. I LIVED A LIFE OF FAITH,  I'VE TRAVELED WIDE AND NARROW HIGHWAYS, AND MORE, MUCH MORE THAN THIS, I DID IT GOD'S WAY.

REGRETS, I'VE HAD A FEW, BUT THANK THE LORD, TOO FEW TO MENTION. I DID WHAT WAS RIGHT TO DO AND FOLLOWED THROUGH WITH SOME EXCEPTIONS. I PLANNED A CHARTERED COURSE TOOK CAREFUL STEPS ALONG THE BYWAY, AND MORE, MUCH MORE THAN THIS, I FOLLOWED GOD'S WAY.

YES, THERE WERE TIMES, I'M SURE YOU KNEW, WHEN I SAID AND DID WHAT I OUGHT NOT TO DO...BECAME CONFUSED AND FILLED WITH DOUBT; YOU SHOWED THE WAY AND THINGS TURNED OUT. I HEARD YOUR CALL, AND I STOOD TALL, AND FOLLOWED GOD'S WAY.

I'VE HAD MY UPS. I'VE HAD MY DOWNS. I HAD SOME WINS, MY SHARE OF LOSING. AND NOW, AS I LOOK BACK, THOSE TIMES I STRAYED, MADE LIFE CONFUSING.
TO THINK, I DID ALL THAT,  BUT SADLY SAY, MOSTLY THE HARD WAY...SAVED MY HIS GRACE, LEFT NOT A TRACE,  FOR THAT IS GOD'S WAY.

FOR WHAT IS A MAN WHAT HAS HE GOT?  IF NOT THE LORD IN THE NUMBER ONE SPOT!  HE'LL NEVER KNOW OR TRULY FEEL, TO LIVE IS TO LOVE AND SERVE AND KNEEL!
THE RECORDS SHOWS WHEN WILL WE KNOW TO FOLLOW GOD'S WAY? FOLLOW GOD'S WAY.


BY MILTON L. DELGADO
I was compelled to change the lyrics of Frank Sinatra's famous song, My Way to God's Way which is my story. Should you be so inclined, you can sing it to the same arrangement as his recording.
Let me know your thoughts!
anthony Brady Mar 2018
A lado de la Misión San Cristòbal
Est una casa lujosa y grande
dónde vive reservado y distinto
La Doña Carmen Garcia-Cabrall.

Trabajo en su estancia - ensilar su caballo,
monto detras encargado quando ella visite
sus amigos aqui  y alli. Dicho y hecho.
La Doña Carmen Garcia-Cabrall.

Ella dice: “Arnese mi caballo - Miguel!
Trae mis botas - Miguel!
Muchas Gracias - Miguel!”
La Doña Carmen Garcia-Cabrall.

Ella amanto Don Josè Francisco Delgado
est  a menudo frecuente.  El dice: “Adios!
Miguel esta seguro La Doña
Maria Carmen Garcia-Cabrall!”

A  lado de la Misión San Cristòbal
espero en el patio de la casa grande
dónde vive resevardo y distinto
La Doña Carmen Garcia-Cabrall.

Ella dice: “Estable la caballo - Miguel!
Entonces ven arriba - Miguel!
Ahora rapido - Miguel!
Cerra mis botas - Miguel!
Muy bien! -  Miguel!”
Digo “Es todos Senora?”
“Haz lo quieras Miguel!
Miguel!  Cierra la puerta
El cerrojo en el interior"
La Doña Carmen Garcia-Cabrall.

TOBIAS
anthony Brady Mar 2018
Close by the Mission San Cristòbal
is a great house wherein dwells
the distant, cool and beguiling
La Doña Carmen Garcia-Cabrall.

At her command I saddle the mare,
I ride behind and attend as she
visits her friends here and there.
La Doña Carmen Garcia-Cabrall.

She say: “Harness my horse - Miguel!
Bring my boots - Miguel!
Por Favor - Miguel.” I obey all for  
La Doña Carmen Garcia-Cabrall.

Her lover Don José Francisco Delgado
is often away: He say: “Adios!
Miguel!  And be  sure to watch over
La Doña Carmen Garcia-Cabrall!”

Close by the Mission San Cristòbal
I wait  in the yard of the great
house wherein dwells  
La Doña Carmen Garcia-Cabrall.

She say: “Stable the horse  - Miguel!
Then come upstairs: Quickly! - Miguel!
Now pull my boots off - Miguel!
Por Favor - Miguel!”

I say: “Señora! Is that all?”
She say: “Do as you wish Miguel! -
Miguel - Close the door!
The bolt on the inside -Miguel
La Doña Carmen Garcia-Cabrall.

TOBIAS
¡Qué pequeño es mi sueño, qué delgado,
y qué pobre, mi sueño que no tiene
ni rosas, ni alcanfores, ni venado,
y a pie descalzo por el fango viene!

Mi sueño, tan hambriento y flagelado
que noche a noche a mi costado adviene
tiritando de frío, y se sostiene
con un hilo de aliento congelado.

En el pasado fue tan poderoso
que frente a él eran la loba, el oso,
juguetes sin valor, pálida arcilla.

Dueño de mundo y señor de un cielo,
lo venció mi demonio del desvelo,
que lo ha vuelto una máscara amarilla.
Dime, del tiempo resonando
en tu esfera parcial y dulce
no oyes acaso el sordo gemido?

No sientes de lenta manera,
en trabajo trémulo y ávido,
la insistente noche que vuelve?

Secas sales y sangres aéreas,
atropellado correr ríos,
temblando el testigo constata.

Aumento oscuro de paredes,
crecimiento brusco de puertas,
delirante población de estímulos,
circulaciones implacables.

Alrededor, de infinito modo,
en propaganda interminable,
de hocico armado y definido
el espacio hierve y se puebla.

No oyes la constante victoria
en la carrera de los seres
del tiempo, lento como el fuego,
seguro y espeso y hercúleo,
acumulando su volumen
y añadiendo su triste hebra?

Como una planta perpetua aumenta
su delgado y pálido hilo
mojado de gotas que caen
sin sonido en la soledad.
Mateuš Conrad May 2022
chasing rabbits -

chasing rabbits:
slowly...
   reimagining standing
still on a treadmill.     (502)

she had to come round for about two hours today, my neighbour, she must have sniffed out that i was making pizza... i love making pizza slightly tipsy... i did the house chores and started writing this, abandoned it, now that i returned to it... well, what could have possibly changed? pristine ******* dough... ooh... what a lovely cushion of flour and water and sugar and a pinch of salt and: yrast... i love the smell... hmm mmm hmm... these hands make magic... the pizza sauce? compliments on that, of course... what did i add? oh... just a read pepper... some paprika: i wish i used some Kashmiri chilly powder... perhaps i had... garlic... onion... blitzed... sieved... twice... plum tomatoes... itch of the juice: clenched teeth saliva boiling: juicy... thinking: my tongue is a knife... now i'm going into the garden and drink a beer, or two... try finding the moo... ah ha ha: moo! moon! ah-woo! no... quiet right... one needs a forest to find the howl! but at least i can bark... when some fox penetrates the gardens and the dogs start barking... i'll bark too! free! free! free! so my neighbour likes my cooking... great! am i about to think: capitalistically?! start a pizzeria?! i like do: what tool is expected to do... because... i have "other" concerns"... the whole veneer of interacting with people is: what it is: a veneer... i have to entertain both the Jezebel and the Sophia... Sophia is difficult: since she's as abstract as Athena... it's not a lost libido: it's not impotence... it's... why would i want to ******* if you're going to spend my Saturday afternoon shopping for ******* curtains... or... whatever?! oi! Libra! come 'ere! this weigh-in weigh-out doesn't make sense... can you apply your corrective scrutiny to the "problem"? - i do make some fine pizza... no one's taking... fair enough... fair ******* doubly enough... more for me... more for oblivion... to which i answer: ah-men.

тo йeст щыт:
to jest szczyt...
diese ist der gipfel!

it only happened once...
discouraging: "discouraging" a circle
or omicron from being a circle
and becoming an ellipse: a 0... a zero...

"god" is not a moralist...
he's an existentialist...
          "he" he not not "he"...
only in English is the phenomenon
of a pronoun "problem" prevalent...
shrapnel-tongue:
               schrapnellzunge -
it's so unusual for anyone speaking
in the Slavic tongue(s) to overuse
the pronoun: iota as much as the English do...

it's like Knausgaard mentioned
about the Swedes... a people that haven't
been invaded by another people for a while...
no memory of subjugation...
the cultural Cyclops(es) of the world...

the English are pretty much the same...
they're being invaded: politely:
by their standards...
mosque after mosque reiterations...
the implosions of the greatest empire
the world has ever seen...

what?! i'm like Voltaire... i'm not native:
i write what i see...
this is not an invasion: this is not a polite invasion:
this is not an implosion of the lost
pride and empire?

once ol' Lizzie dies... it's not like...
however many popes and prime ministers she
died will have died...
tyrannical matriarchy...
          
well... if... "if"... john wallis "invented" the lemniscate:
a concept and a compact symbol:
all the same... back in 1655... ∞
who "invented" the number 8 or the letter B?

i know who invented the letter B...
******* with modern feminism and all that
came prior with the Sibyls and Carmenta:
*******: modern woman!
i get my ******* elsewhere...
among women that still want to have some
joy in life... who else?! prostitutes!
no ******! because: we're symbiotic:
hygienic minded people!
   ******* with your
       cluster-****-of-****-*****-scabs!
flaking away... flaking away...
wash... your... *******... hands!

once upon a time women held very
important positions in society...
now? microwave ovens shoved that dream
right up our ***** with 12" ****** sticking
out...
         of course i'm *******!
why wouldn't i be?

     bitter? no... i just enjoy the plethora of emotions
that come with rage and doubt as much
as those that some with the soothing:
mollusk tenderness: melting... ice-cream
of ooh-oops of love...
           but...
                            b-b-b-b-ut...
something's itching me: i just heard
a quake of thunder in the sky through the loud
music playing in my earphones...
i'm on the right track...
           if there's lightning but no thunder...
esp. in the night: i'm suspicious...
but if there's thunder and no lightning:
comfort music... i must be hungry...
i think i'll sacrifice a chicken tow-toe-into-the-night...

(towing, a)

       let's just say: "hypothetically":
"god" created the pristine man... the advocate...
the priest... the "somewhat" and some "other"...
as curator for the basis of ontology..

the rest?! mutations: self-generated prejudices...
the original plan was X...
but the plan morphed and became Z...
there's no point blaming a deity for a lack
of intervention: who would want to entertain
the idea of free will while at the same time
succumbing to a c.c.t.v. "state" (of existence)?

life without effort is not worth living:
but then again: carrying the burden that ought
to be shared equally: for others...
Somalis... the English and their *******
anti-racism mantra: fair enough!
you abolished the slave trade...
fair enough! but now the English are
getting culturally ***** by their lenience!
a people that haven't been subjected
to conquest for a long, long... long time...

they have become: complacent!
   too agreeable! trust-worthy pilots flying to:
**** knows where... not even the seagulls know...
perhaps only in London...
elsewhere perhaps they're as thick-as-custard...
but in my vicinity...
            
a bit like my facebook page...
the "people you may know"... what? stalkers?
why is this coming up?
this website used to be dead for me for a while...
now i'm getting this "issue" with:
"people you may know":
i never used a dating application, but it's starting
to feel like i'm using one...
i'm swiping right sieving through:

uriel darl, souad dharhi, aura huckerthman,
   andressa wangel, yus ningsih, el drema,
gülan meriç(ch), ramina amores, kristina jodzkiene,
angie biada, consuelo siouxe, sulistiawatisetya setya,
Xриcтинa Линчкo (christina linchko),
             unayah naya, goharik javahiryan,
Гaлинa Лaщeнкo (galina lashchenko),
    nilufar shermatova, cecile valeron mmaacv,
Kaтя Пaлий, nelu medina, maryati pujiman,
cida oliv, thaizth mendezt, katell seignoux,
lorena ramirez, taylla kamylla, keyza adelia putri,
kelly martins, emma ryan, carnevale chiara,
douce tusorapas, sonia de flaviis,
              carmen antonela, rosalia delgado,
delpine lafontaine -, cegail rapley,
            ariel alear, aghori aaleem,
                   florine fremont, mary HM,
dorota zarzycka, tayana zakh, megan barfield,
helena maria soares, jan lose, perrine kali-yoga,
annie zhou, angel mawar, sabrina muhlberger
(that's with an umlaut hovering above the "yew"),
sylvie lescan... ****'s sake the list is endless!

i'm bored of listing all the "friend" suggestions...
all of them: women!

don't blame me! blame the algorithm!
i've never seen these women!

     nope... life's not interesting enough to be
fully sober...
not even close... life's make more sense drinking
and typing typos: finding TY-POS...
i don't imply: drinking in your face...
on the street with other winos...
i mean: drinking alone, at night...
   listening to foxes... spotting a rat scuttling...
admiring the moon...
thinking: how does one not write
a Chinese haiku... how does one?

    i'd love to find a woman that could cook
better than me...
i truly: would love to...
keeping the chicken at best the highet
of 165 degrees Fahrenheit...
medium rare beef... hmm... debatable...
145 degrees Fahrenheit is probably my maximum...
****... i think we're questioning 125...

i'm yet to find a woman who's...
pedantic about:
not butchering a piece of beef steak twice...
i can't... butcher a piece of meat twice:
corrupt it with the Arabic tendency
to obscure the fresheness of blood...
and that: stale... yuck... sawdust...
beef overcooked... in the format of steak...
i can't butcher a beef twice:
we know... it's obvious...
the males are segregated for the meat
while the females are kept for the milk...
no irony...
                  
          it was preordained:
no point cowering away from the cruelty
by replacing authentic meat with
vegetable substitutes...
or... synthentic cat-food pseudo-proteins...
or bean-burgers...
i sometimes roam the fields in Essex
and see the horses...
well... aren't you the lucky ones?
shouldn't you be... extinct?!

                   shouldn't they? why would you
need a horse... when you have a bicycle...
when you have a car?!
so... why keep them?
i'd love to pet a horse...
i loved riding horses...
not ******* Lamborghini no
rich boy ******* Ferrari will ever compare
to riding a horse through a forest
at full gallop!

               not even if i were getting a blow-job
in a car... speeding... in those sort of cars...
no... nein nein nein nein!

i'm immune to envy of that sort...
i'm against society as such...
  what?!    Q = ?!
                 isn't the western tradition invested
in individualism?!
                                   q

why would i need a car when living
in London...
when... i can cycle around London and back
in about 5 hours...
take the train to Liverpool St. in about 30 minutes...
i don't have to:
a) think about paying for parking
b) ditto about paying for road tax
c) m.o.t.
d) e) f) g) and any imaginary points
you might conjure...

               now... you give me a horse?
the game changes... i'd love something larger
than the already Maine **** cat that could come
across as a poodle (no, not a puddle)
size-wise...
    i love the coyness of horses...
            they really do require you to become
patient with you...
unlike those ****** of dogs that can immediately
run up to strangers and blah blah tail wiggle
and: whatever...
cats... semi-, on the spectrum...
horses though... brooding *******...
they take oh so long to gain their trust...

i was roaming the fields, the forest at night...
blasted: beyond comparison...
i forgot my apple,
i forgot my cube of sugar...
came across a herd of them...
gave one of them my hand to...
nibble... it nibbled...
then retracted: are you mad!
you're implying i'm readily willing to
eat man-flesh?!
it buckled... glancing my forehead
with its hind hoofs...
"buckled"... no...
the ****** almost knocked me out...
because it started nibbling on my fingers
"thinking" i might have a treat
of an apple in my hand...
massive teeth... buck-tooth...
even more massive hoofs...
    
         i sort of wished he knocked me out...
the last "thing" i would have seen
was the moon...
and the sheen of lubrication
of quicksilver pouring over almost everything...
like a: liquidified mirror...
        just like that: like a liquidified mirror...

how long will this tyranny last?
    i want to be as old as Plato and be as exhausted
as Plato...
and still retaining my heterosexual flaovuring...
of that rancid old man...
until that time comes...
        at my peak: i want to play with my
yo-yo...
                all the women that are interested are
either single mums or married women...
young girls are uninteresting:
i'm not a predator... i'm a herder...
         young girls are boring...
"boring": i.e. unrelatable...
    the sexes have diverged beyond
compensation...
                          funny that:
i'd rather spend an evening with a bottle
of whiskey than with a woman...
with a bottle of whiskey and my own thoughts
than with a woman...
                     even i am struggling to comprehend
this anomaly...
      
why talk? when you can be left alone
foraging for new music?!
akin to keluar's - vitreum?
                        i get the romance part...
but... the plan part i don't get...
   the plan being: i work... i work... i have no socks...
i pretend to have underwear...
i work... i work... i do overtime...
i come back home and... and...
     who does the cooking?! i hate her cooking!
she always overcooks the pasta!
she under-seasons the sauce!
                she can't do **** with yeast!
i make my own pizza... i cook my own food...
i get the romance aspect being sold:
but... what's the plan?!

           she already has children by some
other ****-wit...
i get the romance bit... but... what's the plan?!
i can cough up: pretty much all of my earnings for
her and her *******... i can make concessions...
by then: there's the plan...
but there's no longer the romance...

by now:
do i really want more? than simply a bed to sleep in?
can life afford me
any emotional adventure?
do i want it?
              i like my own company
too much to let anyone share it with me...
not out of a feeling of superiority...
just out of necessity... almost god-like...

         habitually: i'm just not used to having
people increment the details of my personal life...
i like them: behind a membrane...
a niqab...
                 i don't care where you put them:
i just dont want them near me!
except for the children and the animals...
i could spend an eternity with these two
classifications...

                 one night with Sharon Stone...
when Sharon Stone was Sharon Stone
and when te 1980s where the 1980s...
she just reminds me of: Samantha....
kissing Milena..
            
                               i really miss these girls..
i hope they forget me
with a burning: sensation ...

history will not be kind to us...
we'll be a laughing-stock of the ages...
let us pass.... let us pass:
into the lava lamp of Hades.
Marta C Weeks Aug 2022
My favorite tree in our yard
is bare
And every time I look out
It’s bareness
Swallows me in feelings of loss
When first
Leaves turn colors like loved ones
last breath
Leaving arms that once held me
only memories
Of once arms on a body
Love-filled
Even when branches tossed by winds
like sticks
From a life once well spent
full again
Lush regalia crowds over each other
with memories
Of happy times return and memories
dunks deep
Into my gut, how it was
hate that,
For love reminds how painful loss
can be
When love’s arms  go from barren
To lush

8/30/22
@ Changes by Marta Masis Delgado
(aka) Adint-Weeks
A still small voice spoke to me last night,
inviting me to the Eternal Light!

I have prayed fervently:  “Lord, my soul to keep!”
then rolled under the covers and went back to sleep.

Disobedience is humankind's downfall...
we constantly fail to heed the call.

Straining and striving to reach our peak,
we ignore the call and play Hide and Seek.

Nothing ever satisfies us; we're left High and Dry...
empty inside,  no matter what we try!

Be Faithful to what we've heard and read!
But fail to awaken and get out of our bed.

Life is fleeting like a vapor.
We're going to be  judged; did we love our neighbor?

In the end, only Love will  last!
Everything's else is destined to pass.

Regret is a terrible burden to carry.
Trust in The Lord!  Do not tarry!

That still small voice may never speak again.
This may be your last chance.  Amen.




By Milton L. Delgado
March 29, 2019
Will we ever stop to praise and thank you Love,

as we muddle through our days?

We are consumed by idol worship,

addicted to the current craze.

You are the creator of all things, thus,

we are instructed to believe;

but it's much too hard a concept,

for us to accept or conceive.

The Alpha and Omega are calling...

the power from which we came;

all else is destined to vanish, only love,

in the end, will remain.

Unaware of where we are headed,

opened eyes that cannot see...

deceived by worldly pleasures,

do we really want to be set free?

By Milton L. Delgado
June 5, 2018
En el aro ligero de la luna
canta para mí solo un ruiseñor.

A cada golpe de oro de su pico
brota en el aire una constelación.

Canta el pájaro pardo dulcemente
y se eriza de plumas y palor.

Cuando se pone el pecho más delgado,
dice mucho más clara su canción:

Morir, acaso, es continuar un sueño
de luna en luna, y de sol en sol.
En tu frente descansa el color de las amapolas,
el luto de las viudas halla eco, oh apiadada:
cuando corres detrás de los ferrocarriles, en los campos,
el delgado labrador te da la espalda,
de tus pisadas brotan temblando los dulces sapos.

El joven sin recuerdos te saluda, te pregunta por su olvidada voluntad,
las manos de él se mueven en tu atmósfera como
pájaros,
y la humedad es grande a su alrededor:
cruzando sus pensamientos incompletos,
queriendo alcanzar algo, oh buscándote,
le palpitan los ojos pálidos en tu red
como instrumentos perdidos que brillan de súbito.

O recuerdo el día primero de la sed,
la sombra apretada contra los jazmines,
el cuerpo profundo en que te recogías
como una gota temblando también.

Pero acallas los grandes árboles, y encima de la luna,
sobrelejos,
vigilas el mar como un ladrón.
Oh noche, mi alma sobrecogida te pregunta
desesperadamente a ti por el metal que necesita.
Valeria Chauvel May 2020
Así se pasa la vida,
escribiendo en un papel
queriendo escupir al cielo.

Estoy harta de rogar a pies    
por querer tener palabras
ante venenosas carcajadas
que citan a la inmaculada ley.

Me abraza el delgado manto del Frío  
y dejo que me toquen.
Me entrego a las quimeras
bebiendo el vino de las calles
guardando el pan en mi sostén.

Tengo que fingir orgasmos
con la daga enterrada en mi piel
y mi nombre dejarlo a un lado    
cuidadosamente doblado.

Aprendí a no reconocerme en el espejo
cuando del cuello me agarraban.
Yo era esa dulce agonía
que enriquecía etiquetas de gala.

Desde niña me dijeron que tenía que ser fuerte
y coser mis palabras si quería comer.        
Nunca dejó de caer sangre de mi nariz      
ni de masturbarme con la ternura de insultos.  

No era yo merecedora del jardín de Dios,
era la niña del Diablo, la que comió la manzana.
Tan impura que no fui digna de cuna de oro      
y en el suelo tuve que sepultar la sal.

A mi madre también la violaron.
Relucían claramente sus lágrimas,
esas que la noche no logra desaparecer.  

Yo sabía que era un hombre de inmunidad
heredada, tomada, comprada,    
los pocos recipientes de Dios y su justicia
que figuran el tesoro divino y la tierra santa,
legado restringido para todos los oscurecidos.

Y aunque ella nunca dijo nada,
fueron los muros, los que no guardaron,
el nudo que llevaba en su garganta.

Bajo la sombra de la otredad
el refugio es la luz de la luna;
aunque es fácil sentirse dócil y venal
cuando el sol es tirano y opaca a nuestra urna.
https://open.spotify.com/track/0uT8E3vrqnTpuivD9XGwQt?si=YAnuBuCOSMeWoL0ZlQA98g
“It was three weeks after fasting,
I was praying with heart and soul:
pleading to The Lord that He help me,
that He hasten to me and console;

then one day in April as I stood by a mighty river:
I looked and suddenly there before me appeared a
vision that caused be to shiver!

The vision was about to speak to me,
I grew pale and weak with fright-
then fell to the ground face downward
unable to bear the sight.

His eyes were like pools of fire,
had feet and armed like polished brass.
And like the sound of a mass of people
His voice roared strong and vast.

He placed his hands upon me.
I was lifted up from the ground;
My knees began to tremble,
as the voice began to resound:

'Oh Dear Daniel, beloved of God,
listen to what I have to say:
Do not fear for I have been sent here
to answer your prayer this day!

Soon a might battle will come to pass,
evil powers will fight against The Lord;
but God's faithful will hold firm until the end...
then the righteous shall receive their reward at last.


Adapted from the Book of Daniel,
Chapter 10 - The living Bible.
Words & Music
By Milton L. Delgado
Joshua Mar 2021
Como Ganar Musculo Para Hard Gainers Parte 1


Cada persona tiene un diferente tipo de cuerpo por naturaleza. Hay personas con el metabolismo alto, otras que acumulan mucha grasa porque no queman tantas calorías, personas con huesos grandes, pequeños, etc. En este caso, lo que voy a presentar es como ganar masa muscular para los hardgainers (las personas que son muy flacas por tener un metabolismo alto y quemar muchas calorías naturalmente sin necesidad de ejercicio). Por lo general estas personas tienen un bajo porcentaje de grasa, su cuerpo les pide alimentos que proporcionen energía y ellos mismos son energéticos. Si eres de estas personas, probablemente los músculos se te marcan muy rápido, pero no son grandes en tamaño y nunca has tenido problema con ser gordo. Pues yo soy una de estas personas. Y todas las cualidades que mencione arriba son ciertas en mi caso. Hace mas de 5 meses empeze un desafio conmigo mismo de ganar masa muscular. Hasta el momento, llevo 15 libras ganadas en músculo. De 135 libras a 150. Aquí les comparto lo que he aprendido que me ha ayudado a hacer lo que he logrado hasta el momento.


La primera cosa que tienes que hacer es identificar el tipo de cuerpo que tienes. Identificar que tipo de cuerpo tienes por naturaleza te ayudará a ver que pasos tienes que seguir para la meta que quieres y que plan hacer para llegar ahí. Si no tienes esta información desde un principio puede ser que el camino se te haga muchas veces más difícil y que no mires resultados. Lo que puedes hacer para identificar esto es usar el Phy Rate:




Esto te lo calculan muchas diferentes marcas de pesas. Yo, por ejemplo, estaba en 8 hace unos meses. De acuerdo a Tanita.com  la “clasificación física 8 es un cuerpo delgado y musculoso. Esto significa que tiene una cantidad baja de grasa corporal y un nivel estándar de masa muscular.” Sin embargo, esto fue después de hacer gimnasio y subir de peso durante varias semanas, así que probablemente empecé en 7. Ahora estoy en 5. La “clasificación física 5 es estándar. Un tipo de cuerpo estándar significa que tiene niveles promedio de grasa corporal y masa muscular. Las personas con un tipo de cuerpo estándar pueden progresar mucho cuando comienzan a hacer ejercicio.” Y dependiendo de donde te encuentres, el plan que es recomendado seguir.


Sin embargo, tienen que entender que la naturaleza de su cuerpo no define hasta dónde pueden llegar con él. Una persona con sobrepeso y una persona extremadamente flaca puede llegar a tener un buen fisico si le meten dedicación y las técnicas adecuadas. Así que, identificar el tipo de cuerpo que tiene cada uno es una forma de hacer el proceso más eficiente, no una forma de buscar excusas. Porque todos pueden llegar a donde quieren.

En conclusión, encuentra el tipo de cuerpo que tienes y en base a esto haz tu plan dietético y de ejercicio para llegar a tu meta. No te detengas con excusas de que no tienes un cuerpo naturalmente propicio a un buen físico porque todos los cuerpos pueden ser moldeados. Todos podemos llegar a nuestras metas.
Doir Nov 2020
Waterfalls, Duck tails, Pomade coifs
Up tight, Stuff shirt, Parental scoffs
Boar bristle, nylon, Fuller brush man
All summer long, Surf-side tan

Chinos, Polo, Wing tip shoe
Jewel T, Helms, Good Humor too
**** Clark, Teen club, cruising’ the strips
Customized Levi, Hugging one’s hips

Johnson, Edlebrock, Holly, Carter
Appleton’s, Baby moons, Delco starter
“Uptown”, Wall of sound, Kudos to Phil
Fats on the ivory, Blueberry hill

Influenza, polio, pandemic scares
National pride, Nam, County fairs
Calling dibs, Coonskin cap, Watching Ed
Bologna sandwich, two bit bread

Twitchin’, *******’, Juvenile lingo
Going study, Making out, Back seat bingo
Fuzzy Dice, Give the bird, Afterschool jobs
Angora yarn, Brodie knobs

Late nights, Swappin’ spit, lover’s lane
Far out, Class ring, hanging on a chain
Button collar, Pendleton, Saddle shoes
Thongs, go-go boots, Monday blues

Prom date, Limos, Boutonnieres
Parental sanction, sundry fears
Dad in an Edsel, Souped up short
Mom wears brogans, smart retort

Cool, a blast, *******’, uptight
**** and *****, out-of-sight
Race for pinks, toolin’ around
Stoked, ****-*** AM sound

Raunchy on the radio, two dollar bill
Tina Delgado, she’s alive, still
Channeled, Dagoed, Nosed and Decked
Broken curfew, lunar effect

Twice pipes, Bookin’, split and spaz.
Rock and Roll, a little Jazz
A smatter of country, a wee bit folk
*** a ***, Jinx, you owe me a coke

Jump bad, Jelly roll, on the horn
Five page essay, Teachers scorn
Wasted, ****, wiped out, wired
Toolin’, shine it on, Never tired

Solid, ******, Sosh or Stud
Crusader Rabbit, Elmer Fudd
Scarf, shotgun, Surfer chick
Fink, Flake, Far out, Flick

Greaser, Glass-pack, Stacked or Square
Midnight auto, Bee-hive hair
Lay some scratch, Dork or Dude
Score some *****, if you could

Hangin’, haulin’, Hip and Hodad
Simply rad or acting bad
Bogart, bread, brew and ******
Righteous, groovy, endless summer

Cooties, Dip stick, Groady to the max
Right on, Righteous, Just the facts, Jack
Foxy, Fuzz, Far-out and Fink
Big Boy, Harvey’s, Skating rink

What a drag, Dibs, Chevy van
Have a cow, your old man
Knocked up, ******, What a ditz
Stud, The man, Date night zits
As a teen in the 1960's this may make sense to you. Local name of Delgado is from the Los Angeles area radio.

— The End —