"vulcano" poems
Para coger un pan sobre el morrillo
Dando pecho y axila a los pitones,
Juan, anónimo Juan, Juan Torerillo
No recibiste clásicas lecciones.
Para llevar a casa veinte duros
Entre la chifla de inhumano coro
Bebiste golpes, aspiraste apuros
Y al aire al suelo al aire y siempre al toro.
Del miedo, que es ingénito en el hombre,
Nació el valor, congénito en el hambre;
Así en la tauromaquia, Juan Sin Nombre
Fue antítesis del gran José Raigambre.
José, nieto de Venus y Vulcano
Fue un semidiós con la esbeltez de Apolo
(Frecuencia tuvo aquel Teseo hispano
En liquidar seis Minotauros, solo).
Mas Juan, el pobre Juan de carne y hueso,
El más mortal de todos los mortales
Opuso a sal valor, arrojo al seso
Y "molinetes" contra "naturales".
Tres siglos en la historia del toreo
Se derrumbaron ante dos colosos:
Del morisco e hispánico alanceo
Hasta el futuro en los taurino cosos.
Y Joselito muestra al horizonte
Toda una enciclopedia en su percal.
Y remata sus lances Juan Belmonte
Con su "media verónica" renal...
La Muerte se disfraza de capricho,
Y en la más increíble paradoja
Subsiste quien vivió a merced del bicho
Y muere quien "¡no hay toro que lo coja!"...
Quedan atrás los años de la infancia:
Sevilla y su noctámbula capea...
Como un Jasón, Juan, en su rica estancia
Mira en la tauromaquia una Medea.
Porque si en su niñez fue Juan Sin Suerte
Y fue en su adolescencia Juan Sin Pan,
Hoy, ya casi un anciano, es Juan Sin Muerte
Porque la Muerte tuvo miedo a Juan.
Y quien burló a la muerte en tantos ruedos,
Mil veces sentenciado por suicida,
Sólo cuando lo quiso, y con sus dedos
Mató su muerte y se quitó la vida...
A Juan, que no toreó por soleares,
Muerto, no he de llorarlo en seguiriyas.
Sean por martinetes mis cantares,
Cante de yunque y fragua y herrerías:
Cristo de la Expiración
Cachorro de los trianeros,
Bríndale tu absolución
Al mejor de los toreros
Cachorro, si en Viernes Santo
Te faltara un penitente,
Asóciate a nuestro llanto
Que es Juan Belmonte el ausente...
1.1k
(By Brook Ilges and
Sverre G. Holter)
There's fire in it. Chestburn. Lungs
And lava, heart in heat; blood
Boiling. When I move,
Steam escapes from between
My ribs.
They cage a dragon's mouth.
*Our edges cauterize
Unable to stabilize this searing
Electric firestorm
We coalesce into colors
Streaming through our nerve
Endings
Pulsing the rhythm of ages
Into the space between our gazes
Your scalding hide sets us apart
A rough reminder of the scars that
Stitch beneath*
Sometimes.
Sometimes I find myself.
Sometimes I find myself
Biting down on
Whatever is left of myself
After the vulcano sighs and
Withdraws its black; its
Ashes; its pieces of planet's
Core, just to hold onto
Something with
Something.
Sometimes I wonder if
The memories of surgical
Sutures are all that keep me
From falling apart.
Take my mouth; I'm saving
My hands for
My heart.
*Darkness falls, low light lingers
I trace the confines of your cage
The lock rusted and still
A key exists, the heart resists
Too damaged to offer naught but numb
Cutting through pumice walls
Fiery thorns thick, penetrate with ease
Such paltry designs of recovery
I'm fading fast
While you still burn.*
And while one of us fades burning,
The other burns fading, and all is as
It all should be, as two stars
Decide not to form a solar system, but
Instead to brush themselves into a painting
Of a dream that a child that has yet to
Become just dreamed; awoke from
And whispered: "I want them to
Be my mother and
Father..."
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 6:14 PM UTC
Baby put this pen in your hand
Now show me the world
Draw me a shooting star and northern light
A bonfire in the summer night
Draw me mountaintops above the clouds
Smiles within a cheering crowd
Draw me the silhouette of a big old pine
A city beneath the great skyline
Draw me a lonely cactus on the desert road
A vulcano that will soon explode
Draw me sunflowers and a honey bee
A child under a big palm tree
Draw me two doves and a sparkling diamond
A red sun setting in the horizon
Draw me air balloons and a waterfall
Every brick on the chinese wall
Draw me the moon and a deep blue lake
A beating heart that will never break
Drop the pen and put my hand in yours
Now show me the world
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 4:36 PM UTC
Clouds as black as a dead
Display embrace the ash grey
Eternity of overhead
Evening heaven-space.
Thunders like legions of Harley-
Davidsons roaring through the
Nearby woods, making
Windows tremble like
Nervous alcoholics under the
Weight of their own empty
Bottles of loved ones' patience
And own dead pride.
The gods are angry tonight.
But so am I.
I open my mouth to the deluge.
I open my soul to the storm.
I get drunk on tsunamis. I fill
Up on snacks of tectonic plate
Movements; pass earthquakes,
Waving vulcano clouds away
From my face, then inhale.
My breath is atmosphere.
My pulse is symphony.
Earth is the rest of me.
I'm as shy as a god.
As humble as the devil.
Marillion tunes; seaside
Stones shaped by brainwaves
Form an absence of need.
All I want is change.
These are my thoughts.
Now show me my penny.
Aug 6, 2015
Aug 6, 2015 at 3:11 PM UTC
Her blood is a running force.
Her temple's hydraulics; the
Instrument of
Her will. She loves like a natural
Catastrophe
Without remorse or contemplation.
Leaving scars in her wake.
When she moves I hear the theme
Song to Raiders of the Lost Ark.
She is my Tomb Raider, my heroine.
I recieve her
Saving me
Like the plot of any
Action movie.
She has blood like a vulcano.
She has love like ashes to bury
Cities.
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 3:36 PM UTC
So is it the time my dear, my dear?
For the holy to be alive
Ah it's the time for lunch?
I'm going my dear, my dear
The retired will be retired even if there's a river
Our heart who keep beating as dum dum and tam tam
Hey hey
The living angel is still here
The thou thine thee of the old books
And the thin palm tree of the old coast
Oh right, the hanged will soon be loosened
Realive! Realive!
Why why
The dragon was exploded and became a vulcano
Fast fast
No much time left get going get going
The deer of my dear is bearing the bear
Ah ah ah
The wilted leaf on my desk
It's a beautifully stinky sting
Keep in mind ahoy ahoy
The fish didn't walk on the land anymore
Oh oh
Our gracious home's ghost is playing happily
Is it lie? Is it real? Is it true? Is it?
The theory that once told
You can't believe it anymore
So we go singing ta ta and dum dum and tam tam and ra ra and walking while dancing and humming while running
Today sure is pretty fast too
Tick-tock tick-tock
It's the time!
The party held from me, by me, and for me (and my dear, my deer, and my bear)
Let's again guard the time
The moon is shining miraculously ugly
Let's slow down for a little bit
The softy tingly whingly
Said
"Have a rest for now, guard"
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 11:24 AM UTC
Sitting on a cloud of poisonous blackened ash
enjoying my fake heaven provided by the best
Amsterdam has to offer.
Keeping up this relentless assault on my lungs
as if I'm trying to turn them into the tar pit
I currently reside in.
A ***** desperate attempt to claw my way
through what I'm coping with.
To put a metaphor into actual reality
by comparing reality and my actions
to an actual metaphor of my reality.
Painting my innards pitch black
because I perceive my outer world
like I'm looking through a veil of darkness.
False flag operations on myself
justified by the Demons residing
in the world that I'm carrying.
In this world that I'm traveling.
Carrying my world like Atlas
but I've lost my way..
wish I could live up to the name..
Google Maps myself back to sane.
It's hypocrit
Because I thrive of this poison
and once my mind is clouded in ash..
the pressure is temporarily relieved
like when a vulcano erupts..
But deep down it's always boiling
always smoldering
blistering cold merely touching my emotions
would leave burnmarks on my hazed out psyche..
So I don't dare touch them, it hurts..
So I don't dare to sleep, I'm scared because pondering hurts..
So I don't dare dream.. because sleeping hurts..
So I remain, blazed out of this world
Disconnected and severed from myself..
Rather face this green Hell than reality itself.
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 3:57 PM UTC
It hurts so bad like a vulcano that keeps calm but just want the lava to cover it all
to swallow the core
vanish
disappear
be a breath
be a feather
I loathe all the ivy of this hell
I wish a " pretty girl" could be enough to light my pages
but so many sighs are unwritten
I am sieving the tiny gleams in the aching paper
I am shielding my words
holding my tongue
taping my mouth and my wings too
choking my soul for fear of being loved for fear of being hated too
numb and bleak as hell like the title of my heart book
I take credit for every spot of blood for every scar
it is all mine
Even the rain
Is it such a piece of cake to fly away from your own claws
Yet I don't want to die so let her torture me ad libitum
so I am never approach
ed
so I am drifting
on the ocean of nothing
knots and pieces of mirror
there are so many thorns under the coton of my dresses
when she asks for something
does she want to save me
I doubt her words
I doubt her face
Even her eyes can lie
There is nothing to read between lines
I am fallen from the nest
licking my wounds in the corner of my room
unable to breathe willingly
Everything is artificial and mostly hurtful
If only I could be a fool again maybe you would read and laugh more as we turn the pages(...)
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 3:18 AM UTC
The only one good thing
was that i never had you,
instead
you bring
flower to my graveyards
and ligth to this empty
painfull
void
full of nothing
but angst
and silence
Where ******* and Mr Fishes
was dancing
with his bloodstained
fingers
tearing
my
golden
hearts.
And if you want to know
it
really
hurts.
But this sea, and this stranger birds
diving the deep of ****** force
of the vulcano
& the rose
seeking a call (a cause)
are now
beautiful
reflections
of you
and
this
sad
fly
Mar 6, 2018
Mar 6, 2018 at 9:50 AM UTC
Escondido debajo de tu armada
Gime el Ponto, la vela llama al viento,
Y a las Lunas de Tracia con sangriento
Eclipse ya rubrica tu jornada.
En las venas Sajónicas tu Espada
El acero calienta, y macilento
Te atiende el Belga, habitador violento
De poca tierra, al Mar y a ti robada.
Pues tus Vasallos son el Etna ardiente,
Y todos los incendios que a Vulcano
Hacen el Metal rígido obediente,
Arma de Rayos la invencible mano:
Caiga roto y deshecho el insolente
Belga, el Francés, el Sueco y el Germano.
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