Friday, 30 December 2016

Regala con sapiencia

Esta Navidad regala con sapiencia,
Dejate de perfumes, corbatas y demás quincallas.
Señora, sí sí usted, no obsequie con bufandas, calzones, ni abrigos. Ni ese Jersey que ni es su talla, y además es un timo.
Déjese de atuendos y demás morralla, que ya me vestiré como yo anhelo y estimo.

Esta Navidad regala con sensatez.
No caigas en amigos invisibles,
dardo de necio en diana de los más viles.
Regala de verdad, sin atuendo ni imposición, que salga del corazón.
Madre con hijo de ingenua apariencia,
que no le atrape ese anuncio de la tele con más audiencia.
Olvide a esa princesa helada y a esos canes que hablan más que ladran. No compre muñecas, tractores ni espadas.
Déjese de cuentos sin fondo ni colofón, que esos de América no se lucren de su tierna flojera sinrazón.

Esta Navidad regala con sesera.
Que a buen recaudo se halle su billetera,
"pues el dinero al ignorante lo hace necio y petutante", y no seré yo quien a ese aguante.
Olvidemos al pelón, que con esa lotería no hay tu tía y suerte nunca tuvo su señoría. Bien merecedor de su cosecha será el que ponga empeño y buena mecha.
Ni acaso con manduca agasaje a sus convidados, ya que dicen que "barriga llena no cree en hambre ajena", y en este país bien los hay con mucha pena. Además "días de mucho, vísperas de nada", y no estamos ni para el derroche ni la fanfarronada.

Esta Navidad regala sin mirar a quien.
Puede que impresione al más iluso.
No discuta, no hostigue, a su enemigo otorgue e incluso mime.
Obsequie si cabe a ese suegro intruso
pues "dádivas quebrantan peñas", y le garantizo mejorará sin duda su Nochebuena, evitando con acierto otra indigesta cena.

Esta Navidad regala cultura.
Ya está bien de masajes, pedicuras.
Esas cremas no las quiero ni en pintura.
Tanta, tanta necia y cansina floritura.
No se preocupe de romper con tradiciones, pues "nunca es tarde si la dicha es buena",
si bien más amena y culta será su verbena.
No encapriche a su ahijado que aún no está bien educado, "pues el que no sabe, es como el que no ve". Alimente pues su vista con un recital sonado. No hay de malo en que haya un nuevo ilustrado.

Esta Navidad regala con ocurrencia.
Hecha un órdago, no te enchiques.
No has de esperar matices, si bien eliges.
Pues "a nadie le amarga un dulce", y algo con delicado gusto ha de disfrutar hasta el más complicado insulso.

Esta Navidad regala sin premisa.
Se bohemio, canalla y absurdo pero con un ingenioso toque lúcido.
Escribe, dibuja, canta o incluso actúa. Sal de ese disfraz y muestranos con gracia algo de tu bravura.
Prueba con un gesto no ensayado,
Un soneto que provoque por sublime,
o quizás un beso a alguien de ti prendado.
Pues de "músico, poeta y loco todos tenemos un poco", y para que negarlo eso usted lo muestra poco.
De devoluciones no te has de preocupar...
Pues el "saber no ocupa lugar"...
Y el tamaño, considerable, puesto que
"ande o no ande caballo grande" y "cuánto más se aprende más se sabe".

Y usted, sí sí usted, objeto de esta prosa, no se queje, no se encoja, no frunza el ceño ni me mire con congoja. Pues
a "caballo regalado no le mires el diente", y este regalo bien se lo hicieron por su agrado. Sin duda a usted le digo que "es de bien nacidos el ser agradecidos" y si usted  no admite la guinda de este envite, denle pues aquello que más antoje pues no seré yo quien en Navidad a usted le enoje.

Thoughtful year

I thought, for just over a minute.
Christmas that time of year...
Emotions suddenly flooded my senses,
while a random spark of images surrended with beauty my mind.
There were good, there were bad.
Memories of those who never came back.
Joy, was like a scream for freedom.
Sadness, delicate piano notes in an empty room.
Dreams, were just pursuing shadows of a better me.
Achievements, bricks of wisdom fulfilling my steps on the very intricate path of life.

Was perhaps the time to describe what has happened, what might I soon become. Well, let's then just begin saying that I was a boy without fear in a dreadfully vibrant year. Decided I was to find myself on a life direction change.

Purpose, that word came to my mind as a big bang, a thunder, a huge wave of power for survival in an nonsense of contemporary written tense.

Myself and the mirror, face to face, destiny in place, battle guaranteed in the most personal bless.

Happiness, that belief, almost made me a time thief. But not. I knew I was not, and I will never be. That word will not define my being. Purpose, it was then. Reasons and not wishes. Soul written facts and not mystic thoughts would guide me towards the very essence of my existance.

Wandering I found that there is no need for wearing a crown. As bolder I get, without much regret, my thoughts will set. Difficult it is to get good grip on this trip if it is no steep. Let's then fool those who never lived on a single moment of belief.

I can tell you there is no path, without moving forward. No romance, in absence of love. Reward, if you do not act toward. Cheer your self up and grow strong. Only look backwards in a lucid moment of mindful inwards.

You are now the germ of tomorrow's long-term. Root well yourself with gratitude in the joyful life soil showing some attitude.

I challenge you now, to think for just over a minute no matter how. While I wish you a happy new year, think what makes you snappy, my dear.

Saturday, 16 April 2016

Tal día como hoy

Tal día como hoy, pausado el tiempo.
Sabor a sueño de despertar eterno.

Luz del día, que con fugaz fatiga la noche abriga.
Llamada cálida golpea los sentidos.

Tras de sí, la mirada permanece atenta.
Reflexión cercana, que traspasa el alma.
Cautivada, sonríe, acaricia, se apacigua.

Es quizás de tanto grito, la palabra sencilla,
que da sentido a tanta malversada rima.

Escapada la pasión, se apaga la vela,
dejando una torpe y desnuda huella.

La multitud silenciosa, amotinados a destiempo.
Danzando, difuminada, una figura se acerca.
No es si no un reflejo de la promesa del mañana.

En un fin de Enero que ya no es triste,
el pensamiento tenuemente se desviste.
Mientras la noche arde, mi voz combativa se desvela.

Surfer dreams

I was born with the sun,
On a bright and glorious morning like today,
Crisp chilled air, woke up my senses, to see the rising tides naming your shape.

I am ready for you,
I’ve been long waiting for this moment, for this moment to come true.
I will not give away all the love, all the love I have that is for you.

Cold and dump may I be, but my feet are wild walking like a horse across the field.
Here I come, your call I feel, of your powerful and mysterious breeze.

I see the waves rolling along your chest,
And the clouds passing by your hair,
Your soft blue eyes covered by longing tears,
Like a baby child seeking for protection, I leave my path without any fears.

Take me away, drift my soul in a loop of hale,
Passionate for you I am, so do not hesitate to make me faint.

I am ready for you,
I’ve been long waiting for this moment, for this moment to come true.
I will not give away all the love, all the love I have that is for you.

Time of the falling leaves

Time of the falling leaves, when all colours dance in peace;
Letting go freeing yourself into the unknown paths of nature.
Feel the warmth and the cold, mixed in perfect bliss;

What lies behind, it does not matter.
It is the time for change, of doing greater;

Look around, cover your eyes in green and brown
Letting the mellow red and yellow, deepen inside your cover of feather.

Enter the labyrinth of shadows and lights,
Where the song of birds, will make you dream
and the ghostly mist will liberate your soul.

Transformed, evolved, ready to battle the winter storm;
you will fly motionless, you will scream silent,
no matter how, you will break the chains of quietness.

Your branches will grow strong and new leaves will flourish,
ready to once again reach the unknown, and if you do not perish,
if your dream was true and was not vanished into the ether...

You will then see with no sight, feel with no senses, and love with no craze.
 Like and angel you will exist in between worlds of wander.
Ready to take once again the steps of thunder.

Resiliently, you will wait for the moment to bloom for eternity.
And like perennial trees, you will finally retain your true self.

Surfing Giants

Clamour whispers knock on my ears,
While warm rays of light start to draw some colour on this misty morning,
Following inner senses, I drive myself into the lands of rocky green valleys,
Where life comes alive in distant silhouette.

A man made path battles the serpentine coastline, in an endless march of unconditional beauty.
My pace starts to follow impulses of harmonic movement,
I feel like just a silent note on the complex symphony of nature.

Cliffs flavoured by a stormy past, contemplate motionless the agitated waters.
A group of shadows stand still ashore, while sea warriors fearlessly paddle the unruled white demons.

Just a thin line of balance, sentences glory or duvious fate.
But those men are born for the trade, and their synchronised moves reach a spot of no return.

Nervous silence announces that the great will rise once more above the horizon.
Suddenly, shades of black and white waters jump out to heavens, just broken by a floating blade cutting along them.

Furious are pushed down again, almost as if Neptuno would had been alerted.
The weight of seas suddenly drops on top of the unknown warrior,
who fights his way down into delicate dancing figures of floating uncertainty.

And the sea walker comes victorious once more, as if forgiven by heavens for his wild but courageous act.
It was as if these warriors were born to amuse the great giants, before sinking into the depths of darkness.

Una noche de Abril

Flores en el alma, y nubes en el corazón,
Errante vela de atisbo en un sueño inalcanzable,

Mojado rostro de una joven de luz tenue.
Esta noche, devota tu mano en mi pecado.

Esta noche, no hay esperas de juzgado.
Dejemos flotar al alba la permuta de la pasión.

Es quizás la sonrosada risa,
de esta eterna premisa,
que arranca a pedazos la brisa,
en mi añorado y viejo rincón.

Quien por entonces promesas tendría,
ni en mil sueños de buscada avaricia,
encontraría tal dulce y salada devoción.

Como la mar creciente al frente de un río bravío,
haya donde los pájaros vuelan deprisa,
Y el silencio tu cuerpo despacio acaricia,
mis pensamientos vagos se enredan en esta confusa rima.

Aquella noche de deseada gentil calima,
en que mi otoño caduco tu estío febril alcanzó.

Once in a red Moon

Above us like a white rounded pearl, the moon was exultant.
That night, the sun and the moon seemed to be just one. Like a perfect silhouette of ancestral worship. A calling gate to an endless universe, which most nights is forgotten in our negligible existence.
But that night, was like no other. While the body was cool, the soul was feeling warmth. The senses were awake, expectant to the predicted but still dreaming, still lost in the vast boundaries which escape our human vision. The darkness was bright, the day was night and the night was day.
There were no time to be lost, escape from the  urban trap of light illusion was a must. Only within nature was possible to read the celestial signs upon us.
The motion could be felt straight away, the darkened moon started to tell us we were just trapped in a tiny world of shadows. Like a powerful dance of meaningful steps, the brightness was giving way to our own powerless reflection.
The beauty was not in the disappearing moon, in our light deterrent planet or even the scattered sunray lights. The beauty was in what the absence of light brought.
The intense white bluish rounded goddess soon was painted into a distant diffused red colour . It was like an innocent bride, losing the wedding dress and letting her lover shape the darkness with caress.
But it was not that which took away the breath of the poet. The magic of that night was not in the leading actors of such romantic scene. It was in the darkness, were suddenly was revealed a full sky of shining stars. Like a choir of distant voices, like an unknown sea unreachable to us. The beauty could not be described, but only felt in an instant of mystic connection with the universe.  It was understood that night, that underlying any of our lives meaningful events there is always much more beyond us.
We can only imagine, only dream about those worlds of infinite magnitude. The more we imagine, the more we dream, the closer they become, and one day we might feel that reality is not only what we see or feel but what we belong to, not to the seas and lands, but to the stars.

A Desparing Song

This is the song of the crying words,

of empty feelings devoted to be listened.

Even if your love was long forever missing.

This is not a screaming act of sentential guilt,

But a poem to the dreams of unforgotten feel.

The one that hits and never disappears.

This is to the trapped men of rottened souvenir,

The ones who carry a full burden of dry tears.

How to sing, when silence is flooded in sins.
If only the past would be as short as present,

or a sweet kiss would drop on the top of your forehead.

Just perhaps then you could feel the perfume of her thoughts,

and dance on the fire of her fine mannered blunt tune,

Whistling back to her steep high heel shoes,

Leaping from a neglected outcast mind into a spark of childish teasing attitude,

Laughter would then invade you man, back into the lush virtues of uncontrolled run.

Just perhaps then, this silent song would have never had a final despairing tone.

The Queen of Birds

Woken up by a blue bright fate

Suspended by feathers cuddling the air.

There she flies, there she flies

Dropped from heaven, mademoiselle debonair

Your wild swinging wings, dance upon us in vibrant waves

Riding the far blowing winds, sails your soul  

What would I say, if the blind would ask,

How to tell once again, if I was to describe

“Tipsy words, spoken by an ancient poet…

confused lines, drawn by a genuine child in a playful colour...

The light mirroring itself in a relucent shapeless trace.

I have seen the white doves blessing,

The beauty of swans resting in her arms,

Flock of seabirds doomed, once in a blue moon

Old fishermen embarking again in a last fairy tail

Rythms of the sea, echoing pure melodic sounds.

What shall you do, when the loosely time is yours?

Just look up, even if you blind.

There she flies, there she flies

Dropped from heaven, mademoiselle debonair,

She, the queen of the birds.

Zapateo de Varas

Ole morena!

Pero que guapa, que arte, y que gracia.
Carisma y figura que tu solo tienes!
Gitana de raza.
Explosión de sentidos, de tu cuerpo se escapan altivos!
Zapateo de rabia, en un rítmico estruendo de pura guitarra flamenca.

Pasión de locura.
Que me maten si mis manos no tocan con gracia, al son de tu bravura.
Movimiento fluido, de un escondido sentimiento, que en mi yacía ya perdido.
Tablao de figuras, que con compás sin ataduras desvelan calor de homenaje a las alturas.

Grito longevo de voz que ha sufrido, pena, amor, tal vez un lamento antiguo.
Baile profundo, de adentro hacia afuera, soltando con agudeza toda tensión con sutil belleza.

Alma transparente, llena de fuego incandescente,
Déjame quemarme para que yo me arranque,
Déjame besar la huella de tu desplante,
Déjame que me enloquezca al mirarte,
A disfrutar del cante, con pie excitado y manos parlantes,
A dejar que la vida por un segundo se escape,
Que ese silencio me atrape,
Para que un día yo me despierte,
 y sin mas razón me harte a mostrar mi parte.