Sticks

Beating the sticks
The bandit rehearses his moves
On the soft cushion

The Bard

He, my little artsy son,
His wings in full display

A Prince in a large stage

Ode to a simple Life

Life is Short
We all know
Or leaned or discovered
One way or another
And there is charm and health
In leaving it as a productive life
Surrounded by family and friends
Isolated from the currents of the world
From what has always been for me
A small life
One that I rejected
A large life in a community
That shows up
For your last goodbye.

Future

This little boy 

Making Plans, work, hobbies, family

He does not seem mine

Seasons

I love winter for its whiteness

I love spring for its greenness and light

I love the seasons of my boy

Spring White

Spring snow
Both soft and sharp

Slash my cheeks

Roughing it down

I skied all day today
Not used to crash rocks and stumps
Yet rare that I do not hurt.

Clock Is Ticking

My time is accelerating

Or so I think or so I feel or so it seems

Yet I am stuck in a past swirl

A Week

A week to remember
A sudden passing, a school scare
A week of fragility

bye Joe

You departed at dawn

Left four flowers in the storm

Life played a bad trick on you

It took you too soon

nobodies fault

Anything else?
No that was it I've got it
I'm kind of busy

an uneasy feeling

It came to my mind
in the latest times
that watching old movies
and new
and videos of recent years
all flicks of artists passed
that we watch
that we perpetuate
repeated movements
repeated words
repeated gestures
now mechanically performed
void of human life
a cheap Morel invention
accessible urbi et orbi
not just in a retired island
at the tips of our fingers
and it leaves sad
and happy to see my heroes
and triste to understand
that they will not create no more
a single note
a single verse
a single smile.
I am afraid
that I can know understand
my parents nostalgia
for their childhood saints.
I have lived in the now
hand in hand with my world
maybe now it is a moment
to reset in my mind
the true speed of time.

Sábados

Este pequeño café Etíope
Es lo que más me acerca al Nilo
Torrente furioso inalcanzable

aguas (escrito por mi padre)

Cataratas es un lugar cautivante 

En el cual aparece la magia Guaraní 

En forma de lluvia ascendente.

Besos húmedos de fragancia rubí 

Ceibo en flor y canto de aves.


AEI

Dos Narices

Cuatro patas cada cual
Largas orejas y ojos ansiosos
Sus narices húmedas

Americanizado

Conversaba con mi hijo
Sobre filosofías lejanas
Y recordando una foto de Miranda
Le comenté que de volver
De si ese eterno gardeliano
Volver ocurriera
Definitiviamente me verían
Como la vieron a ella
Con su sombrero de Frutas
Distinto, cambiado, influido,
Pero a la vez igual.
Así me siento yo,
Así me sentía de más jóven
En algo han influído estos años
En estas tierras turbulentas
Que me han dado paz y familia
Pero aún me escatiman
Me esconden, me confunden
Mi propósito.
Mi vision.

back pain

It has been there

silent, persistent, all winter

Am I growing old?

happiness is a kite

His eyes too large for his face

His hands too small to catch it all

His smile welcomes each soaring kite

Slow day

Dreading to be working

On a beautiful Spring Saturday
Slow, and yes, cloudy skies

awkward

unsung songs i fail to sing
yet in many moments of stress and of grim
i start them with all my heart

On Earth

Everyone is afraid
Me, my last five minutes

It is natural

Purgar

Ser Argento implica

Vivir con la idea de esas islas

Marcadas con fuego

En tu hipotálamo

Al nacer

En el centro de tu ser

Y estar obligado a rememorarlas

A bendecirlas

A añorarlas

Año tras año

Hasta el fin de tus días 

Sin presentar un disenso

Un pero un punto suspensivo una coma. 

Pero para mi fueron

Ese Averno helado

Que se llevó la vida de tantos

Una generación anterior a la mía 

Que se hunda en el océano

Que se pierda en los hielos

Sus rocas no valen una sola vida

De mis compañeros. 

Chau, y si te he visto,

Sabes, no me acuerdo. 

Fool all the time

On a spring prank
Woke up to wet water
My boy is growing

I.T.

The idea, the expectation, the process, the void, the feelings, the before and the after
How to approach my own mortality
When yesterday I thought there was more life than time?
Maybe start calling it by its name?

Better not to talk about certain things

Fools of us
Who love to write
For a Month
Non stop
Til the lights
Of the 30th
Come to die
Fool of me
Swim I will
The waters I never
Dared to try
Those of  death
and of dying
Explore I will
What I feel
What I thought
I am getting
Any younger
Not
Time to talk
To me
About that

Merry Month
To All

Mountains

<BLANK May 2017 >



I open this blank poem
Years later after I started it
Many things happened since then
A list that does not fit in one page
In a poem
Plenty of water came down the Mountains
Plenty of times We went there
To walk them,
Breathe them
Enjoy them.
Maybe the best decision we made
Was to move here
Away from all.

Invisible Gaps

It is Ir'n, daddy, 

Corrects my boy as I speak

English with my Latin trained mind

He does not understand 

I need to pronounce all letters I see

In the word Iron

His little mind tries, patiently,  

to understand

Why I fail so misarably

At such an easy task

And he repeats effortlessly

It is Ir'n, daddy. 

 

yo

The word ' I ' is always capitalized

While 'we' is not. 

Can a languaje be more idiological?

Catching Up

I came short
After a month of verses
Spring too busy

Two hours

I would love have
Two hours to lay on the grass
Clear  mind and calm

Loyal Worker?

Loyality Day
On the International Workers Day
Demands Loyal Worker!?

Thank you for the fish

Time to add and sustract
How many days have we have lived
How many poems remain.

Trampoline

Flop and flip
Up in the air and back
My boy

Gone?

A blank page
No ideas pouring out
Did I dry out?

Awe!

Earth Day
This wet rock we call home
Is. Beautiful.

Sudden trip

It snowed hard
Up in the crests and ridges
Not staying in the plains

friday out

Pijama party at school
Movies, pizza and friends
Childhood is beatifull

Los Abuelos

el mate limpio en la pileta
la cama vacía y sin sábanas ya
el silencio calla su partida

At last

It is beatiful
The rain falls on the plains
Thristy after winter

Tired

Sitting meditative
A spring storm brewing over us
As new opportunity sails

Aloneness

A winter far time ago
I passed being in a shelter with other people,
Christmas alone in Stockholm

 

Abuelos

Tener a los papis de visita
Es como tocar el cielo con las manos
Hasta que ruegas que la tierra se abra!

Next moves

When a branch runs dry
Should I stay and persevere
Or jump as a skirrel?

Off-Siter

Cloudy sky
Hot coffee at hand
Commuter's life

Rama familiar

Rosquellas de Rossi
Rama ignota de mi árbol familiar
No floreció en primavera

Viajes

Roca, roquita, rocaza
Inestable en el pedernal colorado
Qué opinas de la velocidad

Peace

There are in life many things,
Playing an instrument, flying, hiking El Angel
I soing regret not.

Infinite?

Son in craze
Mountains high in full spring
Does patience exist?

Colors

What's the color of the clouds?
It's the color that spring brings.
But what about in fall?

Love

What risks to take
How far in the future can we see
Would you live by Love Canal?

Realizations

That sharp little moment
When you share lenses with your sweet mom,
You realize what aging is.

Now and often

Time, that rigid
Invisible, omnipresent river,
Sudenly stops.

Paths

Stuck in temporality
Yet movement hints advancement
What will blooms bring?

Home new home

Mountains heavy with snow
Bison roaming in the horizon
Front yard of our new home

Spring?

Sleepy happy mornings
All covered in white snow
Spring!  Spring?

Universe in a Pond

Emilio and Lulú swim fast
Rocco and Jackjack on the rocks close by
Papi tales bring sleep and calm

Tormentoso

Estoy confundido
En las tormentas de nieve de prinavera,
Caen copos o pétalos?

Tontos de Abril

El reloj, el tiempo
Torpemente intentando enderezarla
Solo una línea en la vida.

Late in the race

At this point in life, My life, 

I must admit my ever lateness

April is no exception

FUN?

Yoko Ono screams Fun on a billboard

War is Fun for those waging it, a writer finds

Could that be why the world is burning?

The end of a road

I see my career in shambles 

Like a train wreck on arid land

Could the dessert bloom in Spring?

*Old man in sorrow- Van Gogh*

PrimeroDeMayo

El primer día del mes está terminando

No hay en el aire ese optimismo

Con el que Abril había empezado

❌⭕️⭕️

⭕️❌❌

❌❌⭕️

P&L

I know of many presidents

The little voice in the back seat recalls

Which one talked about peace and love?

Blue sky

Teetering at the edge of bankrupcy

I try and I walk

Towards that promised blue sky

Preview

Scooting under the intense spring flowering

I had today a preview of things to come

Not again, rules, more rules Daddi?

Embrace

Maybe it is time for me to embrace

My fears and insecurities

As the land welcomes the Spring

First, redux

Only a fool

Would take this for Spring

Winter, leave the stage!

Is there?

Is there a writer in me

Hidden fearful oppressed

Waiting to bloom again?

Late start

A friend just reminded me

Of a public demonstration

Decades ago, 

33 years to be precise

Listening to who then was president

Announcing the invation

Of far away islands

I was there, by a statue

With friends calling this idiot

A drunk, an intoxicated person

Sending our country down a crazy path

A path of war, where the other would be killed

Not him, the drunk president

And suddenly I realize

That one of those little heads

At the base of the white pyramid

Screaming

One of those heads

One of them

It was me. 

July First

Unsolicited, unfriendly

the first of the month came

and left us alone 

sad 

naked

So long April ...

A good songs show

As he springs into his third season

All is good at home

A Fidel, mi otro Abuelo

Te fuistes cuando tenía nueve

Apenas pude conocerte

Supe de tus luchas y pobrezas

Tu bondad y entrega

Tu carrera tardía

Creo que tengo tu genio

Huraño, montañes 

Las fotos nuestras 

Son lo que queda

De los momentos que pasé contigo. 

Y recuerdo la mañana

En que papá llegó llorando

Llovía en la ciudad de las acequias

Te fuistes con la lluvia

Como huyendo de tu encierro

Nunca antes ni después 

Lo vi llorar. 

The rain drop

The pleasure of walking

Under cold pouring spring rain

Is very short lived. 

A mi Abuelo

Te recuerdo de repente en la noche

En la mañana y en la siesta

Hace treinta años que te fuistes

Y recordarte me duele tanto

Tanto como cuando te lloré

Solo en aquel río lejano

Solo en aquella noche de verano

Y el dolor se hace suave caricia

Suave gracia

Te fuistes pero estás

Paradójico. 

Monday otra vez

The train stops 

The grey station finale

How did I make it today?

Con mi hijo, feliz

Plantamos un árbol

Comimos panchitos en el calor

Caminamos por el barrio 

Dos Gigantes

Sábado de trabajo

Descarrilado por el dialogo

De dos gigantes

En un video recuperado

Del fondo del tiempo

Como llamados por su partida

Neruda y Gabo

Poesía y novela

Intimidad y Bistek 

Según sus palabras

http://prodavinci.com/2014/04/20/artes/la-fnpi-nos-muestra-a-gabriel-garcia-marquez-entrevistando-a-pablo-neruda/

Not Mine

A powerful enegy 

A group planting trees far all 

A sense of not owning

Greening

Newly seeded soil

Seedlings in spring

A happy sprouting tree

Nitenite

Seven minutes to midnight

In a hurry sketch a spring verse

Six minutes I am done

Conectado a Tierra

Out of the blue sky

today

My Nico asked 

What is inside a tree

He climbs them

Hugs them

Smells them

But what is inside trees, Dadi?

I said wood to be tall and 

Water for the leaves and 

Food for the roots.

Seeing them still without leaves

He sadly realized: 

Roots must be so hungry!!

En-tangled

Entangled mess

I cornered my life into

Two wait for me to unknot it

Breathe

I almost hit a biker       

Today                           

Off the corner of my eye  

I saw                                

A ghost                              

Through the windshield          

Of the car on my side               

Rushing on his bike                     

Across my path                               

Red for him                                             

Just green for me                                                     

Today                                                                                    

I almost disabled a man                                                                          

I breath not.                                                                                                          

Pascuas

Easter came on the twentieth this year

Not that such shakes much in me

But hints at how much I have changed

From my early days. 

By Two

To have or to have not

Separately dreaming the same dream

A decision of two is

Rey Invierno

A star was born... 

Strong, firm, decided, one Spring

Yet later whithered

Not Safe

It is very important

For me not to play it safe

Try it, expand, it is now

Time to talk.

Honorable people of Ukraine

Have you heard of the horrors 

Of the Yugoslavian desintegration?

Silent

Near a quiet beach

My loves are far away

I cannot find myself

Buho

An owl in my yard

Under the spring moon

Does not know how lucky am I

Goals

A life chasing goals
A life pursuing goals
Charming delusions over the horizon

Calm

The boy is fast asleep

The mom is back and safe

All is calm and carry on. 

Luminous

It is happening 

Just more frequently now

That I get to see it. 

I see it in his eyes

Suddenly, Spontaneously

A dash of light

His little finger points

As in tense standoff

A puff of air

A new understanding

And he runs with his new idea

Riding on wild words

Knitting them together

Conquering his world. 

Sun

Gardening all day in the Sun

Forgot all about poems and rhymes

My Son got all my attention today

And my love, and my energy and my breath. 

Snail Day

Slow day

Woke up with a slow whisper

Slow goodbyes

Slow nitenite

Saturdays are not

The blast they used to be

eARTh

Always been pulled 

Misteriously by these forces

Earth and Art

Yet forced them

Against all odds

Transform me not

Time to find myself?

Dear Xavier High School, and Ms. Lockwood, and Messrs Perin, McFeely, Batten, Maurer and Congiusta:

I thank you for your friendly letters. You sure know how to cheer up a really old geezer (84) in his sunset years. I don't make public appearances any more because I now resemble nothing so much as an iguana.

What I had to say to you, moreover, would not take long, to wit: Practice any art, music, singing, dancing, acting, drawing, painting, sculpting, poetry, fiction, essays, reportage, no matter how well or badly, not to get money and fame, but to experience becoming, to find out what's inside you, to make your soul grow.

Seriously! I mean starting right now, do art and do it for the rest of your lives. Draw a funny or nice picture of Ms. Lockwood, and give it to her. Dance home after school, and sing in the shower and on and on. Make a face in your mashed potatoes. Pretend you're Count Dracula.

Here's an assignment for tonight, and I hope Ms. Lockwood will flunk you if you don't do it: Write a six line poem, about anything, but rhymed. No fair tennis without a net. Make it as good as you possibly can. But don't tell anybody what you're doing. Don't show it or recite it to anybody, not even your girlfriend or parents or whatever, or Ms. Lockwood. OK?

Tear it up into teeny-weeny pieces, and discard them into widely separated trash recepticals [sic]. You will find that you have already been gloriously rewarded for your poem. You have experienced becoming, learned a lot more about what's inside you, and you have made your soul grow.

God bless you all!

Kurt Vonnegut

http://m.huffpost.com/us/entry/4964532

The power of one

On the morning rush

To get through the door,

The dogs, the cat

The accident in the kitchen

The crying boy,

Sitting on the rail

A deep regret assails

Remembering, thou

That his lunch

Sits on the board. 

A year already

The year rolled over me

Leaving joy and misshaps

Longing for gentle April

Solo Un Tonto

Only a Fool

Could commit on this Spring day 
To a full month of Poetry

Everglades

In the wintery waters

A turtle, dove. 

And the dove flew away.