En la mañana oigo los coches
que no pueden
arrancar.

A lo mejor, entre los árboles,
hay pájaros así,
que tardan en lanzarse
al diario vuelo,
y algunos nunca lo consiguen.

Me alegro cuando un auto,
enfriado por la noche,
recuerda al fin la combustión
y prende sus circuitos.
Qué hermoso es el ruido
del motor,
la realidad vuelta a su cauce.

¿Cómo le harán los pájaros
para saber en qué momento,
si se echan a volar,
no corren ya peligro?

¿Qué nervio de su vuelo
les avisa
que son de nuevo libres
entre las frondas de los árboles?

Fabio Morábito

Oliverio Girondo, "Llorar a lágrima viva" (1932)

Recuerdos de otras épocas de pintora...

Puede que hayas nacido en la cara buena del mundo
yo nací en la cara mala... llevo la marca del lado oscuro

jarabe de palo

you will find the right words
just you wait and see
they’ll be falling from the rooftops
on a blossom covered breeze
and the song you need to hear
it will be singing through the trees
are you listening?
don’t you see?

you are on the right path
you will realize
the tears are there to leave you
with a brighter pair of eyes
and the pain that you’ve been fighting
is an angel in disguise
it is love
and love is wise

throw your heart into the ocean
throw your heart into the sea
you will find that all the right words
just come out naturally

there’s still time to notice,
still time to believe
that a door at last will open where doubt and darkness used to be
and that the paradise you long for
it’s underneath your feet
whatcha runnin for?
where’ve you been?

throw your heart into the ocean
throw your heart into the sea
you will find that all the right words
just come out naturally
just come out naturally

'The Right Words'

...it's hard to stay mad when there's so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I'm seeing it all at once, and it's too much. My heart fills up like a balloon that's about to burst. And then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it. And then it flows through me like rain. And I can't feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life...

I am a light
a light a light a light
the source of everything
is in our eye-eye-eyes
I see the good in yours
seeing the good in mine

"...una señal, la traición de una señal, la ficción de una señal..."

P. Vinderman

Sin disco duro...

Dile a Kundera que ya basta de amores ridículos,
que quiero aliñar uno de veras, mío por entero,
con hortalizas que compro en el mercado;
que ya basta de diccionarios para interpretar notas a pie de página, que quiero pancartas con letras mayúsculas.
Dile también que basta de libros y citas y poemas, ¡basta!
Que me lo digan en la acera, con el ruido de la calle,
del autobús que calienta motores, de los músicos disecando canciones,
de las motos avanzando por la izquierda.
Que me lo digan y que lo entienda; como en una ensalada verde -
"No, no, nada de condimentos, ni salsas, no;
tan sólo aceite y sal, para sentirlo todo"-,
donde la lechuga es lechuga,
y la cebolla, cebolla,
y no me hace llorar.

Tina Vallés (Barcelona, España, 1976)

Esther Williams and family

via http://loverofbeauty.tumblr.com/

Pero soy una esclava del dolor y lo adoro
como adora el avaro el sonido del oro:
oh, terrible tormenta de relámpago y rayo,
en tu fuego revivo, en tu fuego desmayo.

Alfonsina Storni

Agnes Obel - Riverside

Down by the river by the boats 
Where everybody goes to be alone 
Where you wont see any rising sun 
Down to the river we will run 

When by the water we drink to the dregs 
Look at the stones on the river bed 
I can tell from your eyes 
You've never been by the Riverside 

Down by the water the riverbed 
Somebody calls you somebody says 
swim with the current and float away 
Down by the river everyday 

Oh my God I see how everything is torn in the river deep 
And I don't know why I go the way 
Down by the Riverside 

When that old river runs pass your eyes 
To wash off the dirt on the Riverside 
Go to the water so very near 
The river will be your eyes and ears 

I walk to the borders on my own 
To fall in the water just like a stone 
Chilled to the marrow in them bones 
Why do I go here all alone 

Oh my God I see how everything is torn in the river deep 
And I don't know why I go the way 
Down by the Riverside

I wear your dress

This is just to tell you that i wear your dress sometimes
the one you made with the gold brocade and the empire waistline
you fitted to your figure when it looked just like my own
that was jersey in the fifties, and the women stayed at home 

so you laid your paper pattern on the table in between
the silverware and napkins and the harper’s magazines
from a slow suburban season that is nothing but a dream
to your granddaughter 

this is just to tell you that i wear your dress sometimes
i wear it down to the bar in town and dance around all night
talking and joking, swearing and smoking like any stranger in a crowd
and nobody stares, nobody cares to tell me i’m not allowed- i am allowed 

and my body, by the letter of the law, is still my own
when i lay down in the darkness, unburdened and alone
with the liberty you’ve given like the clothing you’ve outgrown
to your granddaughter 

this is just to tell you that i wear your dress sometimes


Anaïs Mitchel

by Celezul