Sunday, September 28, 2008
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Image Of Indian Wife Wear Nylon Stocking
What are the oleanders sad ....
NEIRA dedicated to Jesus, the teacher who taught us what it's like in life.
What are the oleanders sad, because the wind in love
thorns
because you've gone where the fog comes, rinsed
where
white flags and swaying flowers pastors chairs
in rain .. rain and life. That sad
are there so stiff,
which does not erase hallelujah, where butterflies
and goblins
sweep the roofs of the morning,
where there are holes in the puddles
and rides at dawn
between eclipses
clothes and fish and plants that steal the afternoon. That was sad
oleander,
because a door has been wall
have shackled with chains because the wind pushes
kites
for you, a professor of life, has broken the walls
of those who put poison corridors birds.
you, keep walking between clusters, plowing
flows in the shadows, watching
yards passing tiles,
where the sun poured
dialects and the quarrel in court olives, which merges
in soils
flowers and the hills of fire wet with rain.
if ...! You are the colors of the sea and the smell
stamping the waves and cliffs, and aprons
broken gypsies,
those who reap the harvest alba white coves
dissolved in forests. Professor
that are sad
although irrigation,
will water every morning, every day with streams of fig
confident,
for women, for women
are the soles of his steps to
your undefeated stanzas
questioned the hall of seasons, tying with vines
Air
sludge stairs, rushes and rain.
That is sad because
oleander flowers have taken their hats
and strands that underpin the night, waiting for the onslaught
the pitchers
cool oak cabinet with clubs. We will continue looking
vineyards and mists where lie the magicians,
sow with white roses
edges of the mouth of thoughts and latched
oil paintings, sand and close our free
fumes moments of doorways
with sleep pillows where
That sad stories are the oleanders
because they speak with Mayor the breeze, waiting for his train
, staining of kisses
defoliating the attic of the steps, waving
their source and their two pitchers,
stone carving his legacy, where there are waiting
deleted hallelujah,
where butterflies and
goblins sweep the roofs of the morning. That desolate
are cowards,
envious of the sadness of the oleanders,
Because they know .... where you are, giving
life where the flowers sway,
where memories are decorated with lights
aromas and ... winds that devastated
are cowards because you remember the oleanders teacher
because they know that your legacy is stone are
than sad than sad
oleander but ... how beautiful.
© www.quieroayudarte.com 
NEIRA dedicated to Jesus, the teacher who taught us what it's like in life.
What are the oleanders sad, because the wind in love
thorns
because you've gone where the fog comes, rinsed
where
white flags and swaying flowers pastors chairs
in rain .. rain and life. That sad
are there so stiff,
which does not erase hallelujah, where butterflies
and goblins
sweep the roofs of the morning,
where there are holes in the puddles
and rides at dawn
between eclipses
clothes and fish and plants that steal the afternoon. That was sad
oleander,
because a door has been wall
have shackled with chains because the wind pushes
kites
for you, a professor of life, has broken the walls
of those who put poison corridors birds.
you, keep walking between clusters, plowing
flows in the shadows, watching
yards passing tiles,
where the sun poured
dialects and the quarrel in court olives, which merges
in soils
flowers and the hills of fire wet with rain.
if ...! You are the colors of the sea and the smell
stamping the waves and cliffs, and aprons
broken gypsies,
those who reap the harvest alba white coves
dissolved in forests. Professor
that are sad
although irrigation,
will water every morning, every day with streams of fig
confident,
for women, for women
are the soles of his steps to
your undefeated stanzas
questioned the hall of seasons, tying with vines
Air
sludge stairs, rushes and rain.
That is sad because
oleander flowers have taken their hats
and strands that underpin the night, waiting for the onslaught
the pitchers
cool oak cabinet with clubs. We will continue looking
vineyards and mists where lie the magicians,
sow with white roses
edges of the mouth of thoughts and latched
oil paintings, sand and close our free
fumes moments of doorways
with sleep pillows where
That sad stories are the oleanders
because they speak with Mayor the breeze, waiting for his train
, staining of kisses
defoliating the attic of the steps, waving
their source and their two pitchers,
stone carving his legacy, where there are waiting
deleted hallelujah,
where butterflies and
goblins sweep the roofs of the morning. That desolate
are cowards,
envious of the sadness of the oleanders,
Because they know .... where you are, giving
life where the flowers sway,
where memories are decorated with lights
aromas and ... winds that devastated
are cowards because you remember the oleanders teacher
because they know that your legacy is stone are
than sad than sad
oleander but ... how beautiful.
© www.quieroayudarte.com
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Left Side Underjawbone Pain
No strings ... Learn
few days ago I received an email from someone asking me maybe some advice, perhaps asking me to listen to written words. To her, these other voices equal psychological abuse suffered in silence I dedicate this poem.
Your tears are shed between boats poppy
seducing your own wounds and between pieces
it dawns
mess of their truce with thyme latches.
These
chained to your feet and ....
your hands while you catch wind
seeds and planting your loneliness
with blooms.
was wrong!
chained your watch but not confidences luggage
soul, even chase butterflies
and ... on the waves to see you poke
horizons without brush.
Untie the ropes that bind you because there
better soldiers than those who do not beat poets
that they have learned to gallop,
because the notation of
voices break the guns off the streets
with orchestras in the gardens ...
because when they fit with sandals
steps of rye,
reasons not die, nor souls
eaten breaks, but the faces
eyes closed, eyes
who can not read to life
Untie the rope fast
stars while relaxing in the mountains and rain showers that do not want
sentences, recite verses
the jailer to let you know that the seed will always
where
day ... where no latches are made
to speak or to poetry
your feet chained to his hands as he grabbed
stones in the mud, planting distances
with ditches and yellow flowers,
chained the longest street, but no confidences
or your soul luggage
© www.quieroayudarte.com 
few days ago I received an email from someone asking me maybe some advice, perhaps asking me to listen to written words. To her, these other voices equal psychological abuse suffered in silence I dedicate this poem.
Your tears are shed between boats poppy
seducing your own wounds and between pieces
it dawns
mess of their truce with thyme latches.
These
chained to your feet and ....
your hands while you catch wind
seeds and planting your loneliness
with blooms.
was wrong!
chained your watch but not confidences luggage
soul, even chase butterflies
and ... on the waves to see you poke
horizons without brush.
Untie the ropes that bind you because there
better soldiers than those who do not beat poets
that they have learned to gallop,
because the notation of
voices break the guns off the streets
with orchestras in the gardens ...
because when they fit with sandals
steps of rye,
reasons not die, nor souls
eaten breaks, but the faces
eyes closed, eyes
who can not read to life
Untie the rope fast
stars while relaxing in the mountains and rain showers that do not want
sentences, recite verses
the jailer to let you know that the seed will always
where
day ... where no latches are made
to speak or to poetry
your feet chained to his hands as he grabbed
stones in the mud, planting distances
with ditches and yellow flowers,
chained the longest street, but no confidences
or your soul luggage
© www.quieroayudarte.com
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