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The homeless
De-am-bu-lan

As I sleep and I eat as I

clothed as I was crying as I


share the same space
big tent, leaky
morning silence that surrounds us

ambulation
Ian laughs off

fallen trees
or will be reversed

arropante
Mother Nature gives us all suck to wake up my body

Head down, legs, looking at the sky Looks

Men complicit with them all the pain Hosts


I like watching them in front

gods of all ages scattered through the city

to see if we recognize


Just for today © Lucille Lang Sunday, September 6, 2009

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The sheet

I open my mouth in a loud yawn, I stretch the arms extending and legs. I'm cold. With eyes still closed, look for the edge of the sheet, halo and halo, unable to bring it to me. Total, much effort and I feel hot and try to open my eyes.
- How am I going to wake up? I tell myself as I move to the edge of the bed that seems far, far away. I remember as a child I always liked Alice in Wonderland, as Alice had shrunk from taking the bottle labeled "DRINK ME." - Have I taken from the same bottle?

I lean and close my eyes. Back to yawn and I think I'm in that state between awake and asleep, that vague space where dreams still seem to reality. While I try to remember what I did last night before going to bed. "Nothing, nothing special, as usual, I waited and I waited until I fell asleep.

With eyes still closed, I listen as he gets up and enters the bathroom. I hear grooming, breakfast and exit. Again I'm cold, I turn to find the sheet, I take my fingers and I cover. I know that if I try, I will reach the edge of the bed and I know my feet touched the floor. I know I will remain invisible.

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My stories

I write all my stories before he died, every day that passes I need is more urgent. I started writing just on weekends. Then I also wrote a few days of work. Now, that's all I do, write and occasionally eat. Eat because they make me and hide me pens and paper if I do not.

working so I thought that eventually I would end up stories, but something strange happens to me and I now I'm gushing. This morning to rinse my teeth I spit a story. At noon I cut a mini short of the big toenail. And tonight the wash, I felt like I sprang the beginning of a novel in the chest. I try to hold the pen but the fingers are entangled in poems. It's getting late.

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accurate. Lightning in the dark,
arrow that cuts the wind hurts my kisses, burning
reefs, dead sighs aromas, orange blossom stamens
fray blind. Your light turns

roads. Talk is,
without sound. Why say you know what?
The word on whether the feelings
its rate rise to immune and ethereal.

His strength enters my space.
rides at night to touch my chest.
wind is restless, very slow breathing
puffs, blows undone. Looking

silent golden pupils, are only two poor

lights perched on my debris,
entangled in the web of my bitter loneliness. Bankruptcy

the spell. Fire
blind me suddenly. Burn the ships with a vengeance, tearing their sails
. The flame sputters out, suddenly invading my sky
only seconds.

pearl Your eyes saw me silent!
I clothed in blue, orange and green.
gleaming sword, after dawn, argento
edge. Your look calcined my sorrow!

I
© Zulma Quiñones Senati 2009

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Spaces III


need a quiet space that shelters me
a wet area with cotton


like roses need a quiet space with canaries

risers to paint wings on my feet and kissed


my forehead girl need a quiet space
with my friend in my blood


A quiet space to cry

to cry to heal

I need a space

fish and seaweed

hug me hug him


need a space to listen and forgive My Space

very
Here are mine, lives here for you I hope

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I wrapped in silk
that produced the track.

I fell asleep in the cocoon silent. I wandered through the cosmos

touching the stars,

receiving inflows of aromas and blue
listening to songs and orchestral
strangers.
One day I woke up startled.
I was in your arms
trapped, yearning

spread my wings to fly released. I felt something wet

wet my grief.

watched your eyes heavy with rain. Folding wings


forgot my dreams I gave up flying and wiped your tears
.

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Thanks, Carol

Lyrics Magic Award from http://carol-lejosdelmundanalruido.blogspot.com/

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If I had known that the moon is only that ,
the moon.
That she has no feelings, my feelings are
.

May the sun, fiery
great vital power, distant, discipline
this is just the sun.
that emotions are mine, undisciplined
uncontrolled burning under my skin.

Let them live in certainties
orbited while I pour out steps
hurt disappointments, missed love mutilated


uncertain roads crumbling towers
rivers break their banks

that treason is running water that love

broken by thousands of shots and you never fully
is wasting time running after him, because there are only
his pieces.
slipped its essence as
fragrant water into rivers and seas in distant dimensions

that the rain is not such as
are my tears that the sky was back in drops and compassionate


that
stars twinkling eyes as cold and distant stars
are only guarding the space,

that hell is not far away
the Hell is here under my feet tired


If I knew that singing and dancing

laugh without ever ever

mourn alone is real, everything else
is a cruel fantasy
crusher naive souls that true


really is a diabolical machine that breaks

souls and bodies without explanation or boundaries.

What is a life worth living the delusion
dreaming of winning a distant paradise undiscovered

that dancing and singing and smiling

love with love is how it should be lived

now realize what a pity!

Paradise
live here in the solitude of each flower.

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If I had known I Dream

wet dream Every day I

Back in our lagoon where children spend
Smelling of sweat and mangle.

Every day I dream of you mad because I burned the food

But you know my life
How well you know my desserts

Every day I sleep in my bed
Crossing my roads
Rowing on the pillow
to reach my soul.

Every day I dream so close
But you smell is far
You smell "is not mine"
no way to buy

Every day I dream you dreamed
What I was dreaming
And swimming and dreaming
Al order to find again. Raquel

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A small closet

Your beloved hobby of being graciously made you forget the cardinal sin in the bottom of a small closet in the cottage.
childhood memories mixed with the best smell in the world, the land wet with fresh rain, a real carpet so wisely chose for our time love and call our place for the ride of soul and body ride. I pity today that miracle is just the memory of a fantasy I will never forget. Today there is only a sad shadow of perfume you wear and my masculine fragrance.
remember that despite your almost total lack of skill as a housewife, what do you like to do at home is very simple: make love to a thousand times running down every possible corner and your world ... "leaves for tomorrow the Lord will have! " And so we go downhill.
you know? Regardless of your skill not at home, if money is not the problem I would start our history from the beginning, at the bottom of a small closet in that cottage.

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The red man

Maurice Every evening walks her slender body, his dreams and lost hopes, to the huge lake that mysteriously, expect every day. Some evenings the water they receive bites, rebellious, unruly, aggressive. Other times it involves in the serene calm of the great spirits of nature, cuddling with a damp breeze as balm soothes your pain.

red are the hours of summer. A massacre of heaven dripping hot red on the face of the earth.

happy Families seek solace on the banks of that for them, is almost always a rich encounter with the vital vibrations of that body of water as impressive as unpredictable. A wide swath of green lawn and old trees with their tops open like umbrellas provide a framework to lakeside landscape, creating the illusion of freshness denied. While some run, others walk, groups of friends sit around talking and laughing on the stone railing that gives way to the edge of the waters or on the warm grass. Loose pets are following their masters. Children give life to the Red Man

Maurice always sits on the bench under a tree whose branches almost touch the ground. With slow, tired, rescued from the bottom of his bag a violin which turns red on contact with light. Painfully slowly begins to run old Southern melodies, gazing into the horizon beyond the lake. The magic of his art undeniable sweetness of the songs gently invade the whole landscape. Little children come up, curious and smiling, adults watching him from afar, watch the concert , applauding every performance. Brokers will greet hand without stopping the run. The man ignores these events, lost in memories of the red notes.

A bloody solar disk, floating in a sea of \u200b\u200bfuchsia slides his way into the next world eternal. Shortly before disappearing, afternoon fueguina the beam delivery silvery full moon discreet distance, observes the scene.

When the sky offering its frame around the moon dark to dazzling in its beautiful light, and the last notes of elegant, melancholy violin disappear in the darkness of black night red man.

gramming

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Memories of a wounded soul

What I like to do at home is sit down and write for you, give my soul wound that jealously guards the memory of my childhood. It has become a delightful hobby that what was and was not, think of what will be.

not want to forget when strolling my nose for your body to delight your man perfume mixes with your sweat. It was the best smell in the world. Sinned by gluttony and lust in your arms wrapped in your scent male. I ate your lies, I reveled in your juices. Sinned every time you called me and went at the phrase "I need you."

Nothing interfered with my ability to carry out my duties in the home, work, life. He had no financial problems, I was just hurt because I wanted you body and soul, but my soul was not what you wanted.

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Vultures

looked up to see why they darkened the sky. Vultures blackened
the heights to the sound of the shot,
respond to the first gush of blood from the wounded.
After riding the skies with a slow cadence
the first alighted on the branches of distant trees,
The following are perched on branches closest
lost recklessness, as we turned our backs
pounced on the fresh meat on the bloody viscera. At Mount
their work is commendable, clear the land
only come to dead or rotten.

I looked in front of relatives, their faces dark
circulated with great haste home,
morbid questions, defensive response:
"Depart, man is not dead, it stinks."
still not time to clean his pocket . Precipitation
the apparent madness,
Man dies, man sucks
Greed kills the subsidiary sanity. .

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capital

Your hobby and my hobby is ours, and it is our cardinal sin and is to be together. Smell the scent of your semen and your sweat and the Secret Obsession I like odor that is entangled in your body when you ride mine for yours. Together they are the world's most exquisite scent, smell that overwhelms the senses and gets caught in the curtains and sheets in my room so you can wander my soul remembering, longing for your return, once you're gone.

occasionally play the game if I had money would always be with you and not with her, and the phrase is dancing between the notes of silence, and leads me to the child and parent because I did not was unable to face the responsibility of a family.

I say it does not matter that you enjoy when you are, because my greatest skill lies in wait at home, and the lowest in despair of waiting, and the house and I need your presence, but neither have the patience. I wrap the sheets that smell of your body and my body and I repeat my favorite phrase as a mantra is an invocation and incantation: "come back because we are trapped in Sin Capital of the desire of the bodies."

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nests remember my long hair tangled in the comb mother, who with Jean Nate perfume to disentangle them and say stop eating sleep chocolates.Para moved my face back and forth saying no, no, no, I sang a lullaby to myself. Nightly ritual that made me dizzy to sleep.

way to school near a large lake Luis watched the little tadpoles giving birth to their babies clear that we had for hundreds exploring in an urban forest life. Today

Black perfume with me when I go to guard sea urchin visit Rizo
waiting for me just to smell in my belly so magical elixir, which led me to my house where blue
drawers waiting for the order to scramble again.

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mania 2. Sin Capital of the World
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4. If money were no object
Childhood 5.Recuerdos
6.Habilidad as homemaker
7.Load do you like to do at home
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10. Walk for the Soul

11.Paseo for the body 12 using
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Sin SKETCHES


This time came early when the birds sleep
December

to undress and get to stay this time

was forever silent

Madness get full nude

seized their actions with all its consequences

seized his house
of space your body


your mind No one could understand their songs accompanied


cries of sirens or her room empty and the nights

verbena or the day that lies
The paper or canvas doodles

in
is expected
took very quiet

He took on December 1st and almost

almost forcibly

no one knew him

made
long braids with a very strong knots
and nests in the head
He tangled his hands long


and took her.

© Olga Lang May 2009

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MADNESS Gabriel

Sketches April 12

Today I visited Eros

and arrived at dawn

Sitting on

window

saw as I drew

I drew very quiet

with the tip of my fingers

your whole body feeling

and I drew naked

and secretly drew you

caressing my neck

while I will draw

Eros draw me today.

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love when my mouth

drawing your body.

The slow drawing

Your body blessed

your blessed body

Your quiet backside

smell to silence

peace takes hold

time stops

eternal becoming

With my pale eyes

move across your body

Then

your body

with clear nectar

pint inside me

Love

draw your body.

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When you drawing

possess your body

your body

as my

your man's body

your body perfect

Map know

with seas and ports

and you do not know

and unknowingly your

When

own you

drawing your body.

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Today I swam

for your

seas

today I draw

your body,

your body

turquoise

your golden body

sun dyeing

your silver hair

painted sand

I drew with corals

reefs

with sea horses Sleeping

on your chest

Your arms of Neptune

hugging currents

of my body so salty

of my body as island

floating

asleep on your body.

© Olga Lang

April 2009

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happened without seeking out a piercing scream

howled a cry for love, a man



than life called



Isabel Isabel, the love of Gabriel



only in thought

thinks he has lost ...

And come to find

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in a theater that under the curtain

confusing


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repeated again and again

dreams that when they dance
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Together breathe in the deep sea

write in verse



flying to hunt



yellow butterflies in the cloud forests of Kinalbalu

. © Lucille Lang



June 2009

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The Blue Oranges blog has been nominated for best literary blog in the category of literature. To vote for him, go to http://www.escobarlarevistapremia.blogspot.com/ , or write to escobarlarevista@gmail.com .

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other forgotten children

(Written after reading the Betsy)

And what about Haiti
with children eating dirt? There

war do not need to die by thousands
And we, your neighbors,
look the other way and walk very concerned

for the reinstatement of Finance.

Not to mention the guy from the north,
Concerned
Guantánamo to Iraq and Sudan for
When lapping its shores
Suffer the little country.

They do not have oil or anything
giving the green wood
and neither have, nor

land to till it all has gone to the swollen bellies

other children forgotten. Raquel

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walk softly but securely. Your hand
mía.Pies girl takes the blue by the time

sink into the wet sand

bathed by a large sea shell.

say is God, God we receive. There

you and I talked, talked

,

thank you, observe

transparencies together marine

the banks of a clear sea, warm, loving.

is God telling me,

Callus

river to myself,

So God, tell me Lucille

Lang

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Tuesdays

Every Tuesday I confess to them. Home of Elizabeth, the field of aroma, flavor of the papaya and sweet quenepa. There bare my soul and I know better because I have a teacher to the Poet of Love Slowly erase the fears that burned in a thimble. To all took us to the circus, and I dressed Rinalda, the rubber body. The one with the dwarf in the summer evenings quietly look in the mirror, looking not to lose his self. Tuesday confess crazy, I'm discovering how the open sea and offshore. I want to swim naked all painted blue to wiggle my body and high seas tuna lost its name and does not know who he is. Only this flap and foam.

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FOR YOU I confess

breathe and a smile of confidence
on your lips thin
truth lies in your eyes
on the glass of dreams
and I know you're my

Your lines demarcate the years lived

Dolores shared and painful silence


intense love of children adrift
that matured later bringing new joy
as


character and strength with a large dose health
are your flags

in your pores
live sea of \u200b\u200bpeace filled
dolphins and very green turtles with shells
that embrace
a wonderful body sunlit

I embrace you breath "I love you"

smelling my neck as if you steal
perfume that I knew

I draw and I draw,
breath I breathe and I
as souls who walk free and
naked in this meeting
life is
"WE LOVE YOU."

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The voice of madness spoke
laughing at all for taking life seriously
if it's an instant, "he said
and again ...
their world with laughter and stories.

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fears burned in a thimble threw out the window.
decided to choose if you make a mistake.
Freedom erased will slander us feel loved. And that loneliness
you entertained ...
Bursting into walls and built a long story
Embrace the void.