Un año más, misión cumplida. Apenas estoy a seis días para comenzar mis vacaciones.¡ Bien merecidas!
A todos los maestros de mis patria, ¡ Felicidades!
Un año más, misión cumplida. Apenas estoy a seis días para comenzar mis vacaciones.¡ Bien merecidas!
A todos los maestros de mis patria, ¡ Felicidades!
Hay fotos y videos en este blog que no son de mi propiedad. Están dispuetas con el propósito de añadir inspiración y belleza visual al lector. Estas fotos han sido tomadas de otras páginas que se comparten en la Web y NO son para uso comercial.
Yo seria borincana aunque naciera en la luna.
LA LECTURA PERJUDICA SOLAMENTE
A LA IGNORANCIA
VIVA ESPANA ! 2007
LA VIE EN ROSE: PARIS 2009
LOVED IRELAND 2010
CHINA 2011 ESPECTACULAR!
BIENES NECESARIOS: INYECCIONES DE MONTES Y MAR. CURACIÓN DE CIELO ABIERTO. AMABLE SOMBRA DEL QUENEPO. BIENES NECESARIOS: LA CANCIÓN Y EL LIBRO.-Iris M. Landrón
The Sea Hath Its Pearls - William Henry Margetson
Seeker of truth
follow no path.
All paths lead where truth is:
HERE
e.e.cummings:
Mi poeta querido.
Para entenderlo hay que ir un poco mas alla de la lectura, hay que profundizar, y cuando logras entrar en su misterio lo que encuentras es una experiencia estetica, casi mistica, la verdadera esencia de lo que es la poesia.
Aqui incluyo mis poemas favoritos.
Edward Estlin Cummings
who is this
dainty
mademoiselle
the of
her
luninous self,
a shy (an if),
a whisper, a where
a hiding...
est metaphore or
la lune?
what time is it?
it is by every star a different time,
and each most falsely true;
or such subhuman superminds declare...
-nor all their times encompass me and you.
when are we never, but forever now
(hosts of eternity; not guests of seem),
believe me dear,
clocks have enough to do without confusing timelessness and time.
Time cannot children, poets, lovers tell. measure imagine, mystery, a kiss...
-not though mankind would rather know than feel,
mistrusting utterly that timelessness,
whose absence would make your whole life and my
(and infinite our)
merely to undie.
The sky was
candy luminous,
edible spry pinks.
shy lemons,
greens,
cool chocolates
under a locomotive
sprouting violets.
into the smiting
sky tense
with
blend
ing
the
tree leaps
a stiffened exquisite
i
wait the sweet
annihilation of swift
flesh
i make me stern against
your charming strengh
O haste
annihilator
drawing into you
my enchanting leaves!
one winter afternoon
(at the magical hour
when is becomes if)
a bespangled clown
standing on eight street
handed me a flower.
Nobody, it's safe to say,
observed him but myself.
and why?
because without any doubt he was
what ever (first and last)
most people fear most:
a mystery for which I've no word
except alive...
-that is, completely alert
and miraculously whole;
with no merely a mind
and a heart
but unquestionably a soul-
by no means funerally hilarious
(or otherwise democratic)
but esencially poetic
or ethereally serious:
a fine not a coarse clown
(no mob, but a person)
and while never saying a word
who was anything but dumb
since the silence of himself
sang like a bird.
Most people have been heard
screaming for international
measures that render hell rational
-i thank heaven someone's crazy
enough to give me a daisy.
all worlds have halfsight, seeing either with
life'eye (which is if things seem spirits) or
(if spirits in the guise of things appear)
death's any world must always half perceive.
Only whose vision can create the whole
(being forever born a foolishwise
proudhumble citizen of ecstasies
more steep than climb can time with all his years)
he's free into the beauty of the truth;
and strolls the axis of the universe
-love. Each believing world denies, whereas
your lover (looking through both life and death)
timelessly celebrates the merciful
wonder no world deny may or beleive.
how many moments must (amazing each
how many centuries) these more than eyes
restroll and stroll some never deepening beach
locked in forevershish time's tide at poise,
love alone undersatnds: only from who
i'll keep my tryst until that tide shall turn;
and from all selfsubstracting hugely doom
treasures of reeking innocence are born.
Then with not credible the anywhere
eclipsing of a spirit's ignorance
by every wisdom knowledge fears to dare,
how the(myself''s own self who's) child will dance!
and when he's plucked such mysteries men
do not conceive- let ocean grow again.
"No existe la Libertad. Solo existe la busqueda de la libertad. Y es esa busqueda lo que nos hace libres" ........... Carlos Fuentes
"SOMOS LO QUE HACEMOS
Y SOBRE TODO
LO QUE HACEMOS PARA CAMBIAR
LO QUE SOMOS.
NUESTRA IDENTIDAD RESIDE EN
LA ACCIÓN Y EN LA LUCHA.
POR ESO LA REVELACIÓN
DE LO QUE SOMOS
IMPLICA LA DENUNCIA
DE LO QUE NOS IMPIDE SER
LO QUE QUEREMOS SER.
NOS DEFINIMOS
A PARTIR DEL DESAFÍO Y
POR OPOSICIÓN AL OBSTÁCULO."
EDUARDO GALEANO
(Voces de Nuestro Tiempo)
LUCKY ME!
Responder