Contributor 14: JOSEPH M. GALLARDO PARGA
This Madrid is a professor of secondary education in a central location, a city which is proud moon barking. No doubt, therefore, that the puppies will soon have to enter in our pages. So precious combines work with his thesis on Juan Benet and the development of the online magazine ATHENEA.
His poetry is canine, incisive, without reaching that hackneyed that social poetry was called. We are delighted to have you with us. Sample of his latest book in preparation, I could live differently, are these verses.
It is not night, nor is silence.
It is the gap of death.
When there are no words, when you can feel the heartbeat calm blood,
when there is only silence to say things.
It is a time of waiting.
When all has become definitive when the arms flows existence, when hot water and blood joins do.
Weightless feel the lethargy of death and penetrate the veins empty.
When my remains in my blood tinted float in the bathtub.
Waiting in a hospital is an absence
Nebula crosses relatives and patients
tired eyelids intermittently.
And the coffee machine is bitter.
If we were detained some time yet
we can see how gradually disappears
Two junkies come into the sink and are arranged to
Parking start your day off the
Contributor 15: VICTOR CLEMENTI
Born in Buenos Aires (Argentina) on 24 June 1957. Based in the city of Mar del Plata since 1970. He has received a huge number of publications: books of narrative as Gambetta (1990), books of poems to Gray (1980), Poems (1983), Sens (1985), Leaks (1986), without lettering Gods (1988), Too many words (1992), dangerous Absence (1993), Tribute to the unattainable (1999), and mixed prose books and verse as Symmetry (1995).
He has collaborated in magazines THE UNICORN (1992) and THE MAGICIAN (1998), he has been editor of El Mirador (1993) and has led the COCUZZA (1998-1999). His work Gambetta has been adapted for the stage by the group ‘La Granada’, released in 1991. It is also the creator of texts and ideas of musical ‘cocktail of sensations’ , released in 1994. These poems belong to his unpublished poems Tribute to ungraspable.
Death is a place that is like another.
A millennium of hormones whispers
under the rags.
A chemical god,
the primary stimulus to become amoeba,
Death is a place that never opposed
shamefacedly avoid intercourse
opening the bones of the shadow.
MURDER AT A GLANCE
Always escape each place
eventually bored in a gum.
The sky yawns drools my soul
coupled with the light of the snake
and blows a breath fades equation.
The idea is a naked spirit
and in the shadow another guise.
ALL MY APES IN A LIGHT BABA
Life is less spiritual than assumed;
survive, that’s all.
Maybe it’s the reality of existence
the only certainty molecule that perseveres.
What is man?
Perhaps a pretentious animal,
a species that escaped from his body.
A hybrid of galaxies
who consoles himself with the mystery
and lick the urine of the gods.
An animal that exceeds his passion
incestuous soot and misery,
horizon mined with idle questions.
No argument satisfy the greed of the vacuum.
All my apes drool light in this pantheon.
A feature of premature lucidity
It is not sufficient to control
the beast that burns me.
The artificial scent of sex,
The Ballad of the nomads,
a shower of hiding to die in disarray
and howl at death
eventually coagulated in the viscera.
Perhaps it is only a pretentious animal.
After watering stalls in wisdom,
among so routine that varies,
the ritual is all that binds me to the permanent.
And faced with the choice of the ideal or the meanwhile
Melancholy I do with my future.
The world compels us to grow sadness.
Open fantasies do not always achieve.
A variant of nostalgia, certainly,
It is the word.
She thrives on moisture of my doubts.
From my limits
the mannered ways of rain
discuss other presences.
Then, a foreign Color
neckline looming clouds
as a moment of perversion.
Actually ordered particles
in reliable spectra,
I live a fiction
Lamo air of bodies
fleeing to my body;
an animal complicity unites us.
Contributor 16: JUAN ALBALADEJO LEGAZ
I had a tiny small dog which I named him “Coba”. Is that why I have now decided to “give coba” I and my short poems. Location El Algar (Cartagena) for 33 years and studied Philology. It has given me time to be acting and working people in Murcia, Archena, where every day temple my nerves, or what remains of them with teenagers 3 of the ESO.
My favorite books are different, as happens to us all, with the particularity that have always been looking for a something never said or heard, so that my predilection for mystical literature is evident. For me, literature is the residue of mystery naked soul of man. It is written to find out and discover all that beauty and truth in it nest. And, if anything, bare your body and your soul to the pure feeling and sense or enjoyment makes us suffer and still enjoy while …
Small, yes, he was sucking up to the verses and did not publish any. A full folder have my record. I truly believe that what matters is to express what is within. I have compiled a book of poems that I keep in the drawer, entitled ‘Wherever the night’.
It is fear. It is fear.
“Tell me,” I’ll say. Then you shut up.
“But what do you want?” -I tell him-. And it is
Therefore, so immeasurable and full
wisdom, so quiet
there always behind …
in the kiss.
And sometimes, I think of all
the truth of this world:
collected and saved
child in heart,
where the reason is
and serve no reasons …
Simply because it is closer
from there or love,
Mystery that you and I know
and we will never know.
It is fear. It is fear.
And after his comfort.
ONLY LOVE LOST
You played my window glass
when you came to get me into the room
where I lived, remember ?. As
I went then to the world
to wage their battle.
And one day, almost without realizing it,
I sold the enemy chest gold
and I fell before his forces defeated.
Just because you wanted
where they are broken up
shadows full of infinite pain.
Now is golden silence and wind,
Bliss turned I never had,
for love he betrayed his night be
and you forget the light, light, my heaven.
Because, sometimes, love causes death
and forget the light. Your light and sky
Contributor 17: XURXO FERNANDEZ
Gallego and Vigo of epochal and friends, one of the few people who define their lines properly. His poetry is within the broader Galician tradition. Particularly reminiscent records as varied as Rosalia de Castro, Celso Emilio Ferreiro, Manuel Rivas, Luisa Castro and Miguel-Anxo Fernan Vello. Passionately loves the total loss and is proud of their bilingualism. Threat with a beautiful book project on the Internet. You are warned. And soon informed.
Your eyes as subway tunnels
separating moments of joy and sadness,
Walking the dreams of a tired city,
useless without your eyes,
by flowing wine all our excesses.
Your hands frightened spying
the barren waiting for a malnourished chest:
wagons full days and nights
to walk by standing, never sitting,
traveling without having to grip.
Why nobody talks on the platform?
As we do until sleep
stations with song name.
Why, when the bagpipe silent thunder
we are the only dancing through puddles?
My nights are still empty landscape
slipping through golden fields of cypresses,
Looking broken goddesses
behind the windows,
will end, as always,
swimming in the green lake,
the forbidden woman.
My words slipping
jumped in your head.
Running in the storm
through the murmur of silence,
following the paths
Electric worms without music.
When will we see together the defeat
normal people, hypocrites,
of those pounds instead of stars
and never jump onto the tracks?
Will you remember when you see approaching the machine
that they never dump you without me?
And here we are, shaking,
Sleepless and ferocious,
putting our dreams on sale
as junkies of darkness and noise,
So far and so close
that binds you Ireland
and separates us.
Silvia says she hates her body
bored while looking out the window
and it fixed in a man who ensures
to find a girl
who wants fun
It is easy.
Just look under rocks.
A HORRIBLE LUNA MOUTH COVER ME
Silvia says she hates her body
while taking an infusion of shrapnel
And the birds in their jails ozone
that they prevent them from reaching the stars.
With the peak puncture the veins
day after day.
FLOOR AND A LITTLE COLD BLOOD
Silvia says she has a headache
and no longer he wants to prove
HANDS AND NOT EMBRACE surrounding
Silvia sings an old song
while counting the smiles
people on the street
and you can spare the fingers of one hand.
HANDS AND DO grabbed PET
Silvia and her brother breakfast
in the kitchen.
They do not say anything, but …
sure they have a headache.
Silvia sometimes reminds
Quiet, no one will call you a bitch.
a room full of pills and tears.
Words will never defeat the facts.
Silvia says she hates her body
and you raped three years ago …