Reflections

There, in that space, she could be seen reflected of four different ways and styles.
Standing up, seeing towards the front… to the other side of the lagoon… watching the full moon… in a silvered evening … her, with a long black dress… red hair covering her back, of naked arms… her fingers, half-opened drop sheets with spilled letters on them.
In another image, she was reached to distinguish, overlapping in the landscape of a fecund world… only her face… her clear eyes, painted black…… her lips in deep red…her water hair cracked like in a waterfall, surely, she was part of some jungle or forest.
The third image, it gave in which to think… was very pretty, the dolphin to the left. ..just a little bit below the surface of the sea… like getting itself contented to jump… she was there, standing to the right, only few meters upwards… on a great rock like rocky crag… the veils of her white dress twisting with the winds of her golden, long, wavy hair… her fallen arms… her glance lost, to the front in the horizon. The fourth of them, it gave the impression to be standing up on the ladder of some temple, dressed in beige… as a native… or an Egyptian woman… her hair short and black … her glance directed to the sky… her arms, are two open wings with clear feathers.
Completing all of them, is the fifth one…she wears a mask, while she observes the other four.

Reflections

Visions

I Arrive almost behind schedule,
but there I found you, hidden among all those forms …

that are not seen at first.

You were, several forms at the same time;

vibrant wind, light plasmations…

darker image emphasizing in the penumbra…

gigantic shades that finished in the sky…

fire circles…. flames traspassing me….

with the brightness, that reveals all the conceals.

Visions

One Limit

I must find a place where to bury my fury… where to give out my sadness…
I cannot take them with me… they are fire tongues…
bites of predators looking for food in the emotions… until devouring us.
It does not stop to surprise me the hard that life can get to be;
Sometimes one is not the sufficiently strong to support it and you can find
yourself like cached in a suffocating gray bubble… that shows to you
That there is only a thin line, a space that separates you from madness
or death… Then, I wish you can find out when you are in the threshold;
So then you can, to go back down in time… or to die peacefully.

One Limit

Hopi Prophecy

You have been saying people that this the last hour. Now you must go back and tell people that this is the hour. There must be things that they must be considered: where are you living? What are your relationships? Are you in a good relationship? Where is water? Know your garden. It is time to speak the truth. Create your community. Be good with each other. Do not look beyond yourself by leader. This could be a good moment!
There is a river now that is flowing very quickly. It is so large and fast that there are people who will be afraid. They will try to cling to the shore. They will feel they are breaking and will suffer greatly. Know the river has its destination. Elders say that we must put aside the coast, push toward the center of the River, maintaining the eyes open and heads above water.
See. who is there with you and celebrate. At this moment of the story, we will not take anything personally. Above all, to ourselves. At the moment, what we do, our spiritual growth and the journey reached an stop. The time of the lone wolf was completed. Meet! Get together. Throw the word fight away from your attitude and vocabulary. Everything we do now should be done in a sacred way and in celebration. We are the ones we have been waiting.

The Priestess

She didn't know if there are lines of the world but try to touch them...
She never knew if she could overcome death or get friends with it...
but she tried with will to see the sparkles of that power,

the one that could illuminate her in a flash of infinite existence.

The Priestess

The Songs of the Phoenix Bird

Life, will be always more important that anything that could be written on it….the soul is touched, the mind, crosses forged footpaths of letters… there are; the unfinished poems contained in a hidden annotation, that have not found channel still… The empty verses that prop up to the heart of the lies. Those that sleep in vaporous consolation, in depths, where not yet the ink arrives. My hands… are the perennial cascade of where the verses to the paper fall, I confess; that I do not know yet, what has written through my fingers… perhaps transmisors sparkles, hidden energies of multiple colors, images from the labyrinths of the thought… deep moans, breezes of temporary well-being… not everything found the exit in words, or have been able to last in spilled letters… there were only some messages; if they come from the heavens or they have escaped from the infraworlds… I have only been able to turn them in poems. I conclude; … that the poetry, is the unique one… that could be ventured to count the sand grains in the deserts… to catch the song of the oceans… to satisfy the appetite within the more sensible soul… to distinguish the lights of the dark….the seeds that give new life… to offer… and to find in it the whole… from the opening field of our hands.

The Poetress

Space for our Friends

You can Send us your Poem or Paint...

and place it here at the Space for our Friends...the Artists.

Josef Bican

To the Great Poets

There were many things of which.... by shame, education or to be judged fear... to write, I did not dare, I did not want… I was affraid… as much freedom, it commoved to me. But, I would do it, I saw, they removed everything and returned… and more they brought from there. Their words, let us glimpse that from imaginary rainbows they came, formed in colorful letters, taking to us… like in company, by ways with words fallen there, in that only way where they described the new things were hide… or those other ones, like a mirror… where to reflect to us, what is already known. We noticed their courage… they`ve shown their naked feel, crumbling of all the moments, the philosophies. Getting friends with whichever subject they preferred. Making the love to that form and circumstance…tearing out all the leaves in a poetic indagatory. But in which a rainbow, the tracks of their letters I believed I saw…in the new colors… their shadows I discovered. we could not see who did it, but they were there, left it to us, at brief moments they make us feel them…taking us... to take walks among their poems.