Monochrome Ocean Blue Poem

Is it the dream of the mind

or is it the dream of the heart

that leads me to a neverending sad story?

Is it that our moment has alredy ended?

the white cold snow that brings tears down my face

I still remember the ocean blue

Is it warm now?

was the road you walk last

scattered with colorful flowers

or it was only their monochrome shadows

what you felt at the end?

I want to find the thin red line

that takes me to that road faster

I want to meet you

as the bright purple light goes down

I want to talk about sand and things long forgotten

The sound of the familiar voice

from the salty hot air in the days of summer

I still remember

The heart that doesnt know love

the heart that sinks in nothing

but fog storm like dreams

Is not a heart anymore?

Please show me the way..........

By Las Noches

Pincel de mi Corazon Poem

Pincel de mi Corazon

Que seria de mi si ya no te tuviera?

Que sentiria mi corazon si ya no estuvieras aqui?

Si tus colores ya no se mezclaran en mis sueños de fantasia

Gris? Gris eterno

no blanco y negro si no gris

donde nada esta cerca y nada esta lejos.

Mi otro yo tal vez ya no sintiera nada

Se desmoronaria en la lentitud del tiempo?

como castillos de arena flotando en el cielo.

Como podria mi corazon dejarte ir?

Respiro porque tu me lo pides

las pinceladas me atan al mismo inicio que es siempre blanco

imagen por imagen llenas mi mundo

el mundo de mis ensueños

donde todo es posible

tono por gota de lluvia pinto el paraiso a mi antojo

mi lugar secreto, Mi amor, Eres lo que soy.

by Jessica Las Noches

High Flight - Poem

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
of sun-split clouds,—and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of—wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,
I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air….

Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark nor ever eagle flew—
And, while with silent lifting mind I’ve trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

JOHN G. MAGEE, JR., “High Flight,” September 3, 1941.

Sueños Blancos (shiroi no yume)

En mis sueños siempre estoy rodeada de amabilidad,

no tengo frio, doy vuelta a la cerradura,

la brisa es fresca huele a luna,

Y una lluvia de estrellas se abalanza sobre el firmamento

desde mi pecho abierto, no hay puertas.

Un millón de luces,

el brillo lo rocía todo

y lo único que tengo que hacer es estirar mi mano, ahí estas,

no tengo miedo,

dar todo es vivir,

dar todo por aliento, por corazón, por pensamiento para que no lo olvides.

Escucho el bullicio como flores en el campo, En este sueño blanco

solo tengo que estirar mi mano,

Y vuelvo a despertar,

señorita melancolía.

Las Noches Shiroi no Yume

Time flies cuando tienes insomnio? + REM Chocola poem

Se dice que cuando el tiempo vuela se la esta pasando uno muy seguramente de maravilla! yo creo que es un mito urbano, ya que este año se me a pasado en un parpadeo y estoy segura de que no me diverti nadita por lo menos hasta ahora, trabajo, trabajo y mas trabajo ah!! pero eso si, sin un centavo!!!

Esta pintura la termine a principios de año y hasta ahorita le vengo o trepar a mi señor bloggaso que a de estar de malas por que lo tengo olvidado XD!! si pues es que necesito unos ocho brazos tipo Spider man o la mega velocidad de Flash!, de perdida me daria por servida con el poder de la pyrokinesis tipo Robin Sena, pero no, sigo siendo yo solo mas vieja que hace 6 meses ahahahahha!

Total esta pieza trata de mi insomnio mi insesante y maniatikisimo señor insomnio, aqui me la paso todas las noches digase 2,3,4 de la mañana yo y mi amada neurosis y la inmensa oscuridad claro esta! Ah! por que ni crean que me paso esas horas nefastas haciendo algo util, no señores y señoras me la paso en lo oscuro contemplando el avismo, mi bien amada familia no me deja tener las luces prendidas. No pues esta ya se hizo una queja muy larga a la pintura porfavors!!

Acrilico sobre madera & a poem or kind of....

R.E.M Chocola

As dreams came out to reality,

filling the empty space with fantasy and dark nightmares,

through your door the secret door of illusion,

Insomnia is screaming is it here?, is it know?

With sleepy eyes that never closed but that are always dreaming,

I fall into despair, into a loosing spiral that never ends.

In the small hours of the long sleepless black,

the restless mind that hungers for calm sanctuary,

slowly slip into Chocola madness,

with drops of mercury for company,

raining on the pearly colorful sky at nightfall.

As time goes by,

waiting dusk by dusk, dawn by dawn,

for the golden dust that take us to the midnight journey,

in a forever field full of scarlet opium flowers,

while dreams evaporates,

Morpheus whispers.

by Jessica Ramirez Partida

Emily Jane Brontë poem

The Night is Darkening Around Me

The night is darkening round me,
The wild winds coldly blow ;
But a tyrant spell has bound me,
And I cannot, cannot go.

The giant trees are bending
Their bare boughs weighed with snow ;
The storm is fast descending,
And yet I cannot go.

Clouds beyond clouds above me,
Wastes beyond wastes below ;
But nothing drear can move me :
I will not, cannot go.

By Emily Jane Brontë


Another poem to share with you. Emily Jane Brontë english novelist and poet, she write the novel "Wuthering Heights".

Sora, Cielo, Sky

Aviator

From the air a patchwork of ochre,
grenish and silver stones,
that brighten the earth.

Take my hand, lets take flight,
let the wind entagle your red hair,
through the storms to a cloudyless land.

Crossing the sky over a flying bridge of stars,
what lies beyond this blue curtain?

In this ephemeral journey,
in this precios instant in wich you are flowing,
as the clock goes on, over the ground, FLYER!
rise your heart to the infinity soul freedom.

by Las Noches

My newest doll "Sora" she's an aviator crossing the sky of imagination, I also write a poem or kind of .......hope you like it!

I made her with fabric and acrilycs.

Alma ausente by Federico Garcia Lorca

Alma ausente

No te conoce el toro ni la higuera,
ni caballos ni hormigas de tu casa.
No te conoce el niño ni la tarde
porque te has muerto para siempre.

No te conoce el lomo de la piedra,
ni el raso negro donde te destrozas.
No te conoce tu recuerdo mudo
porque te has muerto para siempre.

El otoño vendrá con caracolas,
uva de niebla y montes agrupados,
pero nadie querrá mirar tus ojos
porque te has muerto para siempre.

Porque te has muerto para siempre,
como todos los muertos de la Tierra,
como todos los muertos que se olvidan
en un montón de perros apagados.

No te conoce nadie. No. Pero yo te canto.
Yo canto para luego tu perfil y tu gracia.
La madurez insigne de tu conocimiento.
Tu apetencia de muerte y el gusto de su boca.
La tristeza que tuvo tu valiente alegría.

Tardará mucho tiempo en nacer, si es que nace,
un andaluz tan claro, tan rico de aventura.
Yo canto su elegancia con palabras que gimen
y recuerdo una brisa triste por los olivos.

by Federico Garcia Lorca (1898 - 1936)




Absent Soul


The bull doesn't know you, nor the fig tree,
nor horses, nor ants of your house.
The boy doesn't know you, nor the afternoon
because you have died forever.

The surface of the stone doesn't know you,
nor the black satin where you are shattered.
Your dumb memory doesn't know you,
because you have died forever.

The Autum will come with seashells,
grape of fog and grouping mountains,
but nobody will want to look your eyes,
because you have died forever.

Because you have died forever,
like all the dead of the world,
like all the dead that are forgotten,
in a heap of dull dogs.

No one knows you. No, but I sing for you,
I sing for later your profile and your grace,
The distinguished maturity of your knowledge,
Your apetite for dead and the taste of its mouth.
The sadness that had your brave joy.

It will take a long time to born, if there is ever born,
An andalusian so clear, so rich of adventure,
I sing its elegance with words that groan,
and I remember a sad breeze for the olives.


This poem is from the spanish poet Federico Garcia Lorca, I thinks it's a very beautiful poem it matchs my actual feelings and the resent events on my life.
I try my best translating this poem, by no means it's a good transaltion, but you can have an idea of what is about, isn't?. Also I think my english is very bad...sorry

E.E. Cumming Poem

I don't search for poetry intentionally even thought I like it, but sometimes poetry make is way to me, when such things happend I like to write it here on my blog, I think this kind of things are at least to me worth shearing because I find theme beatiful, creative and exeptionally inspiring.

I carry your heart with me by E.E.Cummings

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)


American poet Edward Estlin Cummings (October 14, 1894 – September 3, 1962)

Robert Frost Poem

Fire and Ice

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

by Robert Frost

Poem by Sylvia Plath

Lady Lazarus By Sylvia Plath

I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it----

A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot

A paperweight,
My face a featureless, fine
Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin
O my enemy.
Do I terrify?----

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.

Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me
And I a smiling woman.

I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.
This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.
The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see
Them unwrap me hand and foot----
The big strip tease.

Gentleman, ladies,
These are my hands,
My knees.

I may be skin and bone,
Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.

It was an accident.

The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut
As a seashell.

They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Dying
Is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.
I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.
It's easy enough to do so in a cell.
It's easy enough to do it and stay put.

It's the theatrical
Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:
"A miracle!"

That knocks me out.
There is a charge
For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart----
It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge,
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood
Or a piece of hair on my clothes.

So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.
I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby
That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash--
You poke and stir.

Flesh, bone, there is nothing there----
A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer,
Beware
Beware.

Out of ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.


Me imagino que todos alguna vez nos sentimos como un ave fenix, todos alguna vez nos levantamos de donde parecia imposible levantarse, porque seguir adelante es lo que hacemos mejor aunque a veces parece todo lo contrario, porque hacemos lo que poedemos, con lo que tenemos, en momentos de encrusijada; asi, es facil identificarse con las palabras de este poema.

Vivir o Morir

For Good Luck I thought to start with a poem....

Vivir o Morir

De terminar, todo terminaria en el océano
una noche de invierno, con el canto
silencioso que se repetirá a si mismo
aun cuando me haya ido

De comenzar, comenzaria dándote todo
como quien no tiene que perder
como para quien todo es un tesoro
y no lo guarda del mismo

De terminar, terminaria sin palabras
en el obscuro fondo del abismo

De comenzar, comenzaria diciéndote todo
deshilando sentimientos, una vez
hace ya tanto escondidos

De terminar, terminaria en barcos de cristal
que se deslizan sobre las nuves
sobre el susurro de la lluvia
de la que nadie sabe a quien le habla

De comenzar terminaria sin arrepentimientos
por que ya todo esta dicho, dado, sentido.......

Quien puede detenerme ahora?!
No tengo nada prohibido,
vivir o morir tratando, bajo la luz o la
oscuridad intensa, es aquí, es ahora.

Jessica R.P Las Noches