August 6, 2015

The Subcumming 
The Snake slithers upon my soar throat. I gasp, 

But oxygen is beyond me, worlds away…

Day by day, Death draws near, long fingers grasp,

Claws sharpened, longing to slay its prey.
The Raven slaugthers pages, uncaring,

As I stare with an inside flood of pain…

I scream. No one hears. The Raven smirking, 

Leaves the book, tattered… I whither in vain.
Hours I cry. Then, a mighty light shines.

A Dove flutters and collects the fragments—

Silvery, warm matter creates gold vines

Uniting the once shattered, lost statements.
Happy tears fall, and I let the Snake press

I peacefully enter eternal rest.
Theme: The theme of a poem is dark and happy at the same time. As the narrator faces a slow death, seeing as the Snake waits for the Raven and, then, for the Dove. This makes the mood darker, yet, at the end, it becomes happy. The Book, presumably of life, is put back together. This, however, does not mean life will continue, but rather that it will be remembered. Thus, the theme is “Death is good when one is remembered”. 


1 de agosto de 2015

Para concurso de la Landívar. 

La flor levanta sus alas al cielo

Pidiendo manantial celestial, grita

Duele cuando el cielo su vida quita;

¡Cuando la Muerte hace caer su velo!
Ahora queda atrás aquel modelo

En el que la rosa belleza irradia.

Y ya no hay hermosura que a ti compara

Sin versos me quedé para decirlo…
Pues vives cuando esta no; estás aunque ella no

Y aunque en el futuro cenizas seas,

Aquí por siempre te conservaré yo
Para que tú la vida siempre poseas,

Parte tengas de este corazón mío:

Aquel que por ti late aunque ni lo veas…

Encore Une Fois

Encore une fois, je me trouve avec ce desir. Je ne sais pas la cause de cette sentiment. Je ne sais pas où, comment o quand ça avait commencé.

Peut-être que ce sont les filmes que j’ai regardé quand j’ai été petit. Toujours, avec ma famille, nous avons regardé des filmes “adultes”. Ils ne sont pas des filmes érotiques, mais il y avait une fois que les personnages principaux ne sont pas impliqués d’une manière sexuel. J’ai vu les scènes même si ma mère m’a couvrait mes yeux. A mon avis, ces scènes ont été les plus intéressants.

Peut-être était une encyclopédie que j’avais. Dans les pages qu’il devait faire parler des appareils reproductifs des personnes. Je me souviens de l’image, des mots… J’étais fasciné.

Peut-être était ma lecture. A dix ans, je l’ai lu de nombreux livres dont le publique principale étaient les adolescents de 16 ans. Dans ces livres, j’ai appris sur le sexe. Après avoir lu 50 Shades of Gray, je suis devenu accro. Je l’ai lu. Je l’ai lu très bien. Je reconnis maintenant que mon éveil sexuel.

Plus tard. Qu’est-il arrivé ensuite? Maintenant, tous est une mirage d’expériences. Je ne sais pas avec qui. Je ne sais pas comment. Je ne sais pas quand. Mais, je veux savoir la cause.

British Literature Class

“Open your books to page 651. We will be starting-” he looks over at a girl in front of the class wearing a Harvard sweater. “Stop eating in my class.” He says briefly and then continues flipping pages to find the William Blake poems we are supposed to read.

The girl keeps munching on her gummy worms. Her mouth moves slowly with lips pursed. Disgusting, I think, but I don’t say anything. She keeps the worms in her sweater’s front pocket, sort of hidden.

The teacher glances over at her; she’s in the first row. “Stop eating in my class.” He insists.

She doesn’t care. I wonder if she has ever cared about anything in her life, and then again I remember that she bluntly states that she hasn’t, that is, of course, with the exception of her beloved Diego. She pulls the gummy worms out of her sweater. That’s not part of the uniform, I realize. Again, I stay quiet.

She keeps munching, louder this time. The whole class is looking at her. The teacher doesn’t do anything about it but argue. “Stop. You’ll attract bugs. Those have sugar, don’t they?” she nods, “Well, sugar attracts small insects and those attract bigger insects. And do you know what- ” Another girl asks her for one. She gives it to her even though the other girl is in the last row. I roll my eyes. The teacher simply takes a couple of points off. A point here, a point there, who cares anyway? They couldn’t care less. He continues, “Bigger insects attract vermin!”

“What is vermin?” Another student asks.

“Like, rats and rodents.” The teacher explains.

And she keeps eating and eating. How much time have we lost already? I ask myself. It really doesn’t matter.

“That is why we eat in different places. Before, if you ate in your living room, you would have all kinds of vermin. That’s why we eat in a kitchen or in a dinning room.” He explains to a few feigning interest on what he is saying. The rest is speaking loudly among themselves. I decide to zone out for a little bit. The next thing I hear is his voice, still trying to convince the girl to stop eating in his class.

“It’s inconsiderate to the cleaning staff. All of you have maids to clean up after you, so you never consider the mess you are creating.” He says.

“I don’t have a mess.” She replies, but I see sugar covering her desk and notebook even from where I’m sitting. Her fingers are covered in this same substance, probably slowly melting in her fingers.

She takes out about five gummy worms out of the bag and places them in her hand. She stands up as the teacher tries to further prove his point, and throws the bag away in the trashcan outside of the classroom.

“See, she didn’t even clean up.” He complains to us as she walks back towards her desk.

She continues swallowing her gummy worms, lips covered in sugar. Sugar, sugar, everywhere, and but a crystal here. Sugar, sugar, everywhere and all the students see, I grin at my amateur attempt at making a parallelism to The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. The grin quickly fades as I realize that we have spent almost fifteen minutes discussing this eating-in-class “problem”. She finishes her last gummy worms, and sick of the teacher’s complaining, stands up.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” sha says, and doesn’t come back for a while.

The teacher continues ranting on and on about our privileged lives and how we don’t care about cleanliness. I don’t have a maid. I think about making a mess all the time because my mother cleans up, and I don’t want to make more work for her. I zone out again, bored, staring into nothingness and thinking about how much I would like to be reading New Philosopher the article my friend send me.

She comes back, without anything to clean up. She just sits down, and the teacher by now has forgotten about her cleaning.

We finally open our books to page 651.

High School Memories

During my four years of high school, I can say I did not truly enjoy even one second. Perhaps  a couple of times I did smile during Language Arts or Spanish Literature classes. However, that was the whole extent of my enjoyment these recent years. The rest of high school was  utterly awful. From stress to sadness, I have felt every possible negative feeling from being a freshman to today.
As the first cause for my disapproval of high school has been the stress. This is an inherent quality in a community more focused on a letter in a page rather than the knowledge on a brain, and, sadly, I am in the position to confess that that was the state of the school before the recent changes (which I fully support).  This feeling has been a constant leech on my creativity and internal growth. It fed all through out high school on my dreams, my aspirations and my physical and mental energy. It was the cause of my lack of sleep oh-so-many nights which will surely reflect on my life cut short
at least a couple of years in my old age.  It has been the cause of my crying out in frustration the many times I have gotten a low score on a test or a homework because inside, I know, that that grade defines me at some level. It is something all parents want to avoid in their child and that the children themselves must avoid, but it is inevitable when letter and numbers with pointless value all surround you and you slowly sink into them. As it is not possible to escape a sinkhole, it is not possible to escape the stress in high school.
The second cause of my disappointment with high school was the corruption of my idealized world inside my mind. How can you ask a child to confront the world at such a young age? It is unavoidable to do so at some point, as evidenced by the concept of maturity, but for me it came too soon. I came from a very happy family and I had been in two very joy-filled schools previously to this one. Innocence surrounded me with classmates who were interested in the classes, who thought it dishonorable to cheat, who did not dare to speak one ill word… I guess childhood ended too soon for my schoolmates and maturity came to late. That is, for most of them. Not all are like this of course, I have seen many of them become excellent persons, capable and with flaws of an adult and no longer of a child. However, it was the encounter with the corruption of innocence that shocked me and uprooted me from my perfect world.
The third, the last, complaint has much to do with the two concepts I have previously discussed.  –Friends. They seem to be perfect in movies, in tv shows, in media. One can always find the perfect best friends who never argue and, if they do, they quickly resolve the matter. For me, it was only like this until I got to high school. That is when I lost my trust of friendship. Why is a very personal matter to me that has a lot to do with the people I look at every day and with people who I no longer do. Nevertheless, the effect has been the one that has overcome my every action. I don’t care who I speak to anymore or if I have friends or even about many people around me. I have desensitized myself of feelings towards relationships. It is the reason why I don’t even care about going to my graduation ceremony.
What has high school done for me? It has destroyed me. I have, as one does, tried to rebuild myself, forgive, forget, and be happy. I can say that I have achieved happiness outside of school, but how can I ever love the dagger that haunted me for so long? I can’t. I have come to grow, become a better person, I am much happier than I ever was and I have a better understanding of the world which fuels me towards change and passion. I am happy with who I am today and excited about who I will be tomorrow, but this has not been because of high school.

Pensamiento de 11:59pm

Quiero ver la belleza en lo que no es bello, 

transitar mi país y sentirlo mío y no tan solo un lugar que tocan las plantas de mis pies. 

Quiero verte a los ojos


A los ojos

Cuando te diga que te amo. 

¿Por qué siento que nunca lo haré? Que nunca te veré y en vez tomaré a un imbécil… Sin satisfacción, sin provecho, nadando en lo banal. 

Coni y su Historia

Coni era un conejo
feliz con su tambor.
Tocaba su sombrero
y olía una flor.

De pronto vino el agua
del cielo y se oyó
cómo el trueno canta:
con estruendo…. ¡él temió!

Con miedo y de prisa,
Coni se cubrió.
Del comienzo de la brisa,
muy rápido corrió.

A su encuentro vino Ardi,
la ardilla amistosa:
– Corriendo yo te vi –
dijo bondadosa.

– No te preocupes, Coni,
A mi tienda has de venir.
Yo te invito a ti,
un tiempo a reír.

La lluvia pasará,
el sol pronto vendrá
un tiempo adentro mal no hará.

Coni dijo – Sí,
Ardi amiga mía,
agradezco a ti.
¡Que solo estaría,
si tu no me hubieras encontrado
en esta tarde fría!

Juntos caminaron
a la tienda de la ardilla.
Juntos ellos cantaron
de camino a la villa.

Llegando a la tienda,
Coni su sombrero vio.
Destrozada fue la prenda
por la lluvia que cayó.

Al lado del conejo,
se encontraba su tambor,
mojado y ya viejo
sin sonido u honor.

La tristeza llegó a Coni.
La tristeza lo invadió.
– Tristeza para mí,
por la lluvia que cayó.

Ardi, compasiva,
un sombrero le ofreció
con una flor muy viva
que pronto él olió.

Pero Coni en el muro
un cartel observó
de un tambor reluciente
¡solamente por un veinte!

Coni angustiado,
no podría decidir.
¡Oh que complicado,
le sería elegir!

De pronto salió Terri,
la tortuga inteligente,
– Tu problema yo oí,
por eso salí a verte.

Disculpa mi intrusión,
no quiero molestarte.
Pero una prevención
quisiera aconsejarte:

El sombrero servirá
para fichas, para sombra,
para todo servirá.

El tambor ya viejo está
mas no lo veas con desprecio,
no es tu único talento
ni tu único instrumento.

No te dejes llevar
por las cosas que tu ves,
por dejarte aconsejar
sin ser tú mismo juez,

todo puede salir mal
sin obras como tal.

– Tienes razón,
tortuga inteligente,
me ayudas un montón,
y me haces aun más fuerte.

Coni el conejo
una lección aprendió
a tomar consejo
y pensar lo que leyó.

Coni es un conejo,
feliz con su canción,
llevando un sombrero
y cantando de corazón.

Santidad Perdida

Sus ojos brillaban como dos estrellas en un mar de tez morena. 

Su sonrisa resplandecía, automáticamente mandando mariposas a mi estómago. 

Sus rodillas se doblaban, sus manos se alzaban. 

Él era el primero, antes de todos y declarado padre de muchos. 

¡Ay! ¡Perdido está el hombre con luz de día! Su alma ha sido derrotada en la noche. 

Jamás serán vistos esos ojos que yo vi.

Jamás sentirá un alma desconsolada sus brazos de amor como yo lo hice.

Jamás caerán lágrimas saladas en sus hombros como la lluvia tormentosa que fueron las mías.

Jamás sonará su voz tan dulcemente a oídos ni se sentirá el calor de sus manos.

¡Perdido! Perdido, ¿dónde he de encontrarte? Un pecado me habéis revelado. ¿Arrepentiráis tu alma o darás muerte a tu vida? 

Cambiarán los ojos pero no morirán.

Cambiará su consuelo pero no morirá.

Cambiará el dueño de las lágrimas pero los hombros no morirán.

Cambiará la dulzura de su voz y el calor de sus manos pero no morirán. 

Dicho está y hecho será: cambiará pero no morirá. Alterado por el pecado mas perfeccionado por el perdón. 

Alma mía, sostén el cambio y ve tu futuro. Previene ahora y no lamentarás mañana. 


Quiero amarte.

Quiero amarte con mi cuerpo, mi alma, mi corazón. Quiero unirme a ti mientras me besas y me despeinas el cabello que por mucho tiempo se mantuvo perfectamente peinado. 

Quiero que me tomes de la cintura y que tus labios toquen suavemente mi cuello. 

Quiero amarte.

Quiero amarte como nunca he amado a un hombre antes, porque tu fuerza y tu ser me llaman más que cualquier otro. 

Quiero besarte y abrazarte, que me tengas en tus brazos una noche entera como lo hacen los personajes de las novelas románticas y cursis.

Quiero tenerte.

Tenerte a mi lado y no soltarte hasta que sea totalmente y absolutamente necesario. Porque en este momento mi corazón ha creado una balada por ti declamando en una y otra vez:

Te deseo. 

The Duke of Delft

The Duke in a position found himself
Of great horror and a terrible demise.
Which we will with now analize.
Hear the story of the Duke of Delft.

He was a man of riches rich,
And of the honor of a king
Who in the warmth of a new spring
Found his luck to in a moment switch.
The day was neither bright or dim;
The lady pictured at the scene
Had not the appearance of a queen,
(More like a harlot might I say.)
But with love blind to him it seemed
She was the light that made day bright,
And with pearlescence of the skin
He found her fit to his heart win.
He searched for her by sun and night,
Hoping at last her name to find.
And yes, he did and sent a rose
with a letter to propose
(What a fool to have done this!)
Not in his mind was her decline.
When the letter had been read;
The lady to his castle went
Meaning for his love to dent
(But upon seeing the great halls)
She decided t’was better to wed
A man whose heart was pure and noble.
The Duke declared, “delight to me
God has brought today through thee.”
And soon married got the couple
(Oh, poor dear, he had not seen his end so near!)

The Duke now steps to his death meet
Oh might you, my reader, be so sweet
As to stop the reading here
And save the fool whose fall they’ll cheer.
Or keep on reading if you dare,
And this moment with me share.

Years he passed of lonely marriage
While his wife the money cherished,
And the love soon took to perish.
It was a night upon his carriage,
That she met her awful partners
With whom she settled the done deed
That to the Duke much dread would leave.
And they together became planners
Of the paralyzing murder
That took place in the king’s castle
To steal the fortunes of the vassal
Who had promised love much stronger
(And pounds in gold and jewels bright!)
Than the one the Duke had given.
The king’s spy soon found out
Where the crime had come to sprout.
“I know where the crime has risen!”
Claimed the wife as the men entered
And they listened quite attentive
“My husband is quite retentive
And to the hate his soul surrendered,
For the vassal at your feet
Owed my husband a thousand pounds
That he had used to buy his grounds,
And meant from it the Duke cheat.”
Her excuses were ignored
As the soldieres grabbed her husband
In a way he was unaccustumed.
The wife had triumphed.

This was the story of the Duke
Who at this moment feels betrayed
As through his neck the blade slices through.

Oh look, the time has come,
When I wonder through the castle
Where the great crime  was committed
And go hunt her in her sleep –
Make her weaken in the knees.
“Hello, wife, are you well tonight?
Have you found peace in my demise?”
I bet she has and laugh greatly
As I stoke her hair so gently.
I repeat the story of my life,
The great story of the Duke,
The fallen Duke of Delft!