tanka en espanol
que somos para los girasoles y cardenalitos… sueños que terminan sin rastro de anhelos
Posts
what are men tanka
“The half life of love is forever.” —Junot Diaz, This Is How You Lose Her - what are men to sunflowers and cardinals, dreams that end without a trace of longing? Painting by Larry Zach
a todos los hombres/ tanka / respondiendo a una cancion de Willie Nelson
a todos los hombres que colmaron mis noches de éxtasis, a los que un día acaricie, acurruque a solo los mejores a mis prófugos del pensamiento que entraron y salieron por mi puerta me alegra que llegaran
mi obra maestra tanka
mi obra maestra… holograma de flores de cerezo derramando los pétalos de mis pesares dentro de un rayo de luz
my masterpiece
my masterpiece... a hologram of cherry blossoms shedding the petals of my sorrows into a ray of light
now that you're gone tanka
now that you're gone, are you really made of stardust? amnesia... a labyrinth of rejected imperfections
From Cinder to Cinder
From Cinder to Cinder how do I draw a broken heart when beauty is nothing but the birth of fear inside me there is only room for light… intersections of harmony, corridors of flaming dawns
In Response to Payam Feili’s poem: Eleven
In Response to Payam Feili’s poem: Eleven I too blossom in that languid lake— grieve for your words my poems bowdlerized beneath fallen leaves I mourn my sitting Shiva my wild rose in dark prison cells where sleeplessness is at no time impossible, where spring never reaches any further than the walls I despair for my uncle’s only son in the cold season of his naked groin O, how I despair for his lips on my nape
miente la música tanka
¿Cuándo miente la música? ¡Cuando sonidos de perfección acústica en Lps sobrepasan mis latidos!
when music learns to lie tanka
when does music learn to lie? when the sounds of acoustic perfection on Lps overpass my heartbeats
con la calma tanka
con la calma que nos distanciamos de la lluvia— envueltos en un sentido de plenitud
the rain tanka
how calmly we distance each other from the rain— a constant sense of fullness surrounding us
my country Tanka
my country 'tis of thee ... picking strawberries at the corner of angst and apprehension over-ridden by ghosts
come sit by me Somonka
come sit by me my kindred friend we can no longer look for God on every corner come here let’s talk they've kidnapped Him, my senseless brother and no one’s paying for his ransom