Tupacamaru. Miguel O. Menassa Poetry School
Group Zero Director: Miguel Oscar Menassa
RESUME - virtual magazine of poetry -
Workshop Sunday at 5:00 p.m. .
Alcalá de Henares
NUMBER 30. Sunday 24/01/2010
Coordinator: Carlos Fernández Goose
Group Zero Director: Miguel Oscar Menassa
RESUME - virtual magazine of poetry -
Workshop Sunday at 5:00 p.m. .
Alcalá de Henares
NUMBER 30. Sunday 24/01/2010
Coordinator: Carlos Fernández Goose
Embrace of the Wind. Miguel O. Menassa Bring ONE HOUR TO LIVE
Bring an hour and will live
that is decorated in time without his lyrics
without lighting time in the conversation
blank page
open human naked light
in their own limits.
Bring me one hour to live
and fly in the poem
as winged dove ascending to the universe infinite
in looking for some truth. Bring me my body
passionate kiss
mine to burn the skin
delivered, drunk
fire in your mouth.
Bring me one hour to live.
The word live in
caressed his lips in all its syllables
gushing like a river that is born without stopping.
A woman looks at the world without fear
and makes you shiver. Mónica López
Bordon
Freshwater. Miguel O. Menassa
MAN LOOKING THROUGH THE SHADOWS
As I want a different fate for a few words
sunk into the abyss.
As would unleash the confusion of sunset and go
every inch of the river bank to redeem the silences
decoding the human condition.
I can not, it's hard as you can not imagine
discover the sound of men
the endless tentacles that emerge from their eyes
to explain the shock and disorder.
I can not name the deep-rooted trees,
the smallness of your wondering, fatigue
moving
the poison falls from heights,
the future and irony.
How would have this unbearable pain, my rage turned off
,
that damn air density,
leave my lungs,
than death, for once, lost its timeliness
asthenic acidity
and emptied my heart, as would
...
not cost me anything ...
!.
Prada Vicente Gómez
sunk into the abyss.
As would unleash the confusion of sunset and go
every inch of the river bank to redeem the silences
decoding the human condition.
I can not, it's hard as you can not imagine
discover the sound of men
the endless tentacles that emerge from their eyes
to explain the shock and disorder.
I can not name the deep-rooted trees,
the smallness of your wondering, fatigue
moving
the poison falls from heights,
the future and irony.
How would have this unbearable pain, my rage turned off
,
that damn air density,
leave my lungs,
than death, for once, lost its timeliness
asthenic acidity
and emptied my heart, as would
...
not cost me anything ...
!.
Prada Vicente Gómez
Amores winter. Miguel O. Menassa AY! IS A PAIN?
The heavy silence walks the streets,
pain as hermit consumed in burning,
takes a step and another and ... oh!.
Shake the air there where the heart pierced by a word,
threatening throbs and swings out of the chest, in a farewell
not let go after the sound of bells.
further step, and .... Ay!
And now Who is it?
Everywhere has leaked that vein that carries blood,
rolling toward death in gangrenous legs.
comes the smell of rotten who can not hold the howl of grief. Who
wipe away the salt of tears?
when it falls to the ground in disarray, reports
dragging a body,
that burned his eyes into the abyss of birth.
Sleep, sleep curled up in pain the time of forgiveness,
do not wake the children of wrath,
remember you needed so many blows of love and of hatred,
to flap their wings and put in the middle of a waiting time.
Ortigosa Carmen Martín
Dining at home. Miguel O. Menassa TOMB HURRICANE
The city wakes up with the silence of the steps
asleep
wounded bodies wrapped in bitterness.
I look up,
dusk fell,
exposed skin is uninhabited
dueling words over time, conjuring up conspiracies
in the forbidden garden of silence.
There are times when a tear moistened
sleep with the scent of memories. Hurricane
languish
graves in this lonely naked
transferred from the wound of passion, touched by the anguish
caressing the roots cracked
live in fear,
tattooed into oblivion.
Soledad Caballero Castro
Within the heart. Miguel O. Menassa NOT SO FAR
His smile was not related to that worn face, that body
starving and broken foot.
But it did not matter, the smile he boasted of no escape to other worlds
wealthier
The old woman came down the street,
at breakneck speed.
in one hand a book full of tears future songs.
In the other just a groove, the groove depth
that crosses from palm
to the hearts of others.
And that marks the passing of years do not trodden.
His crying was calm, his eyes misty.
But when he spoke the birds stopped their flight
Not to be shot down by word of sentence.
When I finally hit the lock it all fell apart,
she was just floating in space
with a wrench in his hand. With a turn-key store opened
star
and swallowed all that had just that.
An elderly woman with a turn-key
Francisco Javier Rueda Diago
Interdict. Miguel O. Menassa ORPHAN OF YOUR LIPS ALWAYS
I traced the bird in flight from other lips
ivy
tiny bridges
mouth to mouth breathing and continue the daily ritual of forgettable
arise in the mind sets of words
advance in chill on a track ash
be tied round my throat as my neck
waving blossoms and turns my fingers always
moisture
with the same air of bullies
orphan heartless
enlabio your name in the absence of other
Piotr Rzany
I traced the bird in flight from other lips
ivy
tiny bridges
mouth to mouth breathing and continue the daily ritual of forgettable
arise in the mind sets of words
advance in chill on a track ash
be tied round my throat as my neck
waving blossoms and turns my fingers always
moisture
with the same air of bullies
orphan heartless
enlabio your name in the absence of other
Piotr Rzany
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