Friday, January 29, 2010

License And Product Number For Quickbooks 2009

Issue 30 - Journal of Poetry virtual - RESUME

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
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
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

Thursday, January 21, 2010

Free Mario Salieri Movies

Issue 29 - Journal of Poetry virtual - SATURDAY 23

Tupacamarú. Miguel O. Menassa

Poetry School
Group Zero
Director: Miguel Oscar Menassa
RESUME - virtual magazine of poetry -
Workshop Sunday at 17.00 h.
Alcalá de Henares
NUMBER 29. Sunday 17/01/2010
Coordinator: Carlos Fernández Goose


Things space. Miguel O. Menassa

HAVE PURE HEAT COLD

seen in the night Skin
metaphors break the silence echoed
anonymous
and power of all the shadows.

clock I feel the cold void, raised his flag

peace and

way ... The human heat appears
drawing a big heart that beats, beating slowly

in the whistling wind.

I expect nothing.
of pure heat, I have cold.


Mónica López Bordon
Dream
star. Miguel O. Menassa

UNTITLED

Look, see those hearts sad, dark
as funeral
where across the night, humming again

cries of confusion and frost
on such meat wounds.

Look, I say happy substance
to questions by those dry lips,
those mouths full of hatred, not to indulge
blue kisses
more penetrating glare,
that alcohol and poetry, walking on stones
gazelles Non-marking
.

Mira, and open your eyes and separates

silence at night sailing
between mouths shut.


hearts to walk long discouraged.

flying those mouths, silent trains

traveling through places of suffering.

That kiss those eyes,
empty basin,
of bloody footprints,
future looks,
because they still have life.

Prada Vicente Gómez
Lady of the magnolias. Miguel O. Menassa

sadness in LA MIRADA

night Wakes Fall
between the sheets where the bodies still warm,
due to nostalgia, throat
masked silent tears break

way the wind faded scribbling fans blue shadow.

echo is heard at the edge of the abyss of silence, lips
dance to the beat of arms precipitates
Blood opens to secret writing on the horizon
skin
memory verses time naked.

Tattoos Looking back of the prints.

Passion unleashed on the margins of the white-bellied
morning.

Soledad Caballero Castro
Miss gagged. Miguel O. Menassa

MY TWIN SISTER

unknown is that half the difference
living in the unknowns,
and tumble from everyday
obstinacy with equal distance. Mano
hand on his sword and kiss
plowing and planting the barren land. Recorded

heat is on the look
a unison of horizons,
when runaway horses trotting on the passions,
raze the fate of a duality wrought iron.

When he sings the man who comes to meet the target
folds with the power of a god of light, solving mazes furrowing
bread and wine everyday
planets spinning on Monday December.

Ortigosa Carmen Martín
Women's sleep. Miguel O. Menassa

HAVE PURE HEAT COLD

hear your comings and goings.
as an oversight, I feel. Miro
screen and balance
As a broker at the end of the session, let me make
.
But ... I hear it.
is like a purr in the next room
nailing heel.

She makes me feel that I can open the windows to

let the torrid

his crotch caressing my fantasy.
My hands, transparent, transparent as ice


seduce with their movement the cupboard of ideas. I tell

once dreamed without
and oceans filled
absent without noticing their absence.

Francisco Javier Rueda Diago
The two samurai. Miguel O. Menassa

EMPATHY

feel behind closed
the presence of life-like coolness
breath vacuum between the worlds inhabited

something come out of nowhere
my creature is standing on
bridge and no one else
GRITA SOLITUDE

good smell a wet dog
when you have wet eyes
my fly to the sky white horses carrying their wishes

my body becomes the lightness of
young bird in the last shadow
that uses its wings for the first time

Piotr Rzany

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

Pinky Brownish Discharge?

JANUARY 2010. ARTISTS OF VERTIGO. Poetry reading by poets of the Zero Group Poetry Workshops. IN THE BLUE DEVILS. RESUME

Thursday, January 14, 2010

Surgeon App Walkthrough

Issue 28 - Virtual Poetry Magazine -

Tupacamarú. Miguel O. Menassa

Poetry School
Group Zero
Director: Miguel Oscar Menassa
RESUME - virtual magazine of poetry -
Workshop Sunday at 17.00h.
Alcalá de Henares
NUMBER 28. Sunday 10/01/2010
Coordinator: Carlos Fernández Goose


Winter Amores. Miguel O.
Menassa


start earning
Sunrise
any future window.


I love life and leaning on his lines if he gets your scent
dream, so bare and subtle


artery that runs down to the mouth without stopping.

When party in a thousand, million,
gets absorbed in the body,
insomniac skin any time you choose to fly
.


Mónica López Bordon
Encounters of the mist. Miguel. O.
Menassa

ROT

why need meat or spirit?
how you start to love?

if he could deny the wind that ingrained in me ... that other sea

never scratched windows
bony fingers and lives in the shadow of long lashes
cut lemon slices in a different light always ... always keeping pace with
or sleeps your breathing to hers
inhaling all the blackness of your heart suddenly
or wake early in
stalking you looked so cold that seems to be to freeze
with a crack from one moment to another ...
or monitor closely
next full moon belongs to a past made crude and bright tones
not supposed to be rare to mourn the death of someone you never met ...

or bleeding in rivers
to dust or the trees are scarce as teeth
chicken in a land without morals and stripped old
where anyone with patched jersey is painting the sky blue
your door if you could pop

the new blood-stained rocks ...

fungal smell the beauty in pink
shedding its skin fatigue as warm a snake leaving


Piotr Rzany
A seas. Miguel O. Menassa

start earning

I've seen slipping by mocking chrysanthemum
've seen in places that never set foot in time,
drown in kisses smiles, lifting
fist between masters and deer serve as a shield
misery, night clothing
rebellion,
embrace the look of agony,
draw man to the grave,
virgin bathing in the morning.

I drank in her eyes and savored
caresses between their snow, and open flower,
the intoxicating voice of his mad face.

v is the victory, life or executioner.
g is the winner and the brightness or b flag.

-winning start-
expressed their innocent bones glow.
I return to roll the dice,
hide my trembling beneath the stone, when the wind sweeps
much glare, I do not care
the hardship of the road, live
its mystery and write.

Prada Vicente Gómez
The forest of fairies. Miguel O. Menassa

BEYOND TIME

Beyond time and your name
my breath consuming steps
inconsistent language of blood.

not share the sins of the flesh when we fall into the abyss

impenetrable and we have the image of the deformity of the mirror. Then came

my island to mourn the desired
find passion, desire
missed a piece of yesterday.

So what was the dream concave
with those of birds chirping all hear?

You see, we are the clash of history,
and emerge again and again,
from the depths of memory
every time we start a page,
under the same sun with a different heat.

Ortigosa Carmen Martín



After dancing. Miguel O. Menassa

WRITE IN YOUR SKIN



A familiar story wrapped in red
written passions

with the howling of endless night.

The road is
gap in the range of the voice. Mascaras

calendar named
unleash the violence of the blood.

Silence
is looking away in the wind shadows

fall led to the boundaries of the bodies scattered

hidden beyond the vertex.

write on your skin
simple terms
the echo of my body, growing to the limit


of a labyrinth on the edge of the verses. Silhouettes

pale moonlight,
turn in a parade of words,

kisses wrapped in a sad pupil, forever muttering

slow in the morning. Laten


shaken bodies at the time of your lips homeless.


Soledad Caballero Castro