L'illa del fum: Poesia [in english, français, italiano,português] (+30 textos)

Forever rain and other poems...

(2009 - 2012)

Forever Rain

   Whenever it rains in our nightmares
     as city of Blade Runner .
     Do not dream of electric sheep
     just beautiful and deserted beaches

Pray for my darkness
Ill and not blessed.
I was born in the darkness.
I will come back in the darkness.
Pray for me
and that your light
impregnates my life
and my way.
Pray for me
now that I give back in the darkness
I will remember your light.
It will be my best way.

Cinders of december

Give back the home

all creatures of the world

Tell me…how you have burned your way?

You pick up the ashes

and you don’t want to aim

for sweet and wonderful fate.

Is more late?

You pick up the ashes we

the beaus of sweet and wonderful

life, will ever not be.

They come back in the home

all the crowd of the world

loaded of illusions and also lies.

But there will be people without home

drowned in dark ocean

and a life shipwrecks on the high seas.

Why do you cry?

If you can come back at home…

But there are empty houses without anybody

Say me…how you have burned your way?

You pick up the ashes

the cinders of december and remain me.

We will share the cinders

another cold december

dreaming with a new life

and with a new way.

You pick up the ashes

of another december…

Please you don’t cry

tonight;

they say that it’s the most cheerful night

but the emptiness gobbles down for me

until the morning.

You pick up the cinders of december

Please stand by me

tonight.

We will dream together one another life

Maybe another fate.

Oh cinders of december!

Cinders of my way…

I feel how every night they burn

and go me until the morning.

Oh cinders of december!

Black butterflies

Lagoons in my head.

I search the light in the middle of the forest.

In November already is here.

The autumn hideout slowly.

Dark thoughts stroll for my head

like black butterflies

that are wanted to escape

of a world without flowers

without illusions.

Black butterflies fly to my head.

They search the light in the middle of the forest.

Alice’s mirrors

Cross the mirror

and look the wonders.

Cross the distance

of real life and dreaming life.

If I could be cross the mirror

and don’t see horrors

If I could be see just only

panoramic beuty views,

tender lifes,

minutes of pretty lights

in our lifes.

Forgiven roses in a book...

In your bed...

forgotten roses,

roses forgiven in a book.

In your mind

it rains books

with beautiful roses

and with incredible stories.

Oh beutiful roses!

Oh Bleeding roses

of the last days...

Today only they are ashes of a story.

Today only they are fragments of our memory

Mucha's Goddess
Where do you come Goddess
with your dazzling beauty
a more dreamlike than real?
Where do you come Goddess
a world of fairies
ethereal and friendly
where everything is unattainable
and where everything is so unreal ...
Daughters of Nature.
Muses beyond.
Goddesses Mucha
Yesterday, today and 150 years ago.

Night Smoke
velvet gloves.
Goddess of dreams
How many have fallen for you?
The time will never forget
your perfume.

LONDON RIVER

Lost souls

middle of the Thames

Souls upset

middle of the Thames

Oh London River

illuminates my life back!

Hearts beaten

a tragedy

Children who no longer

and only ashes.

Oh London River

illuminates my life back!

In a world of beasts

our hearts are weak.

Gimme tenderness

now that there are differences.

Oh London River

illuminates my life back!

Burning bridges
Crossing roads

I feel that I left behind
many storage
and so much misery!

Crossing bridges
I'm afraid to look back
forget who it was
forget who I am.

But I feel that I can follow:
burning bridges
burning bridges!

ALL THE FRUITS OF SUMMER

The air is dry

gold fields

long days

not again ...

Do not feel the distance

the crying of a child?

Come the cold

dreamed fields

tasty fruit

not again

as the innocent smile

of a child.

If I could taste

All the fruits of summer

Biting the peach

and I returned all that warmth

a gentle breeze

a dream of late summer.

Pear, watermelon, cantaloupe

peach, plum and smell

thousand ripe blackberries

as a sophisticated treat.

These memories are fleeting

are the fruits of summer ...

Oh all the fruits of summer ...

A world that was lost

and now it seems a story of late summer.

Pretty horses
Oh, Pretty horses!
In my mind…you’re happy.
In my dreams…you’re happy.
Horses riding to sky
Crossing gold field in august.
If I could be a horse, free horse
Running in wild beach
in a midle august.
Oh, Pretty horses!
In your mind…I’m happy.
In your dreams…I’m happy.
Wild horses in your mind.
Wild horses in my mind.
Riding to sunset sky
in evening in midle august.
Oh Pretty horses!
Lost memories of my world.
Lost memories of your world.
Lost memories of our world.

Empty pockets

broken

with sand

washed

quickly

on days ,

weeks

as a clock sand

impeccable

and precise ...

And these days

dream

cross a gold field

spring

full of light

to night,not look back

not feel the fear

to cross and would flee away

do not know why;

escape a world that did not want;

find a perfume

you captive,

feel alive

nothing without you Domain

as a slave

without poisons

false paths without

only one ways

that make us feel comfortable

and not strangers.

Port of roses

In a midle of the lake

in a other times

I remember your bikes

I remember other times;

in a midle of the spring

in this lake

You and me ate cakes

and felt the smell of the park...

You and me felt

thousand roses,

our port of roses.

Oh Port of roses

thousand boats

destiny high seas

with our coats

and with our dreams.

In a midle of the lake

in a other times

I remember your bikes

I remember your dreams.

I remember one port

covered

thousand of destinations

thousand of roses.

**************************

NEW POEMS 2013

Banjo's men (in weekend)

Male gray weekday

man by his surly

man who does not speak much

man nobody knows why

one day he picked up a banjo

to tell a thousand stories

for those who do not listen.

Oh man the banjo

expected by the weekend

nothing more important than you

minutes to complete

of that dirty bar

sad and lonely ...

You are your Soul!

Oh banjo's men!

All await your weekend.

Gray man.

Werewolf.

Male shy.

Male dark.

Everyone was surprised

When the weekend.

                                                                     16
                                                           House of mirrors

Oh, Alice, you who sticks through the mirror

There are so many doors and windows!

Say what is the best

to escape from this world of rush

and seek a peaceful and joyful way!

Destiny of my soul

The old days

merged

like a leaf

the bottom of the lake.

Find it impossible

a distant memory ...

Oh destiny of my soul!

I have done that in those days:

Sunday dreaming of sunshine

and Lake crowded

strolling calmly ...

What little we care about wasting time!

The beautiful days

merged

and now the lake is frozen

and more than one has been stifled ...

If I could retrieve those days

where there were no deaths

or ghosts.

Oh destiny of my soul!

I have done that in those days?

The landscapes change

thousand souls are filled with grief and decadent.

River Dance

Not hear the sound of the river?

We do not know where it leads ...

We've forgotten your warmth

the land that gave us

thousand thousand fruit motifs

dance to celebrate

alive.

Nobody walks near the river

They say back to the origins

when the seasons

had reasons to party

by sunny days,

harvest and storm.

Not hear the sound of the river?

Four young men planted their orchards

They say that all is not dead

There are fresh fruit market domincals

organically grown

which brings us back to earth.

Not hear the sound of the river?

Not hear the sound of the earth?

Back to origins?

The dance of the ancients.

Fleurs en septembre

(2009 - 2012)

Fleurs en Septembre
fleurs en Septembre

ils respirent le souffle chaud

Frost sera bientôt

dans le désert

La fée verte des matins…

Celle-ci est la fée de la vie.

La fée verte.

Celle-ci est la porte des rêves.

Rêver il ne fait pas mal

ils disent les poètes…

Les matins sont durs

ils disent les athlètes…

et les versos son le poison

de beaucoup de poètes.

Oh fée verte des matins.

Réveille-moi avant que le poison

ne me meure.

Tempêtes de gel

Petite enfer

de fleurs sauvages

piquants au front

blessées ouvertes…

Chemins gelés

vers un avenir obscur.

Héros antarctiques

vers un immense mur

de glace énorme

au milieu de l’océan

de doutes et peurs…

Il faut suivre en avant!

Il y a des tempêtes de terre glaise.

Il y a des tempêtes de gel.

Il y a une petite lumière

au fond de l’univers.

Oiseaux de la nuit

Oiseaux de la nuit

que vous rêvez traverser des frontières

S`il était possible de voler

doucement entre les crêtes…

Oiseaux de la nuit

que vous rêvez traverser des frontières

S’il était possible de voler

sans brouillard ni peine

sans pluie ni nuit

seulement un instant

avec la lumière ténue du matin…

Vous seriez hereux

Oh oiseaux de la nuit!

Mais le rêves sont rêves

I seulement vous pouvez goûter

le crépuscule du matin.

Le beau crépuscule

qui’l sépare tant de vies

et tant de destins.

Tous les matins du monde ...
Je ne sais pas qui je suis
nous ne savons plus qui nous sommes.
Nous ne sommes que des traces de non-retour.

Tous les matins du monde ...
Les vagues de la mer
couvert de l'obturateur
Nous avons cherché une maison où
la mélodie fragile d'un monde agonisant.

Tous les matins du monde ...
J'entends ta mer ...
Votre violoncelle a été
tandis que le soleil nous caresse.

Mais un jour le ciel est devenu noir
et vous avez décidé de ne pas jouer.
Le matin, le père de routine
s'est brisé en un instant.

Mais un jour tu t'en vas
et j'ai commencé à se noyer.
Je peux encore entendre la belle mélodie tous les matins
sentent imprègne chaque instant.

Je ne comprends pas comment vous fuir
Je n'aime pas ce que vous préférez en laissant la mer ...
Le violoncelle est un vieux bateau abandonné
ressemble à un bateau cassé.
Peut-être que c'est pourquoi j'ai décidé de brûler
votre navire abandonné.
Ses cendres sauvé
votre note du matin.

Je me lève le matin
de vous voir là-bas et continue de jouer
est un spectre qui me dérange
et m'acarona temps en temps.

Tous les matins du monde
Chaque matin, la mer
Recherche votre monde
milieu de mes rêves
Je me sens si petite
vous souvenir de votre monde
noyés au milieu de vos notes
Mon épave
nos morts.

(Pris à un carrefour) de l'aéroport passages à niveau en une nuit de Noël

Au milieu de l'une des nombreuses façons,
          milieu d'une intersection d'un aéroport
les hommes jeunes et vieux
             Les femmes consoler les enfants
                     essayer d'oublier qu'ils sont pris au piège
pour les malchanceux
vivant à l'extérieur de la maison
            et ne pas se sentir réconfort
           aspirait à un câlin.

Et au milieu de la douleur
un homme chante:
"Oh, je suis l'amour
Je suis l'enfant
Je suis juste un voyageur
Aujourd'hui, nous chanter une chanson;
Si je pouvais le confort tout votre coeur
neige et le vide ...

Je suis juste une étoile pour Noël
aujourd'hui l'aéroport au milieu de ce froid
veut croire que le monde peut être meilleur.
Je suis juste une chanson:
ce soir, part
comme un petit trésor
que notre petit trésor. "

LE MONDE, LES ENFANTS et une île sauvage

Le monde
les enfants
qui rêvent
un moment
doux sourire
certains jouent à l'extérieur
plage
le sort cruel
de nombreuses vies
et pour eux la vie est une vague
où tout est tactile, spontané et aimable.
Il ya des enfants qui ne sourient pas
ni désirs ni nourriture ou destinations.
La vie est un esprit sauvage
peut changer en un instant les vagues.

Le monde
les enfants
sourire
un moment
un souffle de vie
Oh, la vie, la vie et le monde
bonheur et tout un ensemble de mots
pourquoi parfois nous avons du son à distance
comme une île sauvage?

***********

Poèmes inédits 2013

Chemins de fer

qui mènera

un millier de vies

pas vivre,

Pourquoi vous tromper

chaque étape

recherche et ne savent pas

le voyage de droite.

Attendez le bip

des chemins de fer

train routier.

Les heures impossibles

bon ami
où sont les moments où tout était possible?
bon ami
Pourquoi il suffit de penser que le monde
Il ya un certain nombre d'heures
où tout est possible?
bon ami
Pourquoi ne pas oublier les heures impossible?

Quand il n'y a pas de temps à sourire
                                             Quand il n'y a pas de temps pour demain ...
                                             Nous croyons que tout serait intact:
                                             Nous sommes ce que nous sommes devenus
                                             à chaque instant ...
                                             Nous avons oublié ...
                                             Ce moment de se sentir libre
                                             Ce sentiment instantané grande
                                             Ce moment de gloire
                                             Ce voyage que nous ayons prise.

                                              L'inventaire des heures impossibles
                                              est un inventaire final.

***********

IN ILLO TEMPORE

(2010 - 2012)

A AQUEL TEMPO...

A quel tempo

Come un bambino

Vicino a un lago

Vicino a un fiume ...

Tutto è stato facile

Tutto è stato più facile.

Kite Runner

Barche in acqua

Sognare insieme

tutti i bambini

una grande destinazione.

A quel tempo

Tutto era una sfida.

Ora è un pugnale

inchiodato l'ombelico.

Tornò al lago

icy

in un freddo inverno.

Non ci sono gli aquiloni o barche.

Ma ho ancora il sogno di quel bambino.

A quel tempo ...

Quel versetto semplice

Quel versetto così bella

Quel versetto finora

Quel versetto come tag

Quel versetto così crudele

E così semplice ...

Non è vero

quella sera

ci rende più fragile

Non è vero

quella notte

dimenticare i desideri

Non è vero

che è più veloce

viene prima la felicità.

Guardare il tramonto

e tutti i tuoi sogni ...

Osservate come cadere

un altro inverno

a camminare in primavera

inaspettato come una cellula

coperto da nuvole di tempesta.

Non è vero

che ci dimentichiamo i sogni

E quando scende la sera

e le facce sembrano stanco

corpi e brevi flessibile

e quando si guarda all'infinito

come il giorno finisce ...

Non è vero

che noi siamo più fragili

o anche più

o più fori;

mentre il mondo affonda

mentre il nostro piccolo mondo s'enfosa

ci sentiamo più liberi

e volatile.

***

Pousadas (2010)

POUSADA

Todos os homens

procurar uma Pousada

onde ficar lá para sempre

apenas um sentimento

o murmúrio das ondas.

Todos os homens

procurar uma Pousada

onde você pode respirar facilmente

durante um longo dia

sentido apenas por alguns instantes

o murmúrio das ondas.

Todos os homens

procurar uma Pousada

Ithaca perdidos na

como um sonho Island

como utopia perdida

que por alguns dias

férias

só pode sentir

o ritmo das ondas.

***

Novas palavras 2013

Porto triste (carta para o Brasil)

a Jordi A., in memoriam
Bom companheiro de viagem!

Obrigado companheiro!

Por que esquecemos os sonhos

como devorar os anos?

             Carta para o Brasil:
                                  Ventos tristes vêm do sul
                                  Alguém me disse que há
                                  mas no meu mundinho
                                  Vejo que ainda nesse aeroporto
                                  caminho de seu mundo e sonhos.
                                  Ventos tristes vêm do sul
                                  você vai ser feliz
                                  e encontrar uma praia onde
                                  Por favor, fique para sempre
                                  seu pequeno paraíso.
                                 E alguém me disse isso
                                 você vai ser feliz
                                 meio de pousadas
                                 sempre o seu sonho
                                 foi o Brasil.
                                 Meu amigo, por tão bom,
                                 Eu sou apenas
                                 Eu me pergunto todos os momentos
                                 onde eu enterrei meus sonhos
                                apenas quando ela era uma estudante.
                                Ele sonhava em ser um poeta e histórias publicadas ...

                                Agora eu não sei o que o meu sonho ...
                                Você faria se você estava certo!
                                Eu encontrei muitos mortos
                                e chuva repentina
                                Chupei a energia das pessoas
                                e alguns roubado o coração;
                                e agora eu recebo estes ventos
                               Seu fim súbito
                               Eu não podia deixar uma lágrima
                               por alguém que lutou
                               o sonho possível ...

                                 E alguém me disse isso
                                 você vai ser feliz
                                 meio de pousadas
                                 sempre o seu sonho
                                 foi o Brasil.

                                       E por outro lado do oceano
                                         vôce imaginare uma pousada:
                                          Bom companheiro de viagem!
                           Obrigado parceiro!
                                                   Por que nos esquecemos os sonhos
                                como devorar os anos?

NOTA:

Haig de confessar que el mèrit d'aquests textos no és només meu, és també del diccionari i del traductor de google i del traductor del gencat. El que faig és: l'escric en català i l'intento traduir a un altre idioma amb l'ajuda d'un diccionari o d'un traductor o també en faig un esquema amb quatre paraules amb un altre idioma i ajudat d'altres eines (diccionari, google, etc) l'intento confeccionar i comprovar si realment sona bé. Simplement és un joc, és un experiment i n'estic content del resultat.

Reconec que jugar amb les paraules és un manera d'aprendre només una mica un altre idioma i si a més en surt algún text decent, doncs endavant!