Tamil Kavithaigal About Marriage

A poem of Jesus Chamarro

FURY "?


meaningless walked to the terrace bar;
film session
untimely
the sex shops and covered with neon
like dogs in the rain,
not find after
the fury of the storm ,
a fucking
mark territory with our fire.

JESUS \u200b\u200bJACKET

anapmares@gmail.com

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anapmares@gmail.com

Online Warhammer Tabletop

A poem by Omar Pimienta

(For April)

Highrollers from Tijuana to Las Vegas
of sin city sin city for a pontiac montana

before throwing the dice
flashbacks:
I: Cancer Dona Sara eats a Sunday afternoon

Duck: Dona Rosa falls in the morning to get ready for
work stroke and end up with her Social Security

Laguana: it renders the liver of Don Juan lower
the checkered flag ends the quarter mile that ruled his life

with the left front wheel of wonder Why would a million dollars
not talk about the future: dog next to masturbate in dirty pants

our goal has always been broken: in the back seat
a taxi at the last second of the game
with the bottle on the head of another

we play God never got to play God with us awhile

Highrollers this is no longer a game of cards
spend one after the other after one after another apostémoslo everything is not so
not be the first time I woke up beaten
in this dark alley with the taste of blood and the smell of our sin city dollar


Highrollers your bets up we
who charge dice.


We have a sea of \u200b\u200bshit
people standing perpendicular to the shore watching a wall
waiting for a shift change
a tsunami that drag San Diego

a sea to which the whole city empties
when the child arrives and we cry for days and nights we

cardboard houses that float to the sea a sea of \u200b\u200bshit
California Pacific
our shit and other
which once took me by the hair of my mother's ghost

cold most of the time
oddly enough the shit can be cold
a sea with waves of bodies match that lights the night sand dilutes
names of all who see the horizon
with stuffy noses. OMAR



PEPPER (From The wind baton. Thanks)

anapmares@gmail.com

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valladolid antifascist



Good,
antifascist
From Valladolid we invite you to participate in the activities of this Saturday 26 March at 18.00 h. in the Plaza de la Danza (next to the Plaza de Vadillos), which will deal with this public space to present our campaign, "Live and Combative Barrios" to Hip Hop rhythm while performing a graffiti contest. There

you there!

The antifascist of Valladolid began with this act a campaign which will tour several working class districts of the city spreading the message of intercultural coexistence of the dignity of labor and social change. Let


history of capitalism
live in an age in which a decadent capitalist system tries to perpetuate its existence at the expense of further exploitation and less freedom for social majorities. The social disaster caused by capitalist institutions and European governments-whether social or right-to benefit the banks and corporations has led to unemployment for millions of people, wiping out the future prospects and projects of life of large sectors especially a youth that he draws a black future. This system does not work, capitalism is oppression and injustice.

The perpetrators of the crisis limusiona ride, not by boat.

capitalist logic that bases the development of some countries in the looting of the majority-is one that condemns millions of people in the peripheral countries the migration out to find a decent life. This campaign aims to be a breath of fresh air to bury the self-conscious and miserable racist speech to the surface and remove the dignity of youth, working people, irrespective of their origin, we know who the real culprits who brought us to this situation: those who accumulate their fortunes at the expense of deteriorating working conditions, benefits tax and corruption, the organizations that represent and seek to display as representative of all of us when only govern for the benefit of an oligarchy.

build popular power, social change

Given the corruption, the discrediting of politics and lack of prospects, young people, working people have to speak, because we are the ones who make operate this society, those who create the wealth and values. They want us to resign and take refuge in a false apolitical, to remain on the sidelines and give to them - "professionals" - the monopoly of policy to follow making and unmaking at will. But we do battle, not from the institutions, nor with the easy vote to narrow electoral choices that serve the same interests, but from our neighborhoods. The next day 26 will recover the streets to make them feel the winds of anti-capitalism in our city, this time taking up space in the Plaza de los Vadillos to the rhythm of hip hop and the graffiti as a cultural expression in the service of social change. Youth, workers, unemployed, pensioners, small merchant, neighbor build living quarters and combative!

Valladolid antifascist
coordinadorantifavalladolid@hotmail.com

Ineed Tally 9 In For Iphone

For squat in London, a story in the anthology Visceral

squat in London
BECAUSE
He had prepared all-dark clothing, hat, screwdrivers, lever, with a manic concentration, a concentration that until I took for resolution . Later I learned that fear is capable of destroying everything and leaving a vacant lot in their wake. However convinced that was what he would do, my attitude was not different from the one who is about to commit a crime to be reprehensible and self-forces away all scruples, every emotion, every thought. To make matters worse, she was drunk, and had not yet learned the value that gives the wine is the same that can pocketable guarantee a weapon that no one taught you to shoot.


(So begins the story I wrote for visceral, the anthology coordinated by José Ángel Barrueco and Mario Crespo. Here you can read the prologue and epilogue, written by them. And if you click on the cover, you can see all the authors. For my part, a pleasure to be part of this book.)

anapmares@gmail.com

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Presentation literary practices of conflict, Enrique Falcón

Presentation of the book's literary practices conflict Enrique Falcon accompany Alfons Cervera, Alfonso Serrano ( Editorial The sheep red), Arturo Borra and Laura Giordani.

Wednesday March 23 at 19:30 pm. La Nau-
Vice President for Arts, Culture and Heritage
University Street, 2.
Valencia.


"Capitalism is in the process of domesticating one of the
forces that seemed to escape his power: the intellectual
protesters. The democratization progress,
therein, in the sense of "order" and compulsion: the development
expression techniques are passed through the ring
the state or the powers of money. Established
the reign of producer, what place leaves
forces protest, rebellion, utopia, ie
all those who clutter the job? Framed,
overwhelmed with prizes and awards as a fool
election, the intellectual give to you return
of honor. No one now has nothing to fear. "
(J.-M. Domenach)


Some fragments of love, anger.

2) Look in the face of despair and not lower my eyes.
So write.

11) COMMUNIA NON EST IDENTIFICATIO

Poetry current policy does not represent who are denied a voice.
should not supplant the wounded.
Just as it is absurd that the poem seeks the reader's identification with the victims, should never do political poet who writes from Europe.
should worry us that can be said of us that we raise the voice of those living in the gutters
history.
Our voice is our voice. If not, no hope.

40) BATTLE TACTICS

When our poems become too autonomous, we will intensify our membership in grassroots organizations and work in the neighborhood of writing workshops.
When our poems become painfully predictable, we will resume diving into the depths of consciousness.

beset
From this tension in the open, do not expect to be fully received and in any home.

41) should be highly concerned about what poetry is harmless now.

58) we are bogged down: Repaint
rotten wood BOAT
about to sink can not be content with the idea that sentimental naturalism of the poetry of yesterday, it has to happen today or naive realism who shows evident only predictable, or metaphysical point of being alive-as-class-wise, or that such ideologically impeccable academic poetry has lost all real contact with men and women of his time.
exhausted on the remains of a peacock, urban look, and completely immobile useless-crabs, dormice and owls. Two spans
below, removing the underground, earthworms while working.

61) PORTRAIT OF THE NEW LITERATURE
Our contemporary poetry available to the public more receptive to exist, since what
compose their own poets, loaded with knives.
also have our last poetry of the community trained culinary
literary critics. To hide: label makers for the same ties.


62) The least warned purpose of much of the recent English poetry is
predispose to resignation.


64) We shall return to this in the center of our literature.
not only will save the device.

66) OUR "COMMITMENT"
i. Our literary effort is "committed to the language (and much less, to the office or with the work itself).
ii. Our commitment is literary as political and spiritual burden.
iii. The expression of such speech is absolutely loaded language.
iv. Our artifacts are words. V.
The work that we sink to get what they seek is from the base material
of language and speech records.
vi. Among its many possibilities contemplate the distortion of language as parteconstitutiva a strong position politically and spiritually in the midst of the world.
vii. But still stuck squarely in the ductility of this material language, we are not so
any "committed to the language."


Enrique Falcón (Valencia, 1968) to date has published books of poetry The day I called Pushkin (Ediciones del Ayuntamiento de Sevilla, 1992), The march of 150,000,000: 'The Pillage' (Rialp, Madrid , 1994), The march of 150,000,000: "The Sack" and "The Other Residents'
(Germania, Valencia, 1998), AUTT (Flood, Huelva, 2002), 9 poems (Universitat Valencia, 2003), ammonal (Idea, Tenerife, 2005), Love, anger (Editions August 4, Logroño, 2006), for a while injured (Amargord, Madrid, 2008) Red Tavern and Other Poems ( Baile del Sol, Tenerife, 2008) and the final song of the book "The March of 150,000,000 poem, 'The Looting
', 'The Other Residents', 'For those who are still alive', 'The Fall of God' and "Song of E '(Eclipse, Zaragoza, 2009)

until 1994 was part of critical equipment" Alicia under Zero "responsible for the book Poetry and Power (Ediciones Bajo Cero, Valencia, 1997). He was a member of the editorial board of the magazine "Red Moon" and coordinator of the volumes do not bend your knees, seven critical projects in the recent English poetry (Universidad de Chile, Santiago, 2002), Poetry and disorder (Setbacks, Madrid, 2007) and Once critical poets recent English literature (Dance Sol, Tenerife, 2007).

anapmares@gmail.com

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stories below, a poem by Roxana Popelka

(Suso33)

stories below

the cracks between the floorboards


let through floor
stories below.


And tasted as if they were true.


My neighbors


POPELKA ROXANA, Happy birthday poetry 1989-2009. Sun Dance, 2010

anapmares@gmail.com

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Two Ángel González González poems

(Freeuno)

Freedom

We were taught to choose between electrocution or decapitation

as
saw images on TV,

always believed to be positioned next to the lot.



Leisure
laugh also
Sundays and national holidays

character and remove the rust
-moving muscle
praying to their god tribal

morbid funeral of good luck. Why they bought sweets

to 25 pesetas coins and pockets

know what
decay better than anyone.

ANGEL GONZÁLEZ GONZÁLEZ, Russian Doll, 4th Edition August Underground Metro Library, 2010

anapmares@gmail.com

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Warsaw, a poem by Ana Pérez Cañamares

(Prozna Street. He was part of the Warsaw ghetto.)
WARSAW

I'm having a beer in front of what once was your home.
Now your house is a symbol and
symbols are not habitable.
For you must have
it would never stop being
houses:
clatter of dishes bursting laughter


sheets stretched to project the sun's evening movie:
a film about happiness or at least

safety of a shelter. Shelter
transfer and the street noise never
horror.
Through the curtains
the horror is not assumed.

I tell stories.
soldiers throwing children through the windows. Soldiers

cutting beards and sideburns with a razor, in the street carnival of humiliation.
I tell stories, but your house does not seem owned
hell.
is old, yes, and there is a bullet hole under a ledge
as fingerprints of God to sink into mud
solid.
pointing to the chosen or damned.
Nevertheless, like all the houses, some still

of tender and impregnable.

I'm drinking a beer.
not my health or yours.
What can I say about you?
memories of you I have
and I feel shame to imagine.
I have memory of mankind. Even
I have. And I have also a house.
I remember now: the dishes
sheets, curtains,

treasures betray me as deluded owner.

A reinforced door: the pit

that no army has been tested.

But

or beyond
house is a place. A place you want to share

even want to invade
although not a territory or a ruin.
is the place to
escaped a second before the door was torn down
. Or a second later.
When you realized that the houses might seem a universe

but not even a country.
And a cry in another language opens wide
windows
being dismissed on the street like vomit.

houses poorly digested violence of strangers.

has to be a place.
The place I do not reveal your photo.
The place
destroy others with words or with bombs. Rat
there does not mean anything. The pain can cloud

but not wall.
is the ghetto we raise
within us.
The tomb that we choose to occupy.
Not what we say.

The bunker inside you.

ANA PÉREZ Cañamares

anapmares@gmail.com

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Mary Jo Bang in Spain



PRESS RELEASE THE AMERICAN POET MARY JO BANG
VISIT MADRID AND BARCELONA

Within a European tour that will take as a writer
invited to the Leipzig Book Fair and
to Berlin, the poet Mary Jo Bang (
awarded the prestigious National Book Critics Circle Award
in 2007) will visit Spain from
next 22 to 24 March, giving a series of readings of his work
in Madrid, Alcala de Henares and Barcelona.


Mary Jo Bang (Waynesville, Missouri, 1946), has published six books of poetry to date: The Bride of E (2009), Elegy (2007), The Eye Like a Strange Balloon (2004), The Downstream Extremity of the Isle of the Swans (2001), Louise in Love (2001), Apology for Want (1997), work which won the Katherine Bakeless Nason Prize (1996). Elegy (Translated by Jaime Priede and published last September in Bartleby Poetry Library) is the only book translated and published in Spain.

currently lives in St. Louis, Missouri (USA), where she teaches English and directs the Creative Writing Program at Washington University.

Readings / Presentations:

Madrid: Hotel Kafka (Hortaleza, 104). 22/03/1911 20 h.
Speakers: Jordi Doce, Julieta Valero and the author.

Barcelona: Llibreria Laie (Pau Claris, 85). 24/03/1911 19:30 Speakers: Eduardo Moga. Alex Chico and the author.

What the press says about Elegy:

We are not in another book, but to a single text
(ABC Cultural - Jaime Siles)

Bang drags the reader along the path of poetry that emerges from the visceral need writing. The quiet and without fanfare pain of a mother to the child's death will not reverse in fact melodrama, but a first-class research on language and its limits
(Culture (s) - La Vanguardia - Anna Carreras)

Bang has trained herself to bring forth from their suffering a wealth of emotions that we do not get emotional comfort or education, but aesthetic pleasure and drive to live
(Cultures LNE - Luis Muniz)

A splendid and honest exercise where the language goes into the ways of naming the absence
(Revista de Letras - Javier Moreno)

The gap becomes food for thought and lucidity and pain transfigured into a
growth factor (Review Meetings - Santos Dominguez)

A small masterpiece
(Diario de Menorca - Lluís Vergés)

One text more personal and sincere that I have read
(Arts and Letters - Herald Aragon - Henry Villagrasa)

Some books are dropped as a continuous shock, electrical, leaving little room for respite. Elegy may be one of these
(Cuadernos del Sur - Sara Ulate)

One of the best books of poetry this year
(Library Cervantes Alcalá - Javier Rodriguez)

A book that will have to talk
(Culturama - Ernesto García López)

with a verse real, well-armed and strong formal structure, Mary Jo Bang vertebra intense love song where the lights, beautify and saddened by all that touches and where vivid memory stands
(Andalusia Information - Jorge de Arco )

These poems, scraping the throat of the reader, reveal, however, the good offices of a great poet
(Koult - José Ángel García Caballero)

Not that the poems of Mary Jo Bang has not learning. Is that the author knows the pain does not stop, it just transforms. To learn of the loss is to lose less
(Storm in a glass - Sofia Castanon)

One of the most recognizable names in the U.S. last poetry
(Babelia - The Country - Ángel L. Prieto de Paula)


Bartleby Editores anapmares@gmail.com

Cervix Is Open And Low What Does This Mean?

Farewell of a landscape, a poem by Wislawa Szymborska

Farewell
landscape
do not blame the spring
arrives again.
I'm not complaining as it meets every year

their obligations.


understand that my sorrow will not stop the grass. If the stems hesitate

be only by the wind.


hurts me not to the groves of alder
recover its murmur.


I acknowledge that, like you're living,
the shore of a lake is as beautiful as
era.


no hard feelings from view by the sight of a bay
dazzling.


I can even imagine that others, not us,

now seated on the birch down. Respect


right to laugh, and stay happy
whisper quiet.


guess even the love that unites
and he hugs her
with arms full of life.

something new, like a trill
begins to gurgle among the reeds.

sincerely wish to be heard.


I do not demand any change of the waves to shore,
light or lazy, but never obedient
. Nothing
ask
to waters near the forest, sometimes
emerald, sapphire
sometimes, sometimes black
.

One thing I do not accept. Back
there.

waive the privilege of presence. I've survived


enough to remember from a distance. Wislawa Szymborska


version Gerardo Beltrán

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the proceeds going to legal fees

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opening doors

19:00 hours the party will end the concert .

maximum exposure!

Congratulate On New Baby Nephew

The day Peter Pan began to grow old: David Gonzalez

More information: David Gonzalez & Suko Susan: The day that Peter Pan began to age.

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New climbing guides: Morata, Ordesa, Riglos ...

Finally we have in the oven Morata new climbing guide (in fact, climbing in Torcas of Chodes ) the Aragonese and foreign climbers we had so much time waiting.

The signing of its two authors, Silvan Mikel (who earlier co-authored the guide of the province of Zaragoza) and Carlos Bona (yes, yes, Charlie Portrait of Aragon), would already one and a guarantee of quality and accuracy of information but also the guide is the fruit of many months of methodical work is reflected in that effort with a comprehensive description each and every one of the more than 700 long at this school, the largest in the province of Zaragoza.

All the information you have in Charlie's blog at its entrance New Guide: CLIMBING THE TORCA OF CHOD (Chodes - Morata de Jalón) . Although not necessary because sales are guaranteed, I hope from here every success for this new phone and their authors.


also want to name the next release of the climbing guide Ordesa by Rémi Thivel and Christian Ravier Martin in collaboration with Eli and the (hopefully) also forthcoming publication of the new Riglos climbing guide by Philip Cherry.

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was 20, I I looked at the navel and wrote a poem, without thinking that there might be someone on the other side (XXVI)


26. Exorcizarte

survive the pressure of your head
old and blind as hunger grips,
you hanging just a particular image.
And me?
What am I to the end of every room?
Both my legs and deep way
are the gift that always returns
fearing me alone with the paralysis of my hands.

You and I, heirs to family deaths, begetting the Son
amamente we
and triumph over all borders,
which I adopted as empires. And when he

let us remember that all this time I've been hiding
the most childish of my secrets. ANA PÉREZ

Cañamares (20 YEAR)

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I pale white so that when I disappear, new poems by Iñaki Echarte Vidarte March

Iñaki
new book Echarte Vidarte



has just published the new book by writer Iñaki Echarte Vidal (Pamplona, \u200b\u200b1977). This is a collection of poems entitled I'm as white as pale disappear (Ediciones Vitruvius, 2011). [ISBN: 9788415233077]

I'm as white as pale disappear shows a poet who combines imagination with sincerity, seeking new and suggestive ways on each line, and treats the traditional topics with ease and ardor. Echarte

Vidarte a degree in Creative Writing, Screenplay Specialty Film and TV School of Arts and Entertainment TAI. He is the author of the book Orphans of Cernuda. Destructuring leather (po) ethics (O Grela Editions, 2009) and Blues and Other Stories (Ediciones Baile del sol, 2009) and has appeared this year in the anthologies Visceral (Ediciones del Viento, 2011) and the other side of the mirror. Narrating counter (Ediciones Escalera, 2011).

lives in Madrid, still looking around, being frightened by what he sees and writing.



Upcoming events



Iñaki Echarte Vidarte be accompanied by Itziar Ziga and Raúl Portero Calling cycle earth II. The journey never ends, March 18, at 19h, in Fnac Callao (Preciados 28, Madrid), where talk of the place from which to write each one of the authors.

addition, the author presented his collection in Pamplona on March 31 at 19.30 in the bookstore Auzolan (C / Tudela 16, Pamplona) and will be available to the local media over the weekend. Coming

other presentations will be specified in other English cities. Anapmares@gmail.com

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Number

MARCH ISSUE MAGAZINE READINGS No. 4


Niall Binns, left mother.

Interview and poetry (London-Madrid)

Talks uprooting, Chilean poetry, poetry

English speakers and a selection of his work.



Guide to get lost in the city Victor Lopez. Review

Miguel Carreira, poetry (Santiago) Poetry

second title of the Chilean poet and the poem made
review
by English writer Miguel Carreira.



Bustos Domecq, Borges and Bioy by Sara Jordan.

Essay (Viña del Mar) Test of the fictional author of police novels

created by Borges and Bioy Casares.




Interview with Claudia Di Girolamo, by Daisy Alcaíno. Teatro (Santiago)

-confessional interview Claudio Di Girolamo

from his "I am a Tomb" part of a trilogy

based on texts by Anton Chekhov and Samuel Beckett. By Daisy Alcaíno. Virginia



Guilisasti, art (Santiago)

plastic reconstructions from

urban waste. Paintings and installations



Tribute to Gonzalo Rojas, Francisco Izquierdo (Santiago)

Memories in the streets of Santiago

inspired by the poet Gonzalo Rojas, today, in his delicate health.



Ramón Díaz Eterovic, unpublished story (Santiago)

Magellanic Leading writer gives us the story

Simon and the other on the solitude of a bureaucrat

in the city of Santiago. Simon



Henao, 2 stories (Bogota - Buenos Aires)

Cristina has a secret and will die shitting

2 Colombian author's unpublished stories. Marcial



Ugarte, Tapestries. Photography (James)

"through these pieces the artist then creates new

kaleidoscopic landscapes, fascinating and endless triumphant

exceeding the limits of our vision." Verónica Rubio
Review


BYM Records Documentary Preview by Francisco Santelices (Santiago)


1st cut documentary made to record label

Blow Your Mind which brings the psychedelic bands like Vuelvetaloca

Santiago, Föllakzoid, Hell Gang and Watch Out!


www.revistalecturas.cl

anapmares@gmail.com

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Magazine Ars poetic readings by Margaret Sayers Peden

poetic ARS

take
That every word he says.
it be as the tremor that supports it.
To keep a beat.
I will not utter falsehood or to ink decorated doubtful or add gloss to what it is.
This forces me to hear. But we are here to tell the truth.
Let's be real. I
frightening accuracy. Tiemblo
when I think I faked. I take my words weight. I have both
like me to them.
If you do not look good, tell me, you who know me, my lie, show me the imposture, restriégame
the scam.
will thank you, seriously. Freak out by correspondence.
Be my eye, wait for me at night and Divisamar, escrútame, shake me. RAFAEL CADENAS

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Can Too Much Red Wine Cause Black Stools

India or fear: my story in Bliss

Terminal 2, where the hell is Terminal 2. I do not understand the English spoken by the Hindus, with that accent that becomes almost another language: As soon as a word invites me enter the phrase, and another is throwing me out. Just know that just arrived in Bombay and would have to take a plane to Goa, where Susan and her friend are waiting for me English, but the screen says that the flight to Goa has been canceled without giving a reason, and this ticket was sacred in my country is no more valid now than a role that had collected from a pond. Someone has scrawled on it in a dingy office and just understand that there is another flight, do not know when leaving the Terminal 2. So I'm going through the aisles asking police grim large mustaches: Bus to Terminal two? "Bus to Terminal two?, And his explanations are incomprehensible to me. In time to confide in their language, finger still pointing to a door, go through a corridor, I go out and I ride a bus where someone charitably, has written on a blackboard: Bus to T2. I throw my backpack on a shapeless heap of bags and suitcases, and nothing but sit the bus starts. The dense air coming through the window blowing in my mouth, I'm dizzy and confused and I'm an easy target for moisture. The bus departs from Terminal 1 and heads into Bombay, and I melt into my seat like butter on a skillet.

So begins my story "The India or fear, my contribution to the anthology Bliss. I am happy to be in this anthology: the subject, by autologous, for my teammates, for his writings ... Among those circumstances, I think, all I have written, India or fear is the tale of which I feel more satisfied.

I leave you with a link to an interview they did to Vicente Muñoz and Nacho Escuín to laRepúblicaCultural.es. And I remember the blog of the anthology: Beatitud.Visiones of the Beat Generation.

anapmares@gmail.com

Jaw Hurts Drinking Alcohol

An unpublished poem by Francis Vaz: Mother silence

MOTHER SILENCE Supe

your death, mother, some years later.
My brothers could not reach me.
was lost then and I still aimlessly, gazing in silence
the flight of birds or a halo of light color to draw the shade.
knew almost nothing of you while you lived, you were illiterate and sad eyes ...
little more. Never heard you raised your complaint or anger. "He idolized the executioner
or polished shiny stealthy martyr's soul that you looked in your chest?


Why not escape the hell? Why me and my brothers had to
fire burned in its impact and defeats?
dried grapes over time, Mother.
tearless eyes closed and one after another opened the door of the flight.
dead until after you kept praising the criminal, you bastard
started voice and caressing hands
always absent in the skin of your offspring imploring injured.


Your only legacy was that terrible silence that was imposed on the home, the agony
advancing a few steps from the abyss and pain,
the endless litany of your constant and slave submission.
To you, mother, yes I remember, vaguely, as transit
a tormented ghost who walks along the banks of Lethe
never looking at horizon, as if nothing had
beyond the mirror of its waters. And yes there is, mother. I've seen.


I've seen women who boarded with his blood to secret flags
freedom, which took up in front of his tormentors,
sticks mop and cleaned up the wheat with them their children. Women
never humiliated before anyone because they loved neatly
repudiating hatred of others.
Women who knew and still know to look straight men never
without breaking the fragile halo majestic swan.

Today, mother, after many years of your death, still blazing anger
in too many homes. And women like you burn them.

FRANCIS VAZ

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Number

here.

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Creatura March was 20, I looked at the navel and wrote a poem, without thinking that there might be someone on the other side (XXV) and Matias Bonilla Gsus

25.

Hurry, because my senses are numb

some blue light hurts his memoirs that rumor

voices need to bring my own life I chains.

Run, to ensure the material are immortal killing me

this desire to stone my anxiety cloudy in your flat

because I can not just your skin with

I can not with a mystery that only fierce resistance to gaps

I can not with the earth resounding no

me back if you do not give in to the heroism complacent

words and fill my pale blue sterile final.

ANA PÉREZ Cañamares (20 YEAR)

anapmares@gmail.com

Cranio Sacral Und Hydrocephalus

Escalera, with Culture in Alcobendas

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Energy Boosters As Good As Ephredrine

Indigent Triunfo, a poem by DH Lawrence, translated by Margaret Sayers Peden

(Dan Witz) WIN

I think that for five thousand years at least
men wanted to win, win, triumph, triumph over their semejates
triumph over obstacles

triumph over evil until now the word itself is disgusting, do not we hear more
.

If we looked in our hearts, we would
we hate the idea of \u200b\u200bvictory,
are sick of it.


DH LAWRENCE (translation of Poems)

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37 º 10 '49 "N, a poem by Lluís Pons Mora

37 º 10 '49 "N

Discover the creek between the rocks from

scraps of wood.

Unleashing the archway of my thoughts.

unfettered to the poor. Save

poetry in my threadbare pockets.

Start the heath the way barefoot.

bathe in the marsh at sunset. Amar

each branch of clubs trailing,

each field of sunflowers dead

snuff every half moon in planting.

Play

dictation

rightly held by the dried stigmas,

agrestre

each fingerprint, each den full of bugs

night sleeping between the broken bells.

ascending to head the day before yesterday watered

to jam black cobwebs abbeys,

sincere

to shit once

to sing the ballad of

bleating of goats and sheep numb blind

as a lullaby,

itself important truth at last .

Cross from the hand of twilight

fear.

Throw me to the mountain

ahead and behind.

note with the soul of a miner

the ravines of life.

LLUÍS PONS MORA

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seduced us, a poem by Carmen Ruiz Fleta


are seduced by pride. We

tormented beings who are seduced by pride
of distance and time biting words;
filled us too soon empty bodies, empty
us on par with the years.
Women want to cuddle
time at our own pace and feed in exact proportion
dreams and reasons. Women

die suffocated by the fingers of
words never said,

fear or pride. Women
peeps we desire in the eyes
and we constantly commit suicide.
kill us alone or we kill
blows. We
love hard it hurts, and if it hurts
still love.
We are guardians of their own havens and secret tears
mascara run us and make us
unsightly men.
why women often prefer to look beautiful

and rot from within. CARMEN RUIZ


FLET

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The woman who lives in my skin, a poem by Paz Hernández Páramo

The woman who lives in my skin

The woman who lives in my skin is not known

strong

brave

know the girl who lives

nested within each newscast wars

and mourns the deaths of those who never saw

The white skin over my chest

defeats do not know

victim does not feel

battles do not know no war without casualties

The woman living in my skin

known survivor,

despite the blows

bleeding almost golden in the snowy heart

PAZ HERNANDEZ PÁRAMO

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