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Sandra Figueroa "Poetess" Marina Pastor Poem

Sandra Figueroa "Poetess" is a great poet and friend to all. A woman with a heart (as we say in Spain) does not take in the chest. I recommend it if you do not know her. It has several blog. I leave their blogs.
http://poemasdepoetiza.blogspot.com/
http://www.cafepoetas.blogspot.com/
http://www.poetasyescritores.blogspot.com/

Shipping

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Let the wind carry you

all the rich fragrance of my love, love

honest, clean, pure,

that gives you my child's heart .

That surround you and you perfume,

that extends your being, slowly

flood your heart and your soul

girl woman.

anyone in the world loves you,

the wind will tell you who is

its essence is unique

you will understand.

'll keep reminding

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_______________________ Last night I did not sleep thinking of you, old memories came to my mind, I could not help mourn for those left behind while



. Do you know? want to relive that time, relive what we shared
but well remembering that we only live, and it makes me remember and would damage the longer it but I can not, really I can not even live within me.


I love you, always love you even if you're distant from me. I will love you until the end of my life and although I will keep reminding hurt.

Sandra Figueroa

Monterrey, NL Mexico

Sandra, you're a beautiful flower in the blogosphere and your perfume are your poems.

To

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I am pleased to bring to my blog poems of friends or friends that follow. In this case, the poem is Pastor Marina Diez and is entitled: "Así hablan las flores".

                                                                                                           Pictures are network

"SPEAK AND FLOWERS"

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A rose and a carnation came a day

The carnation pink to say ... your perfume does me good,

're like the rattle the garden gives joy,

proclaims Andalucía Te ...

As King among the flowers, decorate patios, balconies

And the beauty of the people you look in their shawls,

in his chest and in her hair.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ....

And you pink messenger

you go out with this label ... Perfumed Garden,

companion by my side I felt you always flirt,

views full of flyers , your hair combed,

phone Finely scented ... thorns in battle.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ..

're the Queen of the book,

Of Doctor lovers, with beautiful carrier

the love and pleasure, are for women ...

The truest Ambassador,

are sensuous and flirtatious, seductive perfume.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ..

And ... what more do you want now!

If you're the most perfect flower, flowers Mrs.

discreet about love and the dreamy world.

Author: Marina Pastor Ten

If you want to visit your blog is:

http://espigasdelalma.blogspot.com /

not weigh you down.

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The Abandoned

picture of the network.

The Abandoned

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As I feel sorry for the abandoned

who loved thinking he was also loved,

and go through life a love crying

remembering a man dragging a child! ...

As to fell the tree are leaf

and seeing her on the ground and not pick it up,

and there are those who throw stones at the green fruit

and take roll after it bites! ...

The fruit drop are abandoned

lush and tall tree of life

are, rather than fall, fruit

demolished by a treacherous kiss like a rock! ...

For those sad streets fruit roll

as apples macerated spandrels

and their poor bodies, once turgid

bear the indelible mark of teeth ...

have two paths to choose: The

hinge of a door

honest or vice harem.

And in the midst of so many, so many hardships, even

there who dares to speak of love! ...

Those tycoons who can protect them,

precipitate further so that more roll,

and up There he gets his last executioner

wanted to exploit if they still have juice!

The Abandoned are as bagasse,

Alamba that squeezes the kiss and hug.

If you still have squeezed juice pain;

are sad bagasse, bagasse love! ...

When meeting, I was filled with anguish

her breasts withered and their faces withered,

and I think that drags his repentance,

a child who is the son of Remorse .

Remorse drags a man

that the child denied his roof and his name ...

Seeing these children of flaxen hair,

I would love them and be their father.

The Abandoned I get these pains

because they are all good women.

are dried apples are fruit drop

high leafy tree of life.

No one covering these goods, there is none to pick them up,

more than the wind that sweeps the leaf ...

Marchan eyes fixed on the ground,

tired in vain to look to the sky! ...

of deep troubles, nor pities Señoer

because of these things ... God knows nothing! ...

And so will the poor, a baby crying, remembering

a man dragging a child!

July Sesto Beautiful poem of Mexico.

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The white cow

Photo

network

White Cow

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Of a love that passed, like a landscape seen

train when you travel;

of a romance than a month in a shelter

the plain, a woman left a child.

She died, and opened a grave

and there put the human waste,

and a blue dome on a slab

was the mausoleum: the sky above the plain.

And left me a little

well as large and fine flour,

with eyes like a dream for

and the labyrinth of Chinese.

I came from afar to see him. had

the long eyelashes, I stared

and showed me the bald language under the gums,

with a mischievous

Rogue says: "What these people see me?"

was hungry. I walked in den in den

buying their milk to the baby alien.

Every time I was a girl

with some gula you looked at the breast.

There were six women:

were five daughters and a crone.

breasts were ten to pleasures

and two, they were useless.

I went through the yard and found the door

the white cow and its calf killed.

And it came to me the white cow,

a star on the forehead and a cross on the thigh.

My child was snow, his beef with ermine;

by her calf, I gave my child.

And was that awakening in the morning,

when broken sleep

the lowing of the cow in the window

and the short order was milking.

And that mouth on the nipple Pendant

and watching that cow, meekly

and then the front

the forehead, and the cow was licking his forehead.

Today we buried him. Wine

fever, and in two days I was. On the way

I found the cow for land albariza

approached him nurse away your pain.

We both came over and stood looking at me;

hurt in the forehead was stoked the star,

remote and his eyes seem to speak

the pain he was to lose my calf.

And the mother and all

plain as I had, I was on the plain ...

The cow looked at me ... I looked one way,

I felt the anguish out his hand.

Poema Andrés Eloy Blanco. (Venezuela).

picture of the network.

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The juerza d'a love

The photo is of Ted. If anyone has rights over it quickly retreat.

The juerza d'a love

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Júe'n the jewel of a nap Torbisco

cuando'l achicharrba sun;

a nap qu'entumía the

may you feel the heat of the broth.

Without cooing of doves and unceasingly

singsong of cicadas,

cogutas Trini without

without grunts gurrapeos of frogs:

A nap sleep baj'un pa poplar,

panz'arriba, junt'al water.

So even

ears conjecture,

with the black bumblebees buzzing

and black spider webs, dripping

the melted drops of goo

the thickets.

In a clearing in the jewel of Torbisco

is Blas, that of Juana,

Mesmer, of cluqillas, currucao

the sunshade d'some bushes,

with his mouth open mu

and eyes lit like coals.

Blas Junt'a are, weary and Moorrees,

Jorman sheep herd you,

and see the sheep, two mastiffs

with two mouths as

forges its

loud puffing like bellows

and colors as the flame tongues. Blas

cuidao cut with the canutos

d'

a reed,

because Blas wants jace with canutos

a flute,

pa at night with the moon

dir to give his serenade

junt'al hut where he sleeps

Rosarillo, the shepherdess:

A girl with dark eyes

m'ñas

qu'un stormy night,

happier that laughter

d'un regacho

clear water and more Güena

the Virgen de las Cruces

the patron of the Fiesta de la Raza.

With hair you esgreñaos'

po Escocíos eye tears

half-crazed mieo,

fluttering shreds of skirts,

trompezando, jumping, shouting

that echo in the lonely mountains,

runs off the jewel of Torbisco pa

Rosarillo, the shepherdess,

Rosarillo and behind is the wolf,

a lobaechando babas,

eyes lit carbuncles,

broomrape with paws,

esgarrando his teeth chaps

po the juerte fever of rage. Naide

comes from the hills of Umbria,

Naide comes to the aid of the shepherdess;

and the probe, or may even yelp

s'ajoga and under ' l l'achcharra sun. Paez

dead

the laer of the hills,

and jewelry d'alreor, and canyons. Paez

dead shepherds, shepherds,

and delete the dogs and goats.

Jacezando runs away, weary and

desgreñaos with hairs, the shepherdess,

and trotting behind d'her, the wolf will

with broomrape between the legs.

the wolf and many will close, so close you

l' that reaches ...

echoed Al prencipio commonly co gilguero

Torbisco qu'en the jewel of chanting,

endispués and trills like a blackbird d'

to read their querela together ' water.

already was Jorma Blas with canutos

a flute,

Pa

jace and blew his sone

a serenade Durco,

pa that you are asleep at night po

Rosarillo, the shepherdess.

asynchronous Something like life to come

po the air with the touch d'a flute

something asynchronous like fire d'un relánpago

qu'en the esgarrara night blackness

majás the bright lights of the

missed the target in the mountains,

Thu

music Blas pa the girl

so that the wolf point l'enough. D'

jerk jumped on a rock;

and roar down the ravine,

gave a chilli: Chilli gave the doves

bajo'l flight of eagles;

a chilli in jewel the Torbisco

como'l bugle rang d'battle. Blas

felt qu'aquel chilli

l'esgarraba entrails

and noted that their deos s'escurrían

slowly the joints of his flute.

saw Blas. Blas saw

crazy roll through the brambles

and she was ra ye her?

Rosarillo, the shepherdess,

which both wanted dende Blas new

icirle without a word.

The boar qu'un mesmito corralao

you po dogs, among the thickets dmedia ...

mesmito what the tube d'un torrent

runs Blas Canyon

pa

where the wolf is already

with broomrape between the legs. Blas

pa Rosarillo looked, sideways,

l and threw knife

Thu

and the wolf commonly co pa mastiff

qu'en l'waited a cliff.

Regruñendo like dogs ajotaos

Guert gave the defendant d'a broom endispués

and each Guert

s'encogían, s'aplastaban,

looked with

eyes lit

Jech coals as coals tips.

two wolves were equal in the juerza.

were two equal juerzas rabies.

s'abalanzaron Along giving together,

s'estrujaron, s'enrearon with this win,

qu'escupíos, and bit and Embrace

is jund in between d ' brambles.

Only God sees things from then up

happening in the lonely mountains,

one God saw the brawl melee

God alone saw a strange fight

of rabies d'juerza of a wolf

with the dear D'juerza a shepherdess.

mieo No more, no more mieo, I've killed him,

Blas said when he left kas d'among brambles

esgarraos the Carzon, Jech

the sheepskin cisco Jech

a puddle of blood po

to the chest and trickled down her head.

mieo No more, no more mieo of the wolf:

I killed with my knife.

She came slowly, sobbing.

gives S'arrimó no face;

with the tip of the apron, tatters Jech

prencipió to dry her tears. ¬

You juerte. He then Rosarillo ¬ ¬ ¬

Thanks! ... Thanks!:

juerte and you're Bueno

as ¬ Cristo de las Aguas.

juerza d' With a love flamenco, flamenco mu,

that s'ajoga dentro'l soul

Rosarillo suddenly gave him a kiss ...

qu'ella was the first,

Blas Tami wanted dende new

icirle without a word. Blas

laughed, laughed and blood filled

with laughter d'un d'regacho clear water.

...............................

On summer nights,

Durc on clear nights,

stars cuandotiemblan

between half and lun'azul d'una branca,

s'escuchan and far

Songs

of crickets and frogs, something

asynchronous goldfinch commonly co

qu'en the Torbiscascanturrara jewel, something

asynchronous as a blackbird trills d'

to say his inclinations junt'al water

dende is conjecture above the mountains,

in between the heather and brushwood.

is that Blas, junt'a the hut where he sleeps

Rosarillo, the shepherdess, touched

always toas night

the joints of his flute,

because you dream ice suRosario

toas night with a wolf of anger,

and sleeps, many quiet, little by little,

d' with the sound that flute.

And sleeping is laughing, he laughs

with laughter d'un d'regacho clear water.

Camizo Luís Poem. Extremadura poet par excellence. (For me at least) .

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The mother is a shadow ... Did you know?

The picture is of the network. If you, the retirement.

Poema de Antonio Arráiz. Barquisimeto (Venezuela) from 1903 to 1962.

Parable of the mother

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The mother is a shadow ...

you know?

The mother is a shadow lying at the foot.

At dawn,

when the golden light illuminates only

a creature still weak and vacillating,

shadow caressing her feet

is long immensely.

And every hesitant stumbling creature,

with mortal anxiety

shadow trembles.

Then the sun rises. The boy becomes a man.

Shadow curls up at his feet.

It seems that life one is transfused into the other

and exhausted mother when the child grows.

When the sun shines in the zenith for the hero

upright in the vast plain that flatters,

meager, humble, poor,

anyone seen the shadow dwarfed at her feet.

But sometimes the light, life, sun,

the smiles that are lowered at sunset.

The formidable blow weakens.

The head of the hero,

robust head crowned roses, faint

mutely, bloodless will.

The imperceptible shadow that no one took into account

in a desperate excitement

again is huge ... wrapped with the child ...

swells and quickens, fierce, furious and tragic.

And when the hero dies in the shadow becomes night.