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To all of you for being as you ... RETURNING THE ATTIC

My dear fellow ... I wish you the very best for 2011, which sounds strange figure, looks futuristic!

I hope none of us leave to pursue our dreams and our imagination to bear fruit in daily life and also for why not make our company letters to all those who read us.

Personally, I sincerely thank your comments, your reading, your messages of encouragement over the past twelve months. We do not know, but there is a miracle called the Internet brings us closer to each other making company, including many times, ultimately believing that many people that even without the face, has a big heart.

I appreciate a lot, guys.

Happy New Year to everyone!

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Now I walk and I have eyes. Now walk and see. Now I breathe and smell the earth of the field, asphalt smoke. I feel a finch cage is not being caught and felt the landscape evolves. I am a leafless lime 'm living for the season.

My face is marked by deep plows, were months my hair dark while it snowed in the middle of August, and the blue of my eyes still stray. However, straightens the steering wheel and looking for the light where it was.

not suddenly, my mind begins to spin into thinking they are harmonious and the umbilical cord of sadness that I clung breaks up.

I feel that I

growing tiny wings to fly soon.

I do not trust the flashes, I am aware that there are still dark moons, but that I can go without calling my smile and reach out without waiting for me down.

If someone who is immersed in the wells flooded with darkness, read these lines, simply telling them not to lose hope for after a bad stretch, there is a path where to walk again.

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Exordium

*

* Photo: Josema

exordium

* And it all began as begins most things I believe ...
Here, combining words, night, day and heart and desire to reach them.

SOUTH WIND

Because out there,
fire you, our embrace
invisible
face you, your land ...
fermented
Southwind,
blindly;
bare your flesh
city that opens,
blue that takes you.

.....
There goes the South Wind down the street, tangled
sunflowers and railings,
beats and memories, dreams
endless.
A small square open a window that never closes.
From boy to man, woman air kisses.

*
"A Nieves, my traveling companion, roads, plains and mountains" of your

come body, blue morning
my poem and chest

cuttings and water. Fever and sleep
infinite wind


voluntary servant when you call me. *

José Medina Mesa (josemar)

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YOU DROP MY, HEART OF A POEM OPEN WATER

When I perceive the echo of your voice beloved
chrysalis to embrace wind under clear ...
I inspire, I hope, in that you in your skin
required open chest. I imagine, feel,
that infinite at every step. Future of your eyes.
Coming from your arms. Heart coming out. Bank
ground. Glance. Traces
who resist. Silica hours.
Arena and silver in the mouth of the gulls. Wind
here intimidated pendulum tag. That looks
,

babbling our eyes on each impulse immeasurable:
Oh horizon that opens! Here
our dreams, than you;
rough road to imaginary ships.
Mar begotten of the ancient sea. Accomplice
our bodies now adrift,
core of any unfinished universe;
infinite sea,
love without sinking. Micro burst
finally beat inheritance.
Love when you take, when you reach
mystery. Steps
both in each human dose. You
my gout, heart of the water ...

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arched life of the poem,
is not nothing but come to the aid of its truths;
shore where the rainbow appeared,
mechanism be it life or anything.
At one end, here, the word to nursing;
other, beyond the door of his memories:
Nonata, translucent, torrential;
magical, epic, labyrinthine,
harassed, peace, exonerated ...
Puro ; thrill of the senses.
as the heart beat and lips
which by law and the body drag. Unmistakable proof
around here, beyond flame retardant
intercepted.
Parallelism between two drops of water, mirage

horseman without any wind in the face.
Axis distance cutting of anything. Participant
love, motor, spinning wheel ...
Gear, reservoir, aquifer crying.
overwhelmed by the joy of each drop to embrace.
Well at the moment, shadow inclined, tree drifting.
Asphalt, solid line is underway. Cross
sometimes for life. Stop
. Love
split into two, into pieces of whatever.
Before you pick the poet
a maximum speed of the universe. Future
past star surprised
embrace undisturbed. The position
intact
flower and fruit.
Like that kiss you, one on your forehead. Career
. Man or woman
as necessary.

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visibly

I see here on the poem, on the edge of life,
of the existence or where they come,
heart, hand, wound contrary ...
Soul of all that is buried and reborn,
lift or top with a single stop:
of eyes in front.
Whether you are blue, green, black,
hybrids, all replicable forms.
Of course, sufficiently expunged, plain
unlimited, if possible from that land Call groove;
but never knelt by necessity, drought or famine. Poetry

like water, my thirst for now, after rain
distance
window, cloud, sea, water inside ...
Of that, yes, of filtering, reappears,
fire after repose,
flooding the final landscapes. Whether
teardrop shaped weight,
sweat, snow, thinking, sap
implement the road that leads.

I see here on the poem, on the edge of what was
empty, wind, meat, sailing ... You
A, receptor; a self donor organs are
whose only in our minds.

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Enter, exit the attic ... Something draws us this gesture is sometimes unconscious and sometimes is a necessary provocation.

We entered shelter, to find what we lost, to remember other times ...

went out with empty lungs and eyes full of memories, who knows ...

There are times when we come to take stock, to close our calendar and check the calibration of twelve months. Because there, there are many dates in the year, as many as three hundred sixty-five, but none as marked as those to come in which both those who believe and those who disbelieve, those still saved as those who lie in the ashes ... Yes, I think almost all of humanity up for a moment the attic of his memory to perform a computation of the short time past, have been only four seasons, and yet for many their life has changed, nothing will change for others and for some, the bipolarity be your eternal dilemma.

Then, with both dry memory recall, to have their fingers every time, howling for the loss, smiling for the anecdotes, sighing over the inevitable, feeling at last After all, we are human and as such, we are flawed but unique, we conclude that there are any sewer rats but, when you leave them, there is a clear sky where fresh air ... and we left the memory with our motives and our causes forward and why not, to our despair. Yes, we embrace those whom we love and feel close to the heart. We embrace the guy who can not stand, total Christmas. Or, run away from the noise until the calm of everyday life back to what it was ...

Whatever. enter and leave our attic close and personal at Christmas but in the end, we do every day.

Merry Christmas!

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*

Ah, heart trembling,
infinity being detached from your arms ...
Mountain, valley, listen, your blood
abducted, hit
to burn.
Systole, diastole,
border human
stone on water. Where the wind
ends, just after both
,
as apocryphal fog to drift anchor
city. Tiny
air rises ...
snake, sap, river, cloud, rain
then away.
Sob, poem on,
awaited guest.
Dream, hand, tomorrow
and no heart.
heart Oh when you wake

dawn, voice, wave, stay!

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A TREE OPEN HEART AND PARABLE

*

"Tree of silence hanging security fruit" - Arab proverb - -.-

tree and much of life,
goodbye without baggage
and the voice,
infiltrated leaf on the branch, amen to that green
as epithet ... Seeing
standing come
cascade of yellow and hope
as sap the world, will
towards infinity.
I present to its height,
freedom, submission,
pride, innocence
the holy spirit,
as bleeding or dream destination.
Root, trunk, key ...
universe open to us in the future
of embracing the embodied.
Perhaps, the silence that we need to listen
, passed
extend its long-awaited wish, seed
any poem on the edge of existence,

a gust of wind and sap. Hand
tree ...
fauna and shadow of man.

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FREEDOM BORDER LINES



Freedom begins when one is aware of their limitations. When one is not the answer for our wings fins to the nearest horizon. Or, perhaps, it is always free and we bent on putting chains on their own and others' freedom.

You may never be free but slaves to our desires and selfishness.

Some people are born slave and eventually becomes a seagull. And some people still gull wings cut.

may try to steal our freedom, it probably achieve and imprison our feet, cut our language and blinded our eyes, but they can never drown our mind, freedom of thought and spirit, they fly free within ourselves but do not let us express them.

PD. Photo courtesy of Rafael Ruiz ... Thanks, Rafa, and force me to write.

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There are ways that the more they internalize in your retinas, the more you think you're immersed in a magical tale. But are not dreams but only perceptions of your senses so unusual to feel life is not if you do not let yourself be carried away by that person is imprisoned within us and that only the left free for fear of derailing our precarious train to which we climbed steadily but one voice, your truth, you say that is not the train that you deserve ...

De Valladolid to Segovia is a hymn to the virgin nature by man without different mood than profiting from the authenticity of the earth. Large fields in this numb season hopes that bloom in spring. The plain is so immense that no boundary lines. Appear abandoned lands, sad and narcotic whose coloring is monochromatic.

However, if patiently open your eyes, feel the beat of the sea of \u200b\u200bpine trees, the tiny people that you speak of living births, cattails flown by storks faithful to their nests, almost spiritual song rattles not stun our ears but called for calm as only the sound of a bell makes you feel.

The chimney smoke smell permeates your memories children, most of those who were lucky kids frolic in the years of our lives. The cold ice cream sticking to the body to awaken your soul finally numbing senseless pain.

Grey, English king of this era, chiseled profiles crossing Segovia castle so vast gray color, always gray, both would have never suspected that a single color were thousands.

The mist rises and falls as white tinsel tangling their tresses that cuts through the mountains and your eyes on clandestine whispers. Sierra white, snow-white peaks that embellishes the greatness of this land to give way to the vortex far from the big city, that is swallowed frogs and princesses.

But until I get to that border, my senses have been reborn, have exercised their right to live, to feel that happiness is made of small silences that emerge humbly as simple nature.

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"Time uncaring, cold and hostile" ... where feelings are running back defectors. Blind Time and mercenary where consistency with your beliefs is grass flames drifting with the world merchant fleet and rabble outside the human heart, we are prisoners of selfishness and consumerism. Everything is bought and sold.

However ... there are people, many no doubt, but the swamp shines its light clog. People smiling, embracing your look with a kind gesture and the word soft in noble feelings ... When you feel close to you warm hug recovering your forgotten emotions. I kid you again, you get big and your skin you want to order flowers and no longer hold, you need the warmth is not there.

Some kill with facts and forms, while others create life and hope.

Many ruin our dreams, illusions steal promises, misleading verbs.

However, there are still people, many, that although his work is covered under false pretenses, we all feel that they are there, now and forever ... I want to be one of them. And you?

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Today it rains

Today it rains, it rains in the wet as the ground late because everything that has life, has requirement of suffering heart with the right to be happy, responsible for dreaming.
Rain, rain is a day of quiet and steady while Sky Is Falling between wisps of fog. I see his eyes cloud while looking at me begging because his heart is cold and wet from time to sob. Although I know that his fighting spirit will not relent in the effort but now nostalgia pours on its blue and hides inside his jacket shocks and secrets. Under the sole of the shoe firm has stuck grudges that do not tread.
Within it are a thousand stories beating to the rhythm of a clock. The mask is printed willful and out into the world ... on a rainy day and, if I have to distort his person because he asks a lot, go and trace roads and that deep down, very close to the skin of his heart, nobility not lost. Today

rains rains, it pours as he expected that words change their destination or ... maybe not, depending on a rhyme, depends on context. I do not know.
But I do know is that today it rains and it tears me purifies while he runs towards their goals.

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BECAUSE WE ARE ...

We are man, woman ...
Not closing mechanism
word written or spoken.
Because we, the smell of belly before
a stitched and ripped flesh,
ay mother!

A word now open.

We are ... all our living, our dead
,
poets and heroes;
every vile murder.
This bread is left over
mouth closed to air,
shadow

yolk ...

We are: male or female,
way forward,
volcano in exchange for lava. Geometry without sharp

when sleep
navigate between the sea and its width.
corner like a dog on the corner
when the sea is now
yellow sand without their edge.

We are man and wife,

melee when sex is coming. Equis
squared, Pi
of this endless circle.
algorithm after the logarithm of living.

tilde accent as the latter. Broken
of our universe.

So what makes us live,
Men, Women, tiny
up!,
prepare your dream.
All that remains to be driving

forward. Mixed

our flesh.

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THE ALIAS

know too well that here lies the noise.
That word is sealed yet open heart.
That this penalty does not pay or minimum wage or in kind
incredible worth. That
the poet is invisible, as obvious as the air
That the wind does not inspire or expire
Although sometimes ...

know too well that the earth here is my land and unique.
Wave when you step on my side.
body under the weight of the flowers.
Fortunately, never owned one eternal. Loneliness and farewells
of human ...

know too well that you come, you'll look, I
the not so distant.
few times, eyes open;
others sleep under the snow. Embrace and never
tower. Outdoor
. That
so close now you

this vacuum angle crowds.
If after all, you forget my name
'll understand.
Perhaps because even in the background,
not have told you my nickname. Www

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and here I am ...

*

And here I am, listening to the moment, human
time: 1,2,3,4 ...
of silence voice from the ground up to chest
back: 1.2 ...

fever and mind Maybe I might word algebra?
"Lightning? Poem
faceless. DIN

Lightning! Behold
before live ...

Word!

Word by word,

storm and calm.

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POETRY IN WHERE I LIVE UNDER THE SKIN

*

* Photo: Josema

* POETRY LIVE WHERE: -.-

the moment in this foster home.
My heart beats hard that side by side.
My wind: South to in
My ship: the open ocean.
My mountains: here, as real as in my dreams.
My favorite word: Blue. As blue as you. Looking
horizon.
Then all can guess ...
That air, fire, earth.
You learn and turns.
My eyes: when your eyes light up,
like that our first time.

And so, any day, for example.

Then tell me of any essence, but not until
where or
time because maybe they are, just words

blown away.

Poetry where I live:

has no number, or open street. Only

breast to breast, mountains

thoughts.

Like this, the fiery kiss after the snow.

But when you fill my life a few nights.

When both born and hug. Here

why the poem.

. . . . .

See?

is blue, green

,

white

invisible

transparent

red, endless ...

Air, when it stops,

waiting around eyelids open.

Dream. Wakefulness.

Nights and half listening.

Labyrinth or trail. Maybe you

,

now in their search and / or assistance.

A

hug me wherever he goes: that blue, that green

,

that red, white

that,

downstream ...

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*

TREE UNDER THE SKIN

-.-

When I look up and there, and blue
not so high,

sleep under the skin of the tree as a tree chrysalis
, sap of the earth, cutting
love, skin

wind that turns you naked ...
I believe in everything that surrounds us and it happens.
molecule by molecule, neuron

dream up this infinite that unites us and which departs;
melee, and no distance.

The bird that happens to us ...

Sleep drifting ...

Each mine eyes, your eyes I reached.

wind

What did your body?

what tree your eyes?

While it now you why your eyelids.

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TREE CONVERSION TO PARADISE PAST STAR

*

A PARADISE PAST

-.- Since we sent your lips bitten off
hearts have already passed and lethargy, sunsets and mountains
dream firsthand. ..
Earth And I look round and see only corners
unfinished
closed roads by men who robbed us hope
comets. Poems
collecting snow walk with your hands,
where previously passed by lightning and Bengal tigers.
back from the cloud to sea, sea
the mountain calls you. And let the future
fruit, still imperfect live downstream
again
for looks of those down here;
and perhaps die, when the blue
just goes along with you.
I as a mortal witness this paradise without lineage.

A paradise past.

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*

CONVERSION FEATURE
-.-
Beneath you, there arises the morning light
jasmine and collected,
cistern of your lips. When silent and
impressive low
in your sky to the sea of \u200b\u200bmy words.
So, as you drop ... vanquished

Cloud
Water Fish. Caricia

Rambla, Memory
above. While ...

Games with the carnation in your mouth.
bite, red smile, woman. Le
change, color your listening.
kick up on the sky two souls. You
.
My heartbeat and offering.

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AFRICA IN SIGHT! NUCLEAR

*

AFRICA AT A GLANCE! -.-

had resisted the brackish mud of their bones, rib
hand out of Eva ... Falling
are the birds that sleep in the
ground crushed by the silent sky.
Today I make a fist:
Injustice, speak! Tell us some of the most
here ...
Abdikarim (slave of God),
Abdi (my servant),
Abebe (he has flourished),
ABRAF (warrior),
Africa, in view of all: Nobody perhaps behind
anyone.
A low ceiling with a black forehead.
Of those who wanted to live, mourn as men, white
;
then see them go,
black.
Of the many who wanted to war as men
faceless
then see
parties involved.
But what silence and whole God, under the endless
and gnashing of men! Malviento
But what are you wearing today, air ...!

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THIRTEEN AND FOURTH TO THE COLOR PURPLE

*

NUCLEAR AND FOUR TO THIRTEEN -.-
Four
1,2,3 ... are the fish's eyes. 1,2,3,4,5 ...

Six feet of the platypus ... ... 6,7,8 ...

The stubby elephant trunks. ... .. 9,10,11,12

The dozen ants on a boat.
... 13 ... and a finger painter
hands looking box.

1,2,3,4 ...
Paul, Tatiana, Abraham and Torquato,

at thirteen and a quarter,
case you did not look good ... it kept asking
including the four

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THE COLOR PURPLE

-.- I want to ask the destination:

way wind listening;

speechless rain, storm

up when you want ...

I stop the shade at this shelter

intolerable.

As I get up and read in a couple of newspapers:

the same blood with his face smashed.

call it violence, gender,

a way through the heart into the air, bite shell

soul, blood

oxidized

roar of all the seas rise. Violence

man-

from any angle or view.

Gore, the color of blood

violet. Violet

lips violated.

As the flower closes,

of that color, so old

with that pain so dying

without a word. I ask

destination:

speech that way.

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*

GRAMMAR OF DREAMS
-.-
The heavens are alone, who will fill
? Blue and green

do black, perhaps? Soledad

loneliness after
will walk
word infinite, secure, sure
up something ...
Tense, yellow and volcanic. Tilde

stolen land,
femur of all dreams.
Dreams amber.

The heavens are alone, isolated from the time
walk.

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GRAMMAR OF DREAMS WHAT ARE YOU DREAM?

*

Are you what dream?

Future "stainless
cosmic orgasm,
heard before the sound come?

Pan "day to day,
morsel of hope, justice
no room?

Your alter ego, which leaves you, so you will
scope. As the desert
water.
Awakening from the sand.

Cristal.
That same day, at the same time. Grain
a gram. Foreign
your footsteps, your shadow foreign
.

There, on the translation of eco solo
retarded,
Here on earth.
instantly. Seca.
Hammer. Mar chipping.
Fuze.

Are you what you dream? TV Ad
,
plasma.
life to which you connect,
encrypted. Dollar
without their bars.
pain.
currency, currency exchange
. Unnecessary sleep
,
simultaneous translation
the end of the day.
No replacement or spare.
No warranty claims or refund
worth.

Are you what you dream,
or what you leave behind?

Silence, sorrow, joy
, footprint.
In defense of your dreams,

life
I tell you, sweetheart. Crispy
beam. Sleep and blood
ours.

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STEP BY STEP: THE ROAD OF BOATS AND HALVES

*

* Photo: Josema

STEP BY STEP: THE ROAD

-.-

Under my feet, bounded test of time:
dust, mud , trace my steps ...
When I go to be pedestrian, street, square
to uphill, downhill.
that this corresponds to the air: heavy
,
lightweight single
;
arid
cold, heat
;
my forehead
dry, green
,
wet
equivalence.
From warm up to my shoulders. Humerus
hand, lung,
clavicle Horizonte:
Cause I'm alive! Scout
that comparable space.
Silence, wind has no corners. Matted to blue
accompanying me.
Est.
Here, as real as any unfinished.
The creek without a wound that accompanies me to death,
the moment, no sea
concrete.
in pure anonymity, fiery kiss
as the snow started.

Under my feet the
Test and the distance that remains. For each path
time and space;
for each step, this distance inseparable.
Since the last track.
Yours, mine, ours.

Another way to say we were.

Way.

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*

CHARTER AND HALVES
-.-
Above the North;
here, the south. There
west
here, lift.
And the wind, the fog, salt and goodbye
carried forward;
that copper sailor, and that poor
sunken ship.
There are banks, inclined;
no banks, big deal. Life seems

candle offers ...
wave, sleep, fish ... Fish
pure shadow.
A white snowflake,
snow for a little dark.

Above the North;
here, the south. There
, west,
here, arise. Night of the sea
sunken;

sun, sand flight.

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ROAD ON THE SKY

*

* Photo: Josema

ROAD ON THE SKY
-.-
Salto and cloud, and wind
horse;
horizon and green
open heart ...
Camino newborn
as the way to go.
can man define,
devour
return your space, and only
;
defend his gaze,
step by step,
cancel your time, Maze
pulse. Can their dreams

and just stop?
Salto and cloud, and wind
horse;
horizon and green, open heart
...
Camino newborn
as the way to go.