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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.