Unknown Lady
The unknown lady
Her gaze captivated me instantly,
her blond hair moving gently in the wind,
her discreet smile, her beauty,
everything about her was intrigued.
From that moment my life is not mine…
My life is in her eyes…
Taking a break
Taking a break
Richelle is native to the Pacific Northwest, born in Utah but raised and residing in Washington State. She currently lives with her husband and three sons somewhere in a compromise between country and city living. She completed two bachelors degrees through Eastern Washington University: Liberal Studies and Natural Science / Mathematics Education.
maria
Catalan version:
Mireu-me els ulls
Mireu-me els ulls per creure
en el demà que teniu als dits,
sense llum
dels meus ulls clars
no hi haurà per ningú
cap demà.
Penseu en mi per créixer
en l’esperança d’uns anys millors,
la llibertat
que ens heu negat
brilla al fons dels meus ulls
encisats.
Sols el poder us tempta
i pel poder us veneu el cor,
però la clau d’or
del temps que fuig
la tinc jo i és la veu
del futur.
Mireu-me els ulls per créixer… per créixer…
English version:
Look at my eyes to believe
in the morning you have fingers,
no light
my eyes clear
there will be no one to
no tomorrow.
Consider me to grow
in the hope of better years,
freedom
we have denied
shines in the background of my eyes
enchanted.
Only the power tempts you
and will sell power to the heart,
but the golden key
time flees
I have it and it is the voice
the future.
Look at my eyes to grow … to grow …
Miquel Martí i Pol (March 19, 1929 – November 11, 2003)
was one of the most popular poets from Catalunya (Europe) in the 20th century.
Julia
Here I Am … by Charles Bukowski
drunk again at 3 a.m. at the end of my 2nd bottle
of wine, I have typed from a dozen to 15 pages of
poesy
an old man
maddened for the flesh of young girls in this
dwindling twilight
liver gone
kidneys going
pancrea pooped
top-floor blood pressure
while all the fear of the wasted years
laughs between my toes
no woman will live with me
no Florence Nightingale to watch the
Johnny Carson show with
if I have a stroke I will lay here for six
days, my three cats hungrily ripping the flesh
from my elbows, wrists, head
the radio playing classical music …
I promised myself never to write old man poems
but this one’s funny, you see, excusable, be-
cause I’ve long gone past using myself and there’s
still more left
here at 3 a.m. I am going to take this sheet from
the typer
pour another glass and
insert
make love to the fresh new whiteness
maybe get lucky
again
first for
me
later
for you.
from “All’s Normal Here” – 1985
Henry Charles Bukowski (August 16, 1920 – March 9, 1994) was a German American poet, novelist, and short story writer
