Esta es parte de mi creación artística donde uso pequeños formatos en papel para dibujar con tinta negra, lápiz y carboncillo. También he agregado algunas poesías para realzar el intento creativo con otros objetos tridimensionales en este caso máscaras hechas en papel mâché. This is part of my artistic creation where I use small formats of paper with black ink, pencil and charcoal. Also, I have added some poems.
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Tuesday, March 29, 2016
Joven combatiente/ Young Figther
Monday, March 21, 2016
LLave / Key.
Monday, March 14, 2016
Aditamento/ Attachment.
Monday, March 07, 2016
Berta Cáceres Día Internacional de la mujer./ Berta Caceres International Women's Day.
I would like on this date so important to pay a salute to our compañera Berta Caceres, that few days ago was savagely killed in Honduras by the sinister armies that swarm in our Latin America, she will be present at all times and their flags of struggle will be collected by other generous hands which will rise in a signal of greeting and emblem for the cause of the needy and exploitation. Long live the International Women's Day.
Andar/ Walk.
My walk has become a whisper
touring the fantastic edge of these huge
caverns surrounding our geographies
plowed by the infernal machines,
soft and tact descend the depths
to meet fabulous animals
seething my nights of dreams,
powerful animals with unusual colors,
pasturing among flowers exuding estrange
My walk is lost in the middle of passivity
of the birds drinking the sap of the furtive
of lazy clouds, or through other tracks
of those travelers touring the unknown
old ways of the wise.
My walk is lost in stanzas of loss poetry,
blurred in my memory battered,
It is lost in the line joining my heart
and the firmament full of questions.
Tuesday, March 01, 2016
Alma / Soul.
Sunday, February 21, 2016
No tiene sentido/ Has no sense.
Tuesday, February 16, 2016
Las incertidumbres / The uncertainties.
Manuscrito Ilustrado Folio #4)
Las incertidumbres.
Monday, February 08, 2016
Se que podré / I know I can.
Wednesday, February 03, 2016
El reflejo/ The reflection.
Wednesday, January 27, 2016
El espacio/ The space.
Tuesday, January 19, 2016
Alma/ Soul.
Wednesday, January 13, 2016
Abriremos/ We will open.
Thursday, January 07, 2016
Las horas / The hours.
dodging time,
mocking the intervening space,
the star hesitant
dreaming with hope.
drag our shadows between
ship’s compass
look at the faces of infants
with an evil smile
foreshadowing their lives between
uneasiness, laughter and tears.
holding their hand dance coven
of life and death,
days and nights,
my skin get lost in the abyss,
my fingers aged over time.
Monday, December 28, 2015
Se que podré/ I know I can.
Friday, December 18, 2015
El descanso /Rest.
Wednesday, December 09, 2015
¿Que es la poesía? /What is poetry?
(Asombro)
Que es la poesía.
Es mi mano posada en la tuya
es la mirada de soslayo sobre tus ojos
es la voz de mis hijos
es la diestra alzada del estudiante clamando libertad
es el agua reptando el tallo de las rosas
es tu piel abrazando los objetos que adoras
es el agua limpiando los sembrados
es el viento cantando entre la bruma
es la estrella cubriendo su rostro con el vaho de la luna
es tu pelo enredado en las espigas
es el hombre solitario tratando de dilucidar
el sentido de las esperanzas
es donde mueren los niños en silencio
es la sangre tiñendo los símbolos de la existencia
es un rayo de luz atravesando los cuerpos
es la mala jugada de una metáfora
es un cuchillo cercenando las ideas
es una palabra revolcándose en el tiempo.
What is poetry?
It is my hand place in yours
It is the sidelong glance over your eyes
It is the voice of my children
the student right hand raised claiming freedom
It is the water crawling stem roses
It is your skin embracing the objects that you love
It is the water cleaning the sown field
It is the wind singing in the mist
It is the star covering her face with the mist of the moon
IT is your tangled hair in the spike
It is the lone man trying to figure
the sense of hope
It is where children die in silence
It is the blood staining the symbols of the existence
It is a ray of light through the bodies
It is the misplay of a metaphor
It is the knife severing the ideas
It is a word wallowing in time.