Secret of the Air, Enrique De Santiago
you seek to break beyond the fundamental shell, the one that you came to know in a primitive way in the sweet stays of belief.
South American artist
Victoria Morrison, Seed Wisdom
Am I really here, watching the miracle of my fertile land or is it my mind that imitates to the dying man who escapes from the barren land
and look for the seed to save the world?
Angel of the Paths Claudia Vila Molina
I will open my eyes once more, When the stars dwell in our bodies, And a drop slipped through the skin, Suspend all reefs high.
René Ortega Space Map
Inner space, mathematical entities, organic architecture and time doors from the liminal mind of artist René Ortega
Be a Poem by Lorena Rioseco-Palacios
I will lose myself as those sleepless, nights are lost. As the swallows fly uncertainly in their freedom. Thus, like the breath drowned in a puddle of muddy tears between slopes whipped by a harsh winter. I’ll get lost on those dead end streets in the midst of a time without stay. Suffering soul
Poems from Crazy Pupils by Victoria Morrison
From afar he looked like a man
It was a shadow in the form of a man
From afar he looked like a poet, It was a form of man, with the voice of a poet, In the light he looked like an angel
In the dark
Repugnant
smelly
I liked
Come! Come my love!
Poetics of Erotica, Loves and Heartbreaks by Claudia Vila Molina
Your body dissolves things
to announce a moan or remote end of the night, that no longer hides anything, not even a new way
of shivering
Inheritance of the Sleepless Rodrigo Verdugo
Under the jasmine, there are beautiful sentences.
I search with hands of mist, something in my bones.
And to my aid comes, the young woman who knows
read backwards.
Five Poem Wounds Emilio Barraza Durán
They all ran away from him. and it was not strange. never in Jerusalem. they saw a dead man walking
Poems by Claudia Vila Molina We Return to the Earth
The sound of the night falls towards the earth. The pastures surround us with their white moans. Again we walk the bare earth. And we keep the secret. A word wrapped in unreality. My lost sunflowers are from autumn. When they wither in the shadow of the cliffs.