women writers – Mitchell Pluto

Angel of the Paths Claudia Vila Molina

Texts extracted from the unpublished collection of poems “Ciénaga”

5
21 seconds they play your name
Like a shooting star I count the spaces
To lose myself in the water.

6
We are stopped by the claws of the wind
It’s time to sleep they tell us
we are asleep
Like fugitive silhouettes
We have gone astray.

7
The angel of the paths leads
our light
his hands lengthen the stems of the day
stretch contours.

8
My cloud brings pieces of time closer
I’m gloomy like these worm-eaten plants
Someone else will come from the night
To collect some forgotten landscape.

9
Unexpectedly I open my eyes towards you
I like to hear whispers from the outside line
Your eyes open other doors
And they stay sheltered from the shade.

10
Since that time I remember you
You slowly invade my landscapes
Cold voices bring the threads of that web closer
They surround the absent body.

11
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.

12
Violet petals fall successively on us
The wind is gone, but the shadow remains
Water slides streams into the night
And the last fire extinguishes my stars.

Poems extracted from the book “Poemas de sur”

House and Plum IV

Stealth remains attentive to all caresses
My kisses keep looking for their route
And I remember the first home, the smells tremble with their laughter
Your look weighs on the eyelids of the imagination
The smells will come to dream of the intimate past
So long without looking back
Memory takes so long
It’s something illusory like the blue roses in the garden
The bridge where I whisper a name
a silhouette arrives tired to tell me
that figure sits in the memories
And I can no longer hide
in the holes of the old walls
but if the shadow is your name
I will continue whispering inside the empty space
and the walls will see their signs in the passing of things
beyond we will continue drawing in the rooms
and they will continue to walk through those passages
where the smoke today flies calmly.

House and plum V

We remember the fog visits us through the window
The green eyes returned to tour our nights
And an old walker passed through the house
We return to the site of the visits
The lamps lulled the traveling sound
Only God listens to us on this winter Friday
And I whisper to you not to repeat things
Our gestures turn off the lights
Fall memories unwrap
That house creaked in the front room
Eyes flickered subject to the crackle
A voice speaks words
I don’t know them anymore, the voice is barely heard
Between the trees you fly to contemplate the past
And the tree held by the foreign night
We are silent to hear each other in this stillness
Sleeping trees glow in the dark
They stretch their arms towards the house in the silence
The wind returns
And we as relic-weary passengers
We take care of the necessary gestures
Things twinkle distrustful of destiny
And only tonight can they blink in regret
Because the trees examine our deep voices
And no one will be able to descend from the passageway
And listen to the unknown song.

_{written by ©Claudia Vila Molina}

Writer born in Viña del Mar, Chile. Professor of language and communication at PUCV, poet and literary critic. In 2012, she published her first book, The Invisible Eyes of the Wind. She has published in renowned Chilean and foreign digital media: Babelia (Spain), Letras de Chile (Chile), Triplov and Athena de Portugal, among others. During the year 2017 she participates in the Xaleshem group with poetic texts for the surrealist anthologies: “Composing the illusion” in honor of Ludwig Zeller and “Full Moon”, in honor of Susana Wald. In 2018, she integrates the feminist anthology IXQUIC released both in Europe and in Latin America. In 2020 she participates reviewing the conversation book “Shuffle poetry, Surrealism in Latin America” by Alfonso Peña (Costa Rica), also writes a poetic prose text for the book “Arcano 16, La torre“, by the same author. Likewise, she participates in the book “120 notes of Eros. Written portraits of surrealist women” by Floriano Martins (Brazilian surrealist poet, writer, visual artist and cultural manager). In this year (2021) she publishes her second poetry book Poética de la erotica, amores y desamores by Marciano editores, Santiago.

Featured art photo Peppermint Patty girl Oil, collage Mitchell Pluto 2022

Be a Poem by Lorena Rioseco-Palacios

EVE LIGHT

Life
Death
The sense
What are they worth?
Ties to Life the illusion of being special
unique
That everything hidden will be revealed and bring peace
The fall
God
Crying
The vacuum
the tear
The torture of ignorance.
The worst of wheat
the howling of the cattle
The bark of the stubborn
The silence of the wise
(To whom God gave a name and assigned a Path)
Fall and worry our fate
Our truth the poppy has bloomed
The morphine has deadened the pain
But the power of God gives us the strength to continue… to continue
WHERE?

TWO NOISES

There are only two noises left
In the relaxed silences after the bloodless waters of the cold
There are only two noises left
Between the waking dream
Field where all the faded desires lie
While in his fury the candid blood
born in his look at the dawn
In your breathing relief
After the suns of August and the snows of July

There are only two noises left
My body knows its moment in the soul
Half bite and half die

There are only two noises left

Kisses and debauchery

What will become of so much love?
What will become of so much thirst?

I WILL GET LOST

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
Deep sorrow of the soul.
I will write her name in crystals in the catacombs where lost loves lie
in each fragment deposited on a paper evicted from oblivion
between puddles of muddy tears on slopes whipped by a harsh winter.

SEPIA

As I watched the roll
roll of your wheels
I rolled off the ledges of cement buildings
There is no time…
Just muzzled birds
who observe my mourning of fluorescent colors
I’m looking for a bloody drink
Lower the face to the bottom
Bottomless background.
soul of lockdowns
absence of soul
there are no greens
SEPIA only…

LONELY

Lonely my autumn sighs pass by
Lonely the night of stars without wicks

Of loves in transit to the corridor of oblivion
Presence of leaves dancing as our love faded
In the middle of our world
always unfinished
Present as the cold through my careless open windows

I live and die
I smile and agonize
I dance and fall on cement floors
in dark spaces
in adornment people

I wonder-

In what unknown wind do I find you?
In what shade of September?
In what square of yesteryear do you walk your nostalgia
your unlived times
your life in my absence
my presence not available
or our words always so petty?

Alone
Alone in the midst of eclipsing clouds
And suns that don’t kill

Alone in the siesta of the day
While the good runs adrift
In that ocean that I never get to cross

What’s up?-that nothing in me is enough
that my passing is the passing of a deaf bird in a night cloak of mirrors?

devoid of me
devoid of all
abandoned by my lyrics
Unable to happen in life
All that I no longer say

FOR A SHIRAZ

ruby meteorites
Imitate God’s Sediment

meaning to the air
that the air I lack

That I need one last sip of a great Syrah
To say, what my lyrics hide

The costume without forgetting
Your body smells like grapes and my body smells like you…

_{written by ©Lorena Rioseco Palacios}

Lorena Rioseco Palacios

10.29.1969, Viña del Mar, Chile

Poet, narrator and reciter of the soul. Social Communicator, law graduate. At the end of 2015 she published her first book of poetry, stories and haiku “Ecos errantes” In 2016 together with 18 Chilean women poets she published her poetic work in the anthology “Mujeres al fin del mundo” (poetic voice of Chilean women), awarded by the Chilean Society of Writers with the “National Reading Fund”, with presence in all National Libraries. In 2017, together with outstanding national poets, he presents his work in the Anthology “Underworld¨ “Blood brother”, “Without borders” (Society of Writers “Without borders”. 2018), “ After poetry, in 2019 and “After Poetry: the festival of poetry”, in 2020 he publishes his work in the International Poetic Anthologies “Palabras Necessarios”, 2021, among others . The artist vigorously participates in literary, poetic, cultural and environmental dissemination activities. She also participates in different poetry forums, where she maintains a constant literary and poetic activism in social networks and groups of poets in America and Europe. In 2021, she publishes her second bilingual poetry book “Sé un poeta (be a poem)”. Since 2017 she is a member of the cultural corporation of writers and artists “Les enfants terribles” and of the Society of Chilean Writers (SECH). Poet invited to the II National Poetry Meeting, 2021.

Featured art photo Scyphomancy Oil on 9inx12in coldpress Mitchell Pluto 2022

Poems from Crazy Pupils by Victoria Morrison

NEW MOON

The
He is more poet than me
He provokes in me the excitement of lucifer
I wish to flee from the three nails of the crucifixion
My wrists don’t hurt so much anymore.
like sore ankles
I don’t limp anymore
The sky turns to water in your presence
I know how to float in flooded graves
mercury nights
Enigma of the writer with hair on his face
Under the moon
Howl with foreign voices

OBEY ME

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!
You will see that the reflection of my water is salty
Obey me

MARRIAGE OF THE DEAD

To not blame the men
We got married in the presence of a dead man
reflection
echo
We got married in the presence of a dead man
With my heart in my hand
fevers
cramps
Friend of my heart drowned in poetry
We got married in the presence of a dead man
They dug a grave
We were put
Next to each other
in the wet mud
The crying comes from the empty graves
We got married in the presence of a dead man
The earth has forgiven us

INSOMNIA

We look more beautiful in black
More beautiful than the widows of our enemies
I reversed your death with a love spell
I pierced your flesh
blood stakes
I descended into madness to rescue you
Men
In angel I returned you
You festered like a poem under insomnia
nobody’s Geometry
geometry of gods
We look more beautiful in black
More beautiful than the widows of our enemies.
crazy pupils
Kiss Me!
as if you don’t know me
impregnate me again and again
Throw the stone and hide
I will murder our children in the name of love
bite me
howls

SPECTRAL SILHOUETTE

spectral silhouette
I got tangled up in your hair
It rains in a city full of leaves
yellow autumn
I visit you in the asylum
where reason is lost
I see you insanely talking with the virgin
she doesn’t listen to you
My joints creak like an old door
I dry myself
I am your light you tell me
Cocoon light when I take you in hugs
Under the cold light of fluorescent tubes
We are the closest thing to Michelangelo’s Pietá
I cleanse your drugged body
They have cooked your mouth
I give you to drink the rain
You have aged more than me
One by one I have seen your teeth fall
Even so
I still consider you handsome my sick poet
Smoker
Created in the image and likeness of your mother
We make a blood pact
Crying
Of the wall
The shadow
The smoke from your big hands
Touching me
You hypnotize the voices
The time stops
naked
I walk in the rain
I collect flowers.

The poet Leopoldo María Panero, died last night at 65 years old at the Juan Carlos I Psychiatric Hospital in Las Palmas de Gran Canaria, where he lived as a boarder in open regime. Panero will be cremated tomorrow at the San Miguel Funeral Home of Las Palmas de Gran Canaria, where his body will be veiled starting at 2:00 p.m. today. The Corpse of the Poet he will remain in the funeral home for a little over 24 hours, until proceed to incinerate him, something that is scheduled for 4:30 p.m. tomorrow.
Source: ABC.es Culture, July 7, 2014

CRAZY PUPILS

The most ruthless of all souls
She is moved by the song of night crickets
The most brutal of all souls
Talk to the stars on a waning moon
the most despised
Sing with the voice of a nightingale
stays there
hours and hours and hours
hearing the wind
the most ungrateful soul
wash the feet of tramps
Heals hand wounds
Feed the pigeons in the squares
Smile at the children on the street
tour the cemetery
Read verses about the graves
Searching abandoned tombstones
Rest in sealed sepulchers.
Accompanies the silence that passes forgetting
and she gets tired
falls off
she turns off
sleep
Until the dandelions touch her fingers
She can’t open her tired eyelids
crazy’s pupils get bigger
hands are filled with oblivion.

LOST LANGUAGE

Speak
Write poetry
miss the word
Language that bewitches the impure in spirit
Verses saved from the waters
Illegitimate child
Where does my tongue come from?
stumbles on the palate
I inject sounds
speeches
rumors
Where do my eyes come from?
Observe the bubbles of the fish mating
Fertilize under the water of the river.

MOON WOMAN

Moonlit woman
windy sunrise
Fall from the placenta to the volcano
burn the soul
Germinate in root
mutate into bird
poet’s whisper
I belong to the wind
to the reflection of the sea

_{written by ©Victoria Morrison}

Portada de Pupilas de Loco

Controversial, transgressive, provocative, direct, loving, desolate This is the poetry of Victoria Morrison in this
new book: “Crazy Pupils”. the forty four poems that the collection of poems brings together come from the limits
most extreme humans; tenderness and cruelty in hands of the disturbed beauty of some verses that bother
and move, as the voice should be, when you are in the center of the tragedy. Love, madness, death, oblivion, govern the order of this collection of poems. In this scheme, the poetry of Victoria Morrison is a way of exhibiting the torture to which existence subjects us just by breathing.

Dante Cajales Meneses
Cau Cau, Puchuncavi, Chile,
February 2020

Feature art photo Eyes series. Óscar César Mata, Latex and watercolor pencil. Buenos Aires, Argentina.

Poetics of Erotica, Loves and Heartbreaks by Claudia Vila Molina

Crossing

be you
the stray who returns
into the mist
of our bodies.

Ignition

I wonder if you’re touching the sky now
as I extend my sight to these mountains
what part of space
will be created with your presence?
What ocean will I cross
to incinerate you slowly?

Prophecy

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

Estrangement

You look at me as if I were your fetish
you touch me when we’re alone
I am nothing of that
nor the shadow of our own steps.

Secrets

The mirror projects two lovers at the edge of the night
the itinerary of its own history is broken
They don’t sleep because they know how to distinguish whispers
that fly by and saturate the air
of people looking through the keyhole
and are suddenly reflected in a pool
It is not true to say that these bodies look at each other
it would be better to sketch the moment
when they intersect with the dark
but aligned as they were they knew how to possess themselves
and stood out against the background of shadows
of a white that was dreamed at night
and he did not even stop to contemplate the stars
but if he looked at himself naked
except when she unbuttoned her dress.

Feature art photo Sun Set Women Oil, collage by Mitchell Pluto 2022

Poems by Claudia Vila Molina We Return to the Earth

(Unpublished texts from the Poemas de sur)

Oath

The flowers will throb in my silence
The eyes will hear the flames of the river
We’ll whisper at night
And nothing will be necessary
This accumulation of absences today fills our chest
And there are no more traces on the dry Sunday afternoon
Although the smoke witnesses some ordeals
The eyes release their huge blocks
But none of this will be necessary
Nothing will be noticed at the bottom of the lakes
Not even in the thickening of the clouds.

We Return to 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.

(Unpublished poems taken from the book Escritos para Beatriz)

Strange Certainty

The water rises to the hives
The brightness of the air stops my desertion
And the precipice of the birds is deep
But the route digs a new image
Where did we forget the road?
What drill did you lose my name in?

The moon is your own emaciated conscience
Climb towards the light the wormy face
They fill it with sounds in the jungle of the world
An image is that you in pain
That serpent coiled in the maelstrom of the waves

Who can love you from silence?

The flora of time cradles sad animals
And disintegrates in the ropes of the river
That temple opens their bodies towards the solitudes
And send us four different kingdoms

Your flight is a mirror in the mask of the world
Eyes conceive other authentic materials
We like to dye ourselves from nothing
Succumb to the harassment of existence

After the light has departed we only have
distance
And the objects thrown on the floor
But your being unexpectedly illuminates this corner
and flee to cold countries
where the last sailors go

That silence is part of our ancient voice
And bring down the places
Draw an island in the middle of everything
The moon rests in my female arms
And unwind four seasons

A sign disconnects my primitive bursts
And he starts to sing
The wave once again throws its homicides
The certainty of that shadow strangles us
That figure stopped at dawn.

(Poems taken from the unpublished book Ciénaga)

9
Unexpectedly I open my eyes towards you
I like to hear whispers from the outside line
Your eyes open other doors
And they stay sheltered from the shade.

10
Since that time I remember you
You slowly invade my landscapes
Cold voices bring the threads of that web closer
They surround the absent body.

11
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.

12
Violet petals fall successively on us
The wind is gone, but the shadow remains
Water slides streams into the night
And the last fire extinguishes my stars.

09-22-1969

Feature photo art by Enrique De Santiago