Category: Poetry

January 17 / Poetry

Unbearable will to start and end As if I could ever reach that feeling of getting done As if I could ever escape the feeling of missing something Did I forget to close the door? Did I forget to turn off the lights? Or the stove? Rolling waves, years that go by, wishing we could escape from their passing by But the vapour of the clouds always comes back to the forms of the earth, and you cry as if they could cry wishing to stay, wishing to escape from the cycle of life. And the clocks are rolling in…

January 31 / Poetry
We wash out our face in a waterfall
thinking that we’ll be other
who wakes up next morning

But we are all the same

December 30 / Poetry
Splashing waves crash in the port while tourists on waterproof jackets are passing.
In the distance, cars get lost in the curve, of the only street of this village.
They pass.
People pass stepping puddles and passing clouds leave puddles on their way.
Words on the air pass being dragged by mouths while the gulls cut them with their winged passing.
Another day of summer passes.

December 13 / Poetry
 Yesterday a cloud leaned over the village. From here I could see it white, lying along the streets of the small Taumarunui.

November 29 / Poetry
 I confess I have lived a little bit.
28 years ago someone –my mother- named me “Tulia”
and since then I collect experiences in a handmade wicker basket
that has a hole in the bottom

August 21 / Diary
I see a loose thread, and I take it. It’s my way to start weaving with words. So there is an opening. Did I tell you that sometimes I find myself suspended in an eternal continued moment? When rain drops fall on the roof and I must stay still, suspended, almost holding my breath while listening the knocking against the roof and watching the drops slowly wringing through the window. Yes, is in these small details where I live when a lot is the time in solitude and infinite the freedom. Great mysteries have occupied my mind these days. I've…
June 14 / Creative Challange
{Day 7 of 30} I write to W and suddenly my writing is in English in the first place (not Spanish) and as days written in bird´s sings cant be translated... This one will remind without translation. I The little boy, playing in bed / while his wounded mother cooks, is throwing little words and circles / out of the window. She smiles / (the whole world lights up) he chatters excitedly - What can he see? There's a monkey at the window - behind the door! But he is falling /into darkness. Cutting pieces of wood... this was not so useful so…