Tuesday, November 05, 2013

Pictures of Lily Old pictures from the doorway of the old tavern, a role that involves a lit cigarette to burn about the table where I sit. I try to wash my hands with my gloves. Trying. Trying. You remain standing as the son Llorona of a tide, watching the scene walking around the table. You, your useless, crying in fear to not apologize. Vain. In vain. Sorry filming the table with your camera, filming in chains. Oh mama, you're great. Now take some pictures .- And I, dangerous and burned me with my leather gloves timid, without letting the fire burn me with the camera of my 12 year old son over, without realizing the danger, according to his game, because the idea was good. Us. Now. Water. Pictures of Lily. Beds Camas. Solitary or fluffy. The Only eternal rest. The only fear emboldened. Households in which one can make your whole life without much to lose but a little sleepy sleep. I love the beds. From the deepest to the hardest, mistaking my time between the sheets between my dream rarefied. Between my eternal rest. Hurry The rush is not simply a fight against time, as is widely acknowledged, but a brief time wear, and vital energy. Just try to cycle all that must happen, happen before, and more worthy of a quality that if it happens quietly concerned. And most strangely, that speed goes on inside our nervous system, and not on such a stage above. I say this because using such a waste of energy for such cycles, your body either in a fast or in a calm, almost always get the same results, just that the wear is higher. However, I can not then avoid running more than they naturally would without suffering the fatigue that causes me to rush ...

dears some words are posting already in amazon. i tried to do this shy words on poems. thanks rosana

Sunday, September 15, 2013

Hi


posted from Bloggeroid

Sunday, September 08, 2013


this spicey fraud it geots me exxahusted. only to fibre your own money. if i work for you? what s thd deañ?

Sunday, January 11, 2009

Announcement

If you liked what you read from me, I tell you that I ve published all my books in http://rosana.bubok.com

I hope you like them!

rosana

Monday, November 01, 2004

Depature

Come in,
Inspirit my night.
Try to set on fire my watchfulness;
Waiting for you I stand,
With my hands wet for this untilled grieving.
With the tears dry for so incarcelated suffering.

Come on,
Kindle my day.
Make shining this, my hidden maud day.
Waiting for you I am;
Somewhere in a dwelling of my soul,
Still like the breeze of the dawn.

Come on,
Cover my waiting;
Don´t you stop any longer.
Here I wait with this life which leads on to
Inhospitable feelings.

I love you.

Today

Tea

I´m hoping for, in this exact instant, such cosmic as every or anyone, something I will find. Linden Tree tea I´ll drink till I die and will burn without this crouching thirsty.
Yes... Nothing is useless nor vain, everything it´s made thinking in that irreproachable that every being has in its soul... (of chess... Maybe?)

When? That´s his question, looking at his hands made of nails and wool, as a magnet which everything it sticks, knitting some secret wish and at last: Ending? Thought.
And me, here, closed among my wraps, I take a glance at you from the far away while I tell you:
Can we take a ride today?

Can we?

Today.

The anything...

May be

May be you were suffering
The same images
The same hurting heart
The same big lies to you
The same disappointing.

I do not dare to tell this is a big thing.

May be this is a complex circle of facts
Which set ourselves to live the same
In this right place, in this exact moment
Just now to achieve our feelings on and on
Only for not dreaming out louder

May be we need a refresh.

Refresh from our past
Refresh from our lies
Refresh from our gloaming teardrops
To say goodbye
To the people who we love.

I do not know accurately what it happened.

I only will do to know
If there will be a time to love without pain
Or being closed into a shut illusion.

I do not care if this will be true.

I wish to know all about this new hope.

May be this time
May be.
May be in this song
May be.

May be in this time.

Please, come on
Let it happen to you.

Please
Let it happen to you.

Please
Let it happen as soon as you feel it.

As you may feel it.

Day pressure

I stop.
Walk, run, go anything, I stir.
Tobacco.
I go.
Soul vissisitudes.
Noisy fingers.
Splashing nerves in this smoky pleasure screaming silently:
I wanna smoke!
And, relief.
Afterwards,
The custom.
Habits.
With a glass of water the boundness begins again.
Accompany.
And my already ulcered lungs of this agonic noisyment.
They ask me for oxigen.
This one that I fetch in this painted paper stick.
I glance.
Fear.
Death.
Then I leave out, or I pretend to leave.
And again the strugle amidst what I want to do and what my body wants.
And I stop again.
Tubes.
Tanned blood.
Nicotine which it´s breathed in my own air.
As if my only way of organic expansion would be a Le Mans.
Youth.
Roll my years.
Vicious.
My erosioned and dirty skin announces the present pleasure.
Insensitive.
Machines.
This unique pleasure.
Pain.
My flesh.
Time.
And after paramedical vans.
Letal disease.
Knowing myself anxious at the end of my life.
Fear.
Speed.
-We couldn´t do anything for her-
I die.
Tunnels.
And I don´t know where I am.
Instantly.

Crosses

Wool crosses painted with my hand.
Time becomes hurry in this place
Unneaty and nasty;
As any drawer box somewhere, thus.

Cherishes.

Your voice burn all my pleasure howling me
Almost without plint,
From the near key drop from my fear.

My flesh, soothen as a unlitten horizon,
Fondle time nearly closed in my hands,
That make asleepy every instant of loving together,
In this, our obscurity.

And our peace, which from your lips follow myself among your words,
Sing a song of an inmense joyfully
Within our lone friendship and our untasted love.
And you;: Where are you now?

First goodwill



Before the vault of my sorrow I wake up
And with all my softness
I dare my first goodwill.

Before the doors of the autonoumous perception
I grow
As an unwaken spirit
I walk,
For the eyes of my passion have opened big wide.

I ´m not the only one who stands alone,
And I think
That reality is astonished light
And songs show themselves unbalanced
Before the Holy justice
Unshaken before its own still.

However
Everyone run towards the same door in chains
As cats who imprisoned shut an inner pressure.

Even though
I think that happiness is certain
Skillful liquids of a city in melancholies are left apart soon
Heavenly white of laughings we areThat before the sight of God, attend...

First goodwill



Before the vault of my sorrow I wake up
And with all my fury
I dare my first goodwill.

Before the doors of the autonoumous perception
I grow
As an unwaken spirit
I walk,
For the eyes of my passion have opened big wide.

I ´m not the only one who stands alone,
And I think
That reality is astonished light
And songs show themselves unbalanced
Before the Holy justice
Unshaken before its own still.

However
Everyone run towards the same door in chains
As cats who imprisoned shut an inner pressure.

Even though
I think that happiness is certain
Skillful liquids of a city in melancholies are left apart soon
Heavenly white of laughings we areThat before the sight of God, attend...

On a night out

Well, My friends

this time is so arising my head.
it its bursting with the sun ray just to follow so clues.

i cant stand this anymore.

so,

i ll dedicate my time to post poems
prose and some short tales ( in both formats)

with love

rosana


On a night out
On a night outi discovered the world, through the eyes of someone so, so sad and timid; who writes poems and songs.
On a day forthwithI discovered the world throughout this, our eyes and }
so happily and dusky I went out to where I ve been set my soul on fire.
On an afternoon alight with clouds
I feared about that night which made me know about him and I terrorized my world
I kept pressed down my tearsand that momentI couldn t escape.And now,I come hereand here we areamong my fears and respects to himwith all the emotions and feelingsI could ever get into my heartlonely, but happy and duskyon thisJust pulling his love through, many years ago.

my life on a night out...

May be this fullstar dark moon, make me see blind with my heart wide open again...

Will you help me=?