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poetry can be done in many ways.
Zidane, a gentleman.

Farewell

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Put exercises its right of reply Looking west

The man in the gray layer.

Once upon a time a woman who, when leaving a movie theater, instead of crossing the street and go home, was lost in a blue path. In this way looking for answers, asking questions, ran, jumped, fell and stumbled. In this way there were more people, all uphill walk along the side of a high mountain, and women felt less alone in their walk fatiguing. Among these people was a wearing a gray cloak, which covered his body and face, when asked, said he was covered because it was so gray inside and out. But the woman had seen a strange light green, sometimes when the man in gray was neglected, emerged from the shadows of his hood. An intense but short beam to illuminate the words that the man was writing on the stones that lined the road, and so those behind perdían.Guiados not by these words and stones hikers reached the summit. But the man in the gray layer, before reaching the turn, decided to divert his path and open a new as winter came and wanted to establish their home. Thus arrived at a clearing in the forest. The woman followed him, attracted by the steps of the man of the gray layer. Then the man pulled out from the folds of the layer a few books, and putting them on the floor, he began writing in the air, beautiful words, symbols, phrases, and a house began to take shape, a house full of furniture drawers, a home sandarac wooden walls, with stained glass windows, with many overstuffed sofas covered with blankets and warm, with a large fireplace in the center where they burned a man hoguera.El light gray coat pulled the hood of his face, and the woman saw where they were born strange and intense light green edges that had observed: born in the eyes of man, went straight from his heart, became entangled in his hands, his voice growing. The man smiled and left the door of his house open, knowing that his friends were going to sit on your couch, to leave gifts in the drawers, looking through the colorful windows, to carry firewood for the home. Since then, the woman visits the man in the gray coat and green eyes often because they know that their home will find what you want and need a couch to rest, a fire to behold, words to read, stained glass to brighten the air, and the hands of a friend who knows who knows silent, and who knows shaking hands to climb the rocks.

Pon (marisita-pon@hotmail.com)

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looking west with concern, looking at that black cloud that threatens snow download your middle of August, trying to figure out why the hell are we shortened paradise early, one month less than four weeks at least thirty days less, expelled for eating the forbidden fruit, Angel Aguirre and punishing with his hundred eyes that see, spyware and account, and now comes the snow, and must be collected the store, and I've seen legs shake you to think this is over, you're getting married soon, that we are making the short days, low stream water getting colder, and indeed, this is paradise, but nobody had warned us that forbidden fruits, no one said you can eat all the fruits of these trees but do not try the apple (and we have eaten a few, eh, cowboy?), nobody told us that we should not look us in the eyes: we spoke of lost sheep, the dangers of lighting fires on the mountain, catering to bored to force repeated ray killing entire herds of horses bolted and jump into the abyss, but nobody warned us about the crossing looks, nobody told us we could not even spend rozarnos the cup coffee, we should flee from the throats and the way in which hair is lost after the collar, which we avoid feeling our breath juntásemos heads warm when watching the stars drunken moon.

looking west with concern, checking how the peaks are hiding behind a white cloak that turns orange and purple with the last rays of the afternoon, the birds are gone, the sheep tremble stiff with cold, remaining apples, but few (and we're going to eat all this night, eh, cowboy?), we will not leave or leaves, because nobody warned us of the dangers of green eyes that are casually and last a couple of seconds longer appropriate.


Another bit of Luis Cernuda, also blinded by a blonde look:

Sailors are the wings of love,
are the mirrors of love, sea
accompanies them,
blond and his eyes are the same as
love is blonde too, as are his eyes.

Joy lively veins draining into
blonde is also identical to the skin
looming;
not let them go because the freedom
smile smiles
blinding light straight into the sea.

If a sailor is sea, Tues
blonde whose presence is love song, I do not want
the city made of dreams gray;
I just go to the sea where I was swamped,
boat aimlessly,
aimless body sink into his light blond.

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Put enters my house on tiptoe, and going by leaving gifts hidden among the crates, look for them because they are worth. But this (which is not the best) it out to the light that you see what I mean. Put go through life on tiptoes (suffering for beauty as Stendhal), with its purple flower in his lapel, with black curls and his face good teacher, the teacher who gives you candy, which takes away without giving you the jersey damage the ears. Brokeback Mountain has given me many gifts and one is Pon ( marisita-pon@hotmail.com ). Thank you, friend.

Last night I went to the cinema to say goodbye to my big screen movie. Some weeks ago I feel "cured", I remember her with less pain, which causes me no trouble, wanted to see how far the detox, so I sat in the chair with a mixture of fear and pleasure. And I saw her. I watched carefully, meticulously, enjoying every frame, every dialogue, every landscape and to each sheep. I left the room and it rained on my way home I was thinking I had finally found peace of mind, but how wrong the effects of tsunami estaba.Tras BBM came the emotional shock, then hours wondering, then, the search for answers, finally, understanding that the answers were in me. BBM is a mirror. A distorting mirror, but not such as fairs and Alley Cat: the deformation is to take each of us the real reflection of oneself. But that reflection is both a vision within. Once we can see ourselves in Ennis, Jack, Alma, in Aguirre, in sheep, even in Basque shepherd or bear, all the reflections that I feel I have the same point: BBM is reality. Maybe that's the secret. In its formal stoicism in its domestic frugality, is life as it is. That's why we get so deep. That's why we suffer and cry and smile and enjoy. Because, as almost a documentary that dissects the love and human relationships, exposes us to ourselves naked, and it begs our past and future existence. Above all, it asks: "Now what you gonna do?".'s Up to us the answer, because you do not let get away or answer evasively. No choice but to respond, we respond. And that answer is the essence of the film: Brokeback Mountain project misma.El life thus becomes millions of projects in each project. Certainly, life as we knew no longer exists. BBM has changed us, how wonderful.