Thursday, October 9, 2008
Diarrhea Calorie Absorbption
LXIII TALES CONTEST "THE NATIONAL" (2008) POEMS
Last July, the jury LXIII Story Contest the newspaper El Nacional , made by Alexis Marquez, Freddy Castillo and Krina Ber (winner of the contest in 2007) issued the verdict awarding the Prize Winner the story of my brother's shoes , Heberto Gamero, summarizing the story developed as " metaphorization the act of running as a universal expression of life ". Among the finalists and winners of the publication mention of this contest are the authors Fedosy Santaella, with distant springs, Jose Antonio Saez Passenger with sand and Táriba Santaella Rodolfo (Member of the 115 and editor of this blog), with Games the story of war and bitterness.
http://www.ficcionbreve.org/site/contenido.php?id=1407
http://www.ficcionbreve.org/site/contenido.php?id=1406
http: / / www.ficcionbreve.org/site/contenido.php?id=1428
http://www.analitica.com/Bitblio/rrattia/beatriz.asp
Last July, the jury LXIII Story Contest the newspaper El Nacional , made by Alexis Marquez, Freddy Castillo and Krina Ber (winner of the contest in 2007) issued the verdict awarding the Prize Winner the story of my brother's shoes , Heberto Gamero, summarizing the story developed as " metaphorization the act of running as a universal expression of life ". Among the finalists and winners of the publication mention of this contest are the authors Fedosy Santaella, with distant springs, Jose Antonio Saez Passenger with sand and Táriba Santaella Rodolfo (Member of the 115 and editor of this blog), with Games the story of war and bitterness.
http://www.ficcionbreve.org/site/contenido.php?id=1407
http://www.ficcionbreve.org/site/contenido.php?id=1406
http: / / www.ficcionbreve.org/site/contenido.php?id=1428
http://www.analitica.com/Bitblio/rrattia/beatriz.asp
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Funny Pictionary Iphrases
GUSTAVO FERNÁNDEZ (2006)
REMEMBERING THE GOLDEN
I
Oh sweet clothes for me sadly found
holiday or mourning when all live together
burned my memory
are the sun I dream at dawn
Come to me, without fear, as children
hosted by the arms of a faceless
grandmother, made only of scraps of newspapers and photographs
They are the mirror I look
and I admit, without hurting the air
are encouraged my lungs and that will
to shake other rumor sites
with flowers and crystals
parties face its wake
away in the oblivion
II
I looked at the walls of my country
if a strong time, now vanished
or rather transparent as
haze but no air stone and glass
Where the owner who dreams of what's inside?
Where the owner who dreams of the outside?
The house where I live
I'm going home with me where I live. The
living life for me, others have lived and live
later when the mirror
not show the face that I intend my
but other faces are, will have been
my own face, yours
you read it without knowing if you yourself have written
III
This you see deception
colorful animal ash without guilt, wild
insignificant, helpless, transitive
of knots naked to the teeth
Which name
respond when the voices call my voice outside
throws on a glass sky guarded by indifferent
angels sleep?
no longer hear the voices of others but my own voice
other voices
made through the mouths of
people
of thousands, of millions who have been
to come or come
the streets approaching lips touching
inviting me to hear my voice away
IV
A Daphne and arms I grew
and white thighs like marble
Stop
metamorphosing into vines climbed lamp posts
Avenue to reach the bulbs with your fingers
I can not remember if it was Superman and Apollo the subject that ran
after her attempt to save the fate of being the chased
a god
stubborn and deaf to her disdain
Oh, Lois Lane
metal
hung from the roof of the tallest skyscraper in New York
Bankok
or about to throw in a vacuum
to escape the harassment of heroes
They await you
down there with open arms
confused the crowd of ants that move
the streets aimlessly defined
REMEMBERING THE GOLDEN
I
Oh sweet clothes for me sadly found
holiday or mourning when all live together
burned my memory
are the sun I dream at dawn
Come to me, without fear, as children
hosted by the arms of a faceless
grandmother, made only of scraps of newspapers and photographs
They are the mirror I look
and I admit, without hurting the air
are encouraged my lungs and that will
to shake other rumor sites
with flowers and crystals
parties face its wake
away in the oblivion
II
I looked at the walls of my country
if a strong time, now vanished
or rather transparent as
haze but no air stone and glass
Where the owner who dreams of what's inside?
Where the owner who dreams of the outside?
The house where I live
I'm going home with me where I live. The
living life for me, others have lived and live
later when the mirror
not show the face that I intend my
but other faces are, will have been
my own face, yours
you read it without knowing if you yourself have written
III
This you see deception
colorful animal ash without guilt, wild
insignificant, helpless, transitive
of knots naked to the teeth
Which name
respond when the voices call my voice outside
throws on a glass sky guarded by indifferent
angels sleep?
no longer hear the voices of others but my own voice
other voices
made through the mouths of
people
of thousands, of millions who have been
to come or come
the streets approaching lips touching
inviting me to hear my voice away
IV
A Daphne and arms I grew
and white thighs like marble
Stop
metamorphosing into vines climbed lamp posts
Avenue to reach the bulbs with your fingers
I can not remember if it was Superman and Apollo the subject that ran
after her attempt to save the fate of being the chased
a god
stubborn and deaf to her disdain
Oh, Lois Lane
metal
hung from the roof of the tallest skyscraper in New York
Bankok
or about to throw in a vacuum
to escape the harassment of heroes
They await you
down there with open arms
confused the crowd of ants that move
the streets aimlessly defined
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