My anthology

POETRY IN ONE MONTH

(My anthology)

Warm-up stanzine

It’s not my fault

That in Hong Kong

The sun shines earlier

Than back home

I didn’t plan

this situation;

it just came

as did the Spring.

But now I’m trapped

in this mad nonsense…

Five great months

and you were gone.

And I just hope

time goes by fast,

because it’s getting

hard to live.

Amets

Our land is not

a piece of soil

it's our being, our heart.

We don't believe

in bombs or guns

fired in our names

by insane "Basques".

They spoil our name,

they kill our soul.

They "murder for our liberty"?

But all we want

is to have peace

and long for

Euskal Herria's dream.

My gift

Sleep, sweet child

while I rock your craddle

and shelter your dreams

with this,

mon petit lullaby.

I'll take you up

to the sky, where

the stars will embrace you.

This is

mon petit lullaby.

Close your eyes

and nestle against

my voice, as it whispers

to you

mon petit lullaby.

Toshiba

My home.

But it’s not just mine,

it’s also yours.

I wait for you here every night

to come and stand by me,

to say good night,

to watch me sleep.

We built our tiny universe

with great efforts,

and every time I think

of what, with strength and faith,

we have achieved…

I’m proud of us.

I won’t leave you ever again.

I swear.

A little anthology of my family

(Four independent poems about my family, made following the same structure. To present them, I found a common title and added a few verses as a conclusion, that isn’t really a poem itself)

To you, the smallest piece of madness

Your huge eyes always seem so lost

(sometimes they are...)

You hide behind your arts and crafts

and act like you don’t understand.

You fool us all.

And it will always be like that!

To you, the crazy box of tantrums

You reached an age hard to deal with:

painful fifteen...

At least your jokes and silly things

make all of us enjoy and laugh.

Do never change.

You sure still write better than me...

To you, the eternal king of our home

You've made us who and what we are

with great efforts.

You've always worked for us to grow,

for what we admire you a lot.

But just one thing:

dead animals are NOT decor!

To you, the soul of our achieves

No matter what we do or plan,

you're always there.

And as we grow, we'll surely find

that you will always be behind

to guard our steps.

We owe you all we'll ever get.

For you, from Hong Kong to Madrid

Just need to add

I love you

and I always will.

Capitulation

One foggy day you’ll lower your gaze

to find your windowsill covered

with withered petals;

and with your thoughts spinning backwards

as a disorientated hamster

inside its metal prison,

face to face with la Veuve Clicquot,

you'll realize

how much you had one day.

And as she goes, bitter, down your throat,

she'll whisper to your entrails

that past

is nothing more than past,

nothing close to present.

And you'll devote yourself to her,

she who dresses in gold,

her bubbles sparkling against your palate.

Because, my heart,

if you have to step on broken glass,

let it, at least, be Venetian.

Rancour chains

There she is, hiding

the last punch below the belt

that life has packed her

behind a carmine, cynical smile.

Irony walks beside her

as her master weapon.

Her hair smells like roller coasters

and lemon candy;

her soul smells like mothballs

and black coffee.

Go, tough girl, conquer the world.

Devastate

whatever stands in your way.

Feel powerful.

But when the sun sets

and you’re swallowed

by the deepest darkness,

you’ll still be afraid

of the monsters under your bed.

Your smile will be gone;

your sarcasm, useless.

Open your eyes,

give forgiveness a chance;

it’s about time

you face your present.

It’s never too late

to shape your future.