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Newsletter Dated: 11/11/2005 9:03:54 AMSubject: Revista bilingue -Bilingual Magazine by por M C Azcona
new nuevo
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renewed renovado
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The Mermaid by Minerva Bloom
On Sunday
I shall spread,
In perfect
Symmetry,
Perfect peace,
Pacific
Magic Dust.
Everything gathers with the waves,
The flakes of past moons,
The spirals of singing shells,
The tender whispers of lovers,
The miracles of mermaids.
On Sunday when you celebrate,
Turning towards the Sun
For a precious speck of my love
To grace your countenance,
You shall see me in the paths of foam.
When Day falls, and the Sun,
Golden Pomegranate,
Plunges into the Maternal Sea,
Splashing crimson in sacred silence,
My love will be your love,
First love of all love.
Minerva Bloom
September 2002
"Poets Against The War."
Sing, Said the Songbird
I woke up at 3am
with the sounds of a caroling Robin
announcing its territory outside my window
in the still slumbering morning.
Sadly, I'm faced with the reality
that meadows and woodlots
are replaced by suburbia, and soon too,
the abundance of this little bird
in a fading medley of songs.
So many little dramas
are enacted amongst the oaks
and whatever is left
of the jacaranda trees.
©2003. Excerpted from the chapbook
Wonder Worker by Minerva T. Bloom
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Arturo's Rubinstein
By Ada Aharoni
"The power of Creation seems to favour human beings who love life unconditionally, and I am certainly one who does!"
Arturo Rubinstein
Today you are ninety Arturo,
And you play us your Rubinstein
Fingers lovingly enlacing
Life's hidden allegro
"Everyday is the happiest
one for me,
living an intensive life
is my secret -
I've never met a person
as joyful as me!"
My friends wink and say,
"Perhaps that's because
he's never met you!"
I don't think they're right,
But then I think of my
engrossing Internet creations
Paving new Horizons
of peace among nations,
Suffusing my skies with
dazzling global symphonies
Like fresh rain on scorched earth
And am filled with -
I'm so glad I met you,
Dear Mr. Rubinstein!
_______________________________
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IF ONLY THERE WERE PEACE
by David Lukashok
I've always loved the patter
of a rain in spring and fall;
it really doesn't matter
the month -- I love them all.
I love to see the sprinkling
of colors in the spring,
and the red and yellow wrinkling
of leaves that autumns bring.
I stand in awe and wonder
of an open starry sky
and love to hear the thunder
of a storm that's coming nigh --
and feel as one who's spellbound
when I come back to the sea
after wand'ring ages inland,
and I see it suddenly.
No there is no end of wonders;
I could rave without surcease;
but then I'd have to stop and add:
"If only there were peace!"
I could celebrate the cities,
the villages and towns,
and sing in simple ditties
of all that here abounds,
of the hillsides that are sprinkled
with a thousand yellow lights
where so often I have mingled
to pass my mortal nights.
I could tell of love's enchantments
and all they've meant to me
and the faces I have worshipped
as God's own poetry,
and you'll know I've only hinted
at the wonders of this earth,
the sadness and the splendor,
the rubbish and the worth!
Oh yes, I'd sing its praises
though "short is summer's lease" --
but then I'd have to stop and add:
"If only there were peace!"
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Desde ISRAEL
Desde la Ventana 6
Mirta Solan
Trozos de descoloridas mangueras
compiten con vacios macetones
apilados a los lados
a pesar del sol, la negra red parece hoy
más negra que de costumbre
algunas ramas están todavía verdes
otras muy resecas y abatidas
los pajaros hicieron un paréntesis en su canto
seis soldados cayeron
seis soldados en vano
Seis soldados.
Mirta Solan
Caos
Mirta Solan
Destellos luminosos
En este brumoso amanecer
Olvidados encuentros empañan
El vidrioso cristal de mis pupilas
Esplendor letal en las tinieblas
Astillas de luz
En mi piel.
iridiscencias
Multicolores
Caleidoscopio de primavera
En caótico
Devenir.
Mirta Solan
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Mis transparencias
Judith Blumberg
Se me va de las manos
la paloma
y la pierdo;
se me va de las manos
la esperanza
que hoy siento
en el agua...
en el viento...
sepultada muy dentro
con sus alas quebradas
en mi alma
presiento.
El amor aún espera
A la paz que no llega
Transparentes sus alas
Transparente mi alma.
Judith Blumberg
Cupido
Judith Blumberg
¿ Es un ángel el niño que juega en mis sueños?
Vuela con sus alas
Fresco como el viento, puro como el agua.
A veces sus risas, suenan a campanas.
Y si me despierta,me deja pimpollos
Blancos, en mi almohada.
