Through the Hills of Spain (for Miguel Hernandez)

Through the hills of Spain among the flowers and the seeds of life a train wanders Hernandez .... Hernandez the night is hushed mockingbirds listen to the tirades of men wounded in battle blood of your blood senseless death in the air the wind swallows birds Hernandez ... Hernandez There is death caught by the nostrils of the sky there is death everywhere the sea calling to forlorn travelers Hernnandez ... Hernandez your wound leaves the redness of skys never conquered untouched, virginal Oh, yawning tenderness lust on the wheels of a train blood on the faces of bulls soil calloused by murder homicide of undertakers and children Sword of the flesh Alicante ripe years of manhood Oh, dawning life overpowering weatherworn axes heaven of your life Hernandez ... Hernandez Through the hills of Spain among the flowers and the seeds of life a train wanders --Luis Omar Salinas, copyright 1970.



My white poison The gap is materialistic Music used to show me how to cross the line The movement expressed to seek good demons Used verse. We have no idea, but…the gap is materialistic, so that is the perfect line celebration of poetry...dreams Poetry has surprised emotions This does not rhyme The material is me. which poet will take the hole instead of me? Which poets will take and transformed my blank venom…? ___________________________________

Devotion to what? The nightmares are not the end They are only reasons to start my new trip with my eye-patch But all roads die at some place I am afraid of what not to do. This is my final notion of life. I feel too emotional. Here, a tree has moved to the tower And me, the simple mortal, with a final of nightmares: “Get out” . The last monologues She read (underground). The bad boy with his 'non-truth'. I the bad girl with half truth, The world is a half lie . Non-devotion. Non-truth/half truth So what?. The nightmares are not the end. --- Shirat (song) The only picture I have Of my grandmother my Mon has it in the large hall of my house /over there/ in el Barrio... Where there are no other houses. My mother says that she is not an expert in photo albums nor the ticking of the hour but!!, she reminds me a little of my past and that... she has the only picture of my grandmother That I remember... and I stop here!! I see her now I see myself Palmar is the 'Capital' letter San Carlos its name All of Palmar is over there My mother is the guardian of my future All of my deaths live in my guardian the reason of this past is to negotiate it with God I do not want this place to die and it will not die as long as we stay on guard --Miriam Ventura, is an author of various books of poetry. These poems pertains to the book Bingo Highway, unpublished.