62 thoughts on “12.10.15

  1. ¿Dónde está el botón de “Me gusta mucho”? Eres increíble, Leyla, no dejas de sorprenderme y eso es lo que más me gusta de un artista, que dentro de su tema siempre está buscando nuevas formas de comunicarse, de expresarse. Fantástico trabajo.
    Al margen, por pura casualidad subí una entrada en la que hablo, precisamente, de elefantes. no tiene nada que ver, pero me sorprendió tu imagen porque acabo de subir mi entrada y… bueno, eso.

    Abrazos así de grandes.

    • aaaa deja corro a verla, a mime encantan los elefantes 🙂 un abrazo Borgeano y gracias por el comentario

      • Los elefantes son maravillosos; son magníficos en su presencia y para considerarlos sabios sólo hace falta mirarlos. No por nada los hindúes lo tienen en su panteón. Supongo que mi entrada no va a gustarte mucho, ya que toca el tema de manera tangencial y no precisamente alegre; de todos modos, será un placer tenerte por allí.

        Un abrazo.

        • Tus posts siempre tienen un tema interesante y ademas unas letras que siempre se distinguen, sea cual sea su tema 🙂

  2. You are indeed an ardent supporter or my work; I must admit that while I love the elephant, Life of Pi is one my least favorite, least-liked books ever read. But, then again, what’s a conversation without different points of view other than the same old monologue, seeing through the same old monocle?

  3. Ancient Tombs of Banan

    Four very light pebbles attached
    to flung-sprung rubber band found
    between new laid bricks, retrieved
    by mound-viewing haze-gazer reminds
    him of the day he gave up that for this.

    Tall seeded grasses wave as a group
    passes and a small bee buzzes with
    interest. The man with no plan sees rice
    on the land, chattel by cart, its grain
    raked onto black plastic on the road.

    Some is still standing, Van Gogh’s yellow
    landing between green and smoldering
    fields. Ggachis fly by, bales are stacked
    high, a rooster lets loose surrounded by
    mountains’ shapes feathered in as if Ross

    took his two-incher and stroked Payne’s
    gray in a jagged horizontal line between
    white grading to blue atop, and the
    harvester’s fog below. Set free again, he
    sits looking at ancient burial homes

    so rounded and soft, kept mown, who
    knows how, in pairs that excite the
    dream of the lonely tractor driver
    who precisely gathers the rows. He
    leaves tracks for spring’s women to sew.

    Here comes a guard atop Folk Museum
    to punch his post. He doesn’t look hard
    or he’d see the forbidden beer that
    mimics the color of one more field’s
    cloud that floats by but still notices tears.

  4. Now or Never

    A turtle flies through the universe.
    We ride on the back of the turtle.
    The Undergods dwell in Canandaigua,

    The Overgods look down from clouds.
    Even if we’re 300 moons away from
    When this mattered, most of our lives

    Are touched by one holy inspiration: nature.
    Cosmic coincidence should not amaze here.
    You are in the middle of the new awareness.

    Black rocks spin and dive in deep water.
    A four-year-old runs then swims.
    Relaxed willow provides humid shelter.

    You peek under the giant grass skirt
    And see four tangled feet. You don’t peek further.
    Gray locusts send twirling twigs to hair.

    You swim out to a cooler spot of deep water.
    The white snake, awake again,
    Leaves Bare Hill, not reeking havoc

    But cutting new creeks to hike along,
    Full of crawdads and water spiders.
    You retrace ancient steps. You sneak

    Through the old neighborhood, now trespassing.
    Four tangled feet, a few skipping stones
    And the spirit within you.

    Now awareness reigns. Corn presents
    A raw treat for passing minstrels. Nothing
    Talked about or noticed matters.

  5. Sempre speciali le immagini che posti sultuo coloratissimo blog…
    Buon pomeriggio e un abbraccio,Leyla,silvia


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