Bereshit Bara

14 septiembre 2014

Bereshit Bara


World was there ready

like a pendulum still.

Emptiness, no movement.

Blossom of serendipity

we shouldn’t expect.

But heavens decided otherwise

in the atmosphere

created solid, fluid…

the choreography in all states.

Synergy of conundrum,

for humans all the best!

Sonnets To The Earth

18 febrero 2014

Ian Stewart Black

I – Dawn

A shimmering epiphany of gold
Erupting from the heart of night; a rose
Whose glinting petals over all unfold
To wake a world of beauty in repose.
Elusive riches of the day distilled:
Dissevered from the formless void of time;
Ethereal made tangible – unwilled,
Unbidden, unbridled – and yet sublime.
A moment’s meaning stolen from the dim
Uncertainty of life: a chance to lose,
Amid a lustrous morning’s breath, the grim
Awareness that we walk in dead men’s shoes.
The dawn is nature’s doting soul unfurled:
A light of reverence cast o’er the world.

II – Earth

Fertility and fruitless acres, still
Amid cyclonic history – whose gust
Is master over man, but not the will
Of lordless kingdoms wakened from the dust.
The earth arises in defiant spires,
With man as ever laying claim to his:
We revel, live, and die in our desires

Ver la entrada original 1.081 palabras más

Ian Steward Black

7 septiembre 2013

Ian Steward Black

Hace un par de días descubrí a un joven talento inglés, no le pedí permiso pero traduje un poema suyo al español espero que no se moleste si me lee.

A couple of days ago I discovered a young English talent, did not ask permission to  translate one of his poems into Spanish hope he do not mind if he read it.

Original poem by Ian Steward Black

We wayward heirs
Are each an ember,
Risen skyward
From the ashes of
A better world.

Cast over oceans,
At the mercy
Of the winds of fate;
And if we fall,
We fall together.

Translation into Spanish by Rosa Ramos (Espinayflor Writings)

Nosotros somos herederos caprichosos
somos cada cual un ascua,
ascendiendo hacia el cielo
De las cenizas de
Un mundo mejor.

Moldeadas sobre los océanos,
A merced
De los vientos del destino;
Y si caemos,
Caemos juntos.


19 octubre 2011

I was searching…
searching “shalva”
In strange sacred books
even “Torah”

Travelling along
the largest avenues
of the world.
Carrying a thirsty body
who forget his desires
on work.

Helping others
lost in the flow
to found their goal.
Being a kind of ghost,
fairy from tales
and lost.

And two crazy feet
make me stumble
onto sweeping fall…
Two watery blue eyes
searching nothing at all,
or maybe their own “shalva”.

They were unconcern
living their own life
far from me, far from all.

Nice eyes I can’t describe…
Deep, sea,
ocean, heavens,
“maim and shamaim”
means nothing equal.

After that unpredictable affair
not searching no more, I found.

Now, I dress myself every morning
in blue,
trying foolish call them to me;
Old innocent I’m…
No one can remains for ever
in a beauty like this…

The clock rings
at 6 am
get up even asleep,
take a shower,
take a coffee
trying to open
your eyes to starting life.

Run to work
Make up on the bus,
you remember
you forget give the keys
to the maid,
you can’t do your homework,
and now not even her.

Start working,
you can’t do a brake,
broke your meals,
just take another coffee
to remplace.

Breath just a little moment
before talking with your boss
about holidays,
about paying
about your needs of power,
never reached.

He say yes to everything,
and two seconds after
he forgets promises.
You trust, you wait.

The afternoon comes
still working,
answering phones,
tapping on excel or word,
going from repport to repport
throught your growing anxiety.

At last you go back home
nervous, you can’t relax
your mind,
streesed you try to finish
working in your head
but you can’t.

Even you dream of
every simple
detail of work.
Having a fast pace of life
like the racing of your heart
that stoping quickly
without notice
thanks to
a heart attack.

Rosa Ramos- 25-09-2011


3 febrero 2011

 In the middle of the night

voices of winds talked in my head,

I feel them scream and shout, naughty

the calm ones, talking

about traditions of Catalonia.

And their music of ancient gods

go ahead with their trend.

Even my hair and my skin

is electrified by their force.

No one can stop them.

Playing with all they find

like goblins who can’t rest

they push up branches and leaves.

Pla, our writer describe them,

eight winds of the land.

Playing to death with their