tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25736833024149118732024-03-05T08:47:46.491-08:00Poemas del Siglo XXjhon diezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08300252596298635758noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2573683302414911873.post-87042289997946263012009-10-11T04:33:00.000-07:002009-10-11T05:31:45.312-07:00NANAS DE LA CEBOLLA (MIGUEL HERNANDEZ)<div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">La cebolla es escarcha</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">cerrada y pobre.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Escarcha de tus días<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_1HSsTIX2tU3fB9Gst2LABUYAwR_EmqGINsa9moCQ_HHK2pTOgYS5hyTeLrEy2BZdjIYBe332lsRVIaS_pX1EAi3f7lfrA8yLezyHxphKGh_SVnoF1Kd1mIPiCt_lSEieSG-iJdCft8iU/s1600-h/00080287d096099cce0209.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391316546670259250" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 146px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_1HSsTIX2tU3fB9Gst2LABUYAwR_EmqGINsa9moCQ_HHK2pTOgYS5hyTeLrEy2BZdjIYBe332lsRVIaS_pX1EAi3f7lfrA8yLezyHxphKGh_SVnoF1Kd1mIPiCt_lSEieSG-iJdCft8iU/s200/00080287d096099cce0209.jpg" border="0" /></a></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">y de mis noches.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Hambre y cebolla,</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">hielo negro y escarcha</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">grande y redonda.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">En la cuna del hambre</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">mi niño estaba.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Con sangre de cebolla</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">se amamantaba.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Pero tu sangre,</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">escarchada de azúcar,</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">cebolla y hambre.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Una mujer morena</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">resuelta en luna</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">se derrama hilo a hilo</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">sobre la cuna.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Ríete, niño,</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">que te traigo la luna</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">cuando es preciso.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Alondra de mi casa, </span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">ríete mucho.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Es tu risa en tus ojos</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">la luz del mundo.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Ríete tanto </span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">que mi alma al oírte</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">bata el espacio.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Tu risa me hace libre,</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">me pone alas.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Soledades me quita,</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">cárcel me arranca.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Boca que vuela,</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">corazón que en tus labios</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">relampaguea.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Es tu risa la espada</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">más victoriosa,</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">vencedor de las flores</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">y las alondras.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Rival del sol.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Porvenir de mis huesos</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">y de mi amor.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">La carne aleteante,</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">súbito el párpado, </span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">el vivir como nunca</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">coloreado.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">¡Cuánto jilguero</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">se remonta, aletea,</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">desde tu cuerpo!</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Desperté de ser niño:<br />nunca despiertes.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Triste llevo la boca:</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">ríete siempre.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Siempre en la cuna,</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">defendiendo la risa</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">pluma por pluma.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Ser de vuelo tan alto</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">tan extendido,</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">que tu carne es el cielo</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">recién nacido.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">¡Si yo pudiera</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">remontarme al origen</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">de tu carrera!</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Al octavo mes me ríes</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">con cinco azahares.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Con cinco diminutas</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">ferocidades.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Con cinco dientes</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">como cinco jazmines</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">adolescentes.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Frontera de los besos</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">serán mañana,</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">cuando en la dentadura</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">sientas un arma.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Sientas un fuego</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">correr dientes abajo</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">buscando el centro.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Vuela niño en la doble</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">luna del pecho:</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">él, triste de cebolla,</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">tú, satisfecho.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">No te derrumbes.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">No sepas lo que pasa ni</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">lo que ocurre.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"><a href="http://www.jmserrat.com/serrat/win/3213.html">http://www.jmserrat.com/serrat/win/3213.html</a></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></div>jhon diezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08300252596298635758noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2573683302414911873.post-49061653982345434182009-09-30T08:13:00.000-07:002009-09-30T08:44:01.125-07:00Soledades (Antonio Machado)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAmlaisjrFSY1EsO7v5aj1pAN5roJunkri4QYxDKckWzS40AGAv5tqJ0Uz8UbuFstBKURutbbCn8fLIeSMCMrctmRSVvKt1sP0LLYC4g6gUTEbphYhH_AIYiZsa4gmhfaohzr3AxVjdz9h/s1600-h/2229152334_a92f8f50e0[1].jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387284897088588466" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 198px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 137px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAmlaisjrFSY1EsO7v5aj1pAN5roJunkri4QYxDKckWzS40AGAv5tqJ0Uz8UbuFstBKURutbbCn8fLIeSMCMrctmRSVvKt1sP0LLYC4g6gUTEbphYhH_AIYiZsa4gmhfaohzr3AxVjdz9h/s320/2229152334_a92f8f50e0%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><em>Yo voy soñando caminos</em></div><div><em>de la tarde. ¡Las colinas</em></div><div><em>doradas, los verdes pinos,</em></div><div><em>las polvorientas encinas!...</em></div><br /><div><em></em></div><br /><div><em>¿Adónde el camino irá?</em></div><div><em>Yo voy cantando, viajero</em></div><div><em>a lo largo del sendero...</em></div><div><em>-La tarde cayendo está-.</em></div><br /><br /><div><em></em></div><div><em>En el corazón tenía</em></div><div><em>la espina de una pasion;</em></div><div><em>logré arrancarmela un día,</em></div><div><em>ya no siento el corazón.</em></div><div><em></em></div><br /><br /><div><em>Y todo el campo un momento</em></div><div><em>se queda, mudo y sombrío</em></div><div><em>meditando. Suena el viento</em></div><div><em>en los álamos del río.</em></div><br /><div><em></em></div><br /><div><em>La tarde más se oscurece;</em></div><div><em>y el camino que serpea</em></div><div><em>y débilmente blanquea,</em></div><div><em>se entubia y desaparece.</em></div><br /><div><em></em></div><br /><div><em>Mi cantar vuelve a plañir:</em></div><div><em>"Aguda espina dorada, </em></div><div><em>quien te pudiera sentir</em></div><div><em>en el corazón clavada."</em></div>jhon diezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08300252596298635758noreply@blogger.com4