Poeme de BOM


leaves in the cold wind

wabi-sabi at window

japanese garden

Haiku 2


from its hidden place it knew

princess lost her shoe

Haiku 3

midnight roes

out for hunting

tigers in zoo

a few masks

in the streets

buds of trees


moon at your feet

swans floating

A dream of a dream

A dream of a dream in a dream

As all world belongs to a stream

Of infinite colors beginning with

You and me as ancestral myth:

Light of very beginning…


He walks on the grass of hope`s speculative thought,

Towards the shepherd`s flock, one has just brought

From the golden moon to the new born groom

As personal experience of incense, on whom

Is that which makes time and, along with time,

Sense and history possible: rhythm and rhyme…

He continues his own way at the border of meaning:

Time is called the first name of the truth of the Being;

Thinking that recalls us together in the same spring,

An attempt of communication with each other,

And understanding this foreigner is our brother.

Morning thermometer

The sister walks on her high heels: dot-line-dot

She brings the morning thermometer, hot…

This English patient, waiting for… Gal Gadot.

The knight passed the night in his Camelot.

Those heels remind me Morse language;

These knees seem cut from my palm, you know.

Were you ever left out… like a sandwich?

And this expression of anguish may grow.

Doc, an urgency: I need your smile!

So, let`s change the play in vice versa:

Imagine you in bed, tree days: exile.

Santa Rosa: siempre tan dispersa…

You can pull the curtains of the morning:

Before hope be lasting, life’s a warning.

Afric Simone

With a chair between strong teeth,

Afric Simone on a round scene;

Together, we learn how to breathe

Singing „Ramaya”, all night long:

Again the frenetical dance

Around the „Hafanana” song.

Hot winds as swimming in woods green…

No more war among the world`s tribes!

This metaphysic joy may win.

Before Masnavi

Shamsuddin Muhamad of Tebriz

Had been a much thirsty dervish,

Like he would have cross a desert.

”There is much dust on this Bustan,

The blessed orchard…” -he said.

Too many fruits are lost falling

Because nobody picks them up

From grass of hope in proper time.

But, even so, we could gather them

And make from juice a strong drink

For forgetting pains and suffering

I know these grains of golden dust,

Added Salaavddin Faridun Zarkus

Who was a skillful goldsmith, pupil

Of Sayyid Burhanuddin Muhaqqiq.

Thus, he knew the true shining,

Among the many deceptive ones.

The ascet Husamuddin Chelebi,

Who had known the voice of love

However, kept silent almost all time.

Then he was allowed to live till died

In Gulisten, with all roses at his side.

Blue eyes day

What about this blue eyes day,

As good beginning for Saturday?

She stopped in front of his door:

A blond ray, he never saw before;

Love loving itself none other can.

I could get out with a young man

Like you, handsome enough and silly,

Who wants to be a doctor.W-what?

It sounds like a date, no not really…

He was so flattered surprised in that.

My parents would let me, indeed there:

You bring me home at a reasonable hour;

But, not too reasonable, she added:

Luckily, those walls are all padded.

It is a movie with Robert Redford -and how

Is her name?- Nathalie Wood. He says: Wow!

Splendor in the grass –you would enjoy!

My little brother comes with us. Oh, boy!

She put the elbow, very determined.

Are you a doctor, or what? For certain,

You must ask my parents’ permission.

Unless, you agree not this condition:

And you need not to kiss me –she says-

In the second part of the movie. That is!

Who said I would be tempted?-he asks.

Additionally, your little brother tasks:

He would not prefer Bruce Lee, of course;

A movie with Winnetou and Crazy Horse…

That is the cruel world, but there is a break

For those who wants to buy sweets.

And surely, in a hurry, I would take.

Don`t be stupid: You must buy tickets.


A cat sniffs the crooked brown dough of the sullen moon;

The tempting smell of warm bread seems held by a glass sky

Old age, carefully steps on the glass, always ready to cry

Like they`d learn again to walk, holding an invisible balloon.

With glassy eyes looking at the strange baked moon,

The large dynasty of the unemployed and ex-miners,

Ecologists and readers of Bible, embarrassed beginners

Cannot „hear at a little distance”, in the brown afternoon;

But a short-sighted misanthropist, observed while acting

As a conductor of the strike`s syncopation turned in syncope:

“Even the doctor with infinite awkwardness used his stethoscope;

I think, -because, no one can communicate only through feelings”

The brown cat in the street, shining eyes round about;

All cars seem gathered in the same frozen town;

The only birch tree from the hill was cut down;

Mourning neighbors live in their permanent doubt

To protest against solitude, and so many noisy cars;

And obviously, too many accidents in the town;

“Wait on the zebra…Don`t cross Mr. Brown!”

Lonely crowds, picture of still life with”cellulars”…

Seasons buried the face in tired brown fountains,

Long dirty brown drifts of snow and brown sensations

Step with ugly brown clay, and let traces for generations,

Because, cyanide used to pull gold from Red Mountains;

Everybody is in such a brown hurry towards nowhere.

Halt! Mr. Brown looks for his cat; the firemen help him to sit.

The cat climbed the moon, ready in a hurry to taste it;

Winter and cat stay with claws out; silence and the brown vault.


Each day playing with a girl with hairdresser allure

I live in a blond poem of air, near the timid azure:

Counting the legs walking in the park of my spring,

I tell you sweet nothing, to exclaim: how interesting!

So, I play with the days laughing of me, in the rye:

Leggy girls drawing a shining horizon of their thigh.

In my cradle of wishful thinking, the fugitive Albertine

Escaped from Proust, still smiles in the same scene.

In which, I really am the catcher of each invented joy.

So, I play with the sun running the long clouds convoy.

And you keep your hand on my shoulder and smile,

Like only a sunny day knows: at distance of a mile,

Far away from the young tempest jumping the rope.

Some days borrowed the perfume of Miss Hope…

Leggy Girls Days

A clock: you’ve got to walk it straight and narrow:

Pyramid based on truth I built as last Pharaoh.

Monkey is a feeling in front of the window;

Smile is healing even the Caliban`sorrow;

You are my little bow and I am the arrow,

I have in my hands the joy of a sparrow;

You learn by heart my lyrics like mellow;

Because, really I am a good funny fellow;

People burn pain all in my bone marrow;

No night will fall down like a crowing crow

And let the struggle for another tomorrow;

Each day is a leggy girl who still can borrow

No moments of my poem: a cloak to wrap a sorrow.

Poem of joy

When Joey was five or six

Good feelings, she tried to mix

And living colors, a few

Dissolved in the morning dew;

Happy landscape of the world

Of starry heavens unfurled

And birds to fly like angels

All ought to live in pictures:

What we dreams on ancient things,

Eternal play of love with wings

And nights on the way and hopes

In round waves and verdant slopes…

Flowers dance at our feet.

Then, a sweet image I meet:

Joey eating her ice cream,

Keeping from cornet a rhyme;

A luminous smile of joy

Like having in hand a toy:

This empty cornet is big.

I let it for my Guinea pig.

The Magic Panpipes

This evening unready to die,

Is tasting the twilight`s pie;

Listening the magic panpipes,

It looks for the peace`s pipes

Hidden near the fairies cascade,

Far from the world masquerade;

There, the happy dreams of the age

Touching the mountain`s cartilage

Like a giant nose smelling the hay,

Gathered the joys of summer`s day.

They are still living like our embrace,

Like our breath and your tender face.

This sky with lipstick traces slowly fades

The kiss of the light in mysterious shades;

Its heavy eyelids open the treasure unknown:

The meadows with chamomile near the town,

And the trees having carved your blessed name,

And the evening of this desire, always the same.

A White Cat

Because we live at the crossroads of unknown winds,

Even in the dangerous curve, away from troubled minds,

On a national road with many, many hasty monster cars…

I never let the cat out of the yard, not to play with the stars.

Always when called she was returning even if from the moon.

She was playing with us in the bright blonde afternoon,

He ran to catch us, we played happily hide and seek:

The same language as if we were ready to speak…

She used to eat from the same dish with a friendly dog,

With whom they had grown up and were sleeping: free,

With a lousy chick, which my father had given me

To take care of him, not to mock his brothers, almost twins.

When they slept together, the chicken covered them with her fins.

She was playing with cheerful sparrows on the tree

Willing to teach them to fly, as yet they could agree.

But hopping to take one, they also grew her wings

On the slopes, when the sun of the horizon whipped,

Reminding us the time of dinner, after washed

and from ”spielhouse” (play clothes) stripped;

And I saw that it was not usually the first one at the table-)

I called her everywhere…I looked for…even my great dollar;

I found only the cute red collar -this made me cry-

Her red collar still fluttering in the air as a sign of goodbye.


An Idiot was sure the Beauty would save the world:

Nothing can alter Purity contents of life as certitude;

Nobody knows the real good if you count a multitude;

Beyond the clouds, a tired sun tries his rusty sword.

But for those Great Expectations, what would we have to pay?

I eat, thus I exist; I cut down the forest, thus the flood may come after.

What`s worrying you about your neighbor? What is the matter?

Formal features of the harmony stepping above the prior gray:

Candles in a gray cathedral for multitudes of tears and saints,

In a negative dialectics of times, burn in the same feeling,

Like words running to find their place just for good rhyming;

Smoking candles, pictures and statues without complaints…

Smoke people near the chimneys, under the moon`s grey silk

Waving the curved geometry of the strange multiple spaces,

Shake white clouds`hands stopped a moment, letting long traces.

Once morning more, under the sign of the frozen smoked milk.


The kid was shouting enthusiastically: Mary!Mary!! Mary!!

As he had discovered America, or maybe a big berry

Of unbelievable beauty, hidden in his trembling hands.

But, a real wonder if one would not  kick his ass:

Crazy, stupid, defect little postman without compass!

His elder neighbor asked him to be very, very discreet.

The kid stepped upon, abused and suddenly picked

The letter: before knowing the good and clear directions.

So, destiny turned all one’s love into tragic reflections.

How was this possible? He has given the letter to his sister,

A big brown eyed, who laughed a lot thinking I missed her.

The addressee was a person with freckles and fair hair in curl…

If you want to know, the constellation of beauty of one  girl

Was depicted  by the young poet, but -arrived in the hands

Of  another girl, whose mother found some impediments

To the supposed date:  Only a smile, as she explained:

You have to wait to grow up and it would be a little strained

To play such a dangerous game, even for a brave boy like you.

I am not sure the play of love like a strong disease might be  new.

Certainly your attempt was kind, enjoyable and very funny.

But, dear of Mary is too child to ask her a date, honey!

Beautiful letter, indeed; but is that really all you have to offer?

Her cousin is a little too old for you, able to make you suffer:

Imagine a cat sharpening her claws on o vulnerable young tree.

The cousin of Mary chirruped, chirruped, ready to agree:

We certainly would meet sometimes, after a few years,

But who could be sure if the same, and no change appears.

Mary and her cousin chirruped, chirruped and laughed a lot

But Mary`s mother took the letter: The crime can be forgot.

That was her reasonable advice and what she really thinks:

You have to fear of fire, women and other dangerous things.


Comme les mouettes volent

Au-dessus des vagues, dans le ciel!

Sur l’horizon de l’océan troublé.

Au cours des merveilles ayant une raison:

Devant ce sourire intérieur ludique

Sûrement, nous pouvons attendre un peu

Miroir dans les yeux d’émeraude surprenants,

Quand chaque fois offre un baiser-surprise.

Avec quelle attention, la brise tendre

Embrasse les jeunes arbres obstinés!

Caresse les pieds rouges des coquelicots,

Dans le champ blond, où nous nous rencontrons.

Je prétends que je ne te connais pas,

Tu fais semblant de ne pas me connaître,

Et pourtant nous gardons nos vies en vie

J’ai vu tes pieds sur le sable blanc…

Peut-être qu’il y a un océan entre nous

Et le flux et le reflux de ton sourire puis

à la mienne… pour restaurer les traces:

jouer: les remplacer sur ma plage, sur votre plage…