We come from the half-light of

the past

to plunge into the darkness of

the future.


What a strange light

this of present life

that sweeps as if from a beacon

the blackness of what

does not yet exist,

opening with its silver’s edge

a path to the vanishing trail

of memories!


I still remember

what I was yesterday,

but the word “tomorrow”

wraps with its white cotton

the mystery of what

doesn’t exist yet.


What an extraordinary power

I share with the rest of universe

here and now being!


I am writing

in silence my poem,

but one could also look at it like this:

I exist now.



Posted in poetry | Leave a comment



The town far away

like a nightmare that

turns off dawn,

sweetest dusk was coming

at the bend in the path

of the mountain.


March rain

made whispering whirls

and wind

raised clouds of

snow at the



Twilight was coming

once again,

the only one,


to its dominions,

and there we were,

under the rain,

surreptitiously coming

in the temple of

what exists.


With its back to all

that shouting

the night was falling

quiet and calm.


Valley goldfinches

gently dyed

with their song

rain murmur,

fragile and bold

as life.


Lonely walking

we are coming

into the time





Posted in poetry | Leave a comment



Ah, what exists,

what merciless order deploys

from the first star

that explodes in darkness

till the last rattle

of a man that’s dying

and he sees advancing upon him,

at a thousand kilometers per hour,

the shadow;

what infinite tenderness creates

in the heart of men

that lean out of the life

with child’s eyes!


This world in which we


is inhuman,

’cause, how, if not, seeing

oneself moaning

with pain and

clenching one’s fists

in a rage?


Blinding shone

the suns at night,

tiny planets reflected

shiny their light:

nobody saw it.

In vain the seasons

painted their course in

grass’s  tender,

cloud puddle’s pink,


sunflower fields tilted

absorbed their little heads:

nobody looked at that



And now we are here,

visitors of existence.

“Welcome!”, was said to us

what was already over.

“Open wide your eyes

and breathe deeply

while you can:

the same force that

sinks the sun under the skyline

forgetting that a short time before

he had married him at dawn

he will tire of you

after having loved you

so many dusks”.


(You don’t have a heart,

entire world universe,

the black and cold vacuum

is your Lord and you always

end up bowing your head

submissively before him,

energy expanding toward

matter or what you are,

merciless passage of



You don’t have a heart,

studded night,

star meadow, moon

lovely pasture!


You don’t have a heart,

winter silent black poplars,

water loyal mates;

hills that shelter

in your motherly lap

the humble frost

from sun!).



Posted in poetry | Leave a comment



The wizard was right

making me take off my clothes.

I removed

the heavy clothes

of reason

and I lived the

movement of the world,

light like a cork

on the waves.


I bathed in

clay veined green

fields and

I put like an


around me

the stars of the

whole universe

that pierce

the black as


I didn’t mean

to understand

anything at all

of what surrounded me

and open-mouthed

with admiration

I saw fill the well

of ignorance

with the limpid water

of beauty and




but more than silly,

I made the utmost effort to feel

all I could:


but very clever.


And I saw

you, wise men,

raveling and unraveling

your word net

before your very



Posted in poetry | Leave a comment



The day the

prohominid simian

discovered the guffaw,

he spent the whole time

splitting his sides laughing

on the ground.

Everything he saw

seemed like such a

funny joke

that he laughed and laughed

and didn’t stop.


And the other monkeys

looked at each other


and they touched their heads

with a finger

as they peeled,


their peanuts.


Posted in poetry | Leave a comment




what exists

plays with men’s


and trows them away,

when it gets tired,

to the encyclopaedias

stranded beaches.


I picked up off the sand

this summer,

riddled with sea worm holes,

a piece of wood,

polished by waves,

with a tiny

little snail

sheltering in it,

and now,

quiet on my desk,

it’s like a sea




Posted in poetry | Leave a comment



I wrote my


keeping my balance

on just one



I put in order

stars and


and years,


in the transparent


of this Earth

that is no more

than just another

shining dot

in the firmament

and in the insidious



all the time

and all

that exists

about the word



And when

I went to write it,


the ink ran out

in the fountain



This happened to me.




Posted in poetry | Leave a comment



In the country of change

everybody was crazy:

they looked at themselves in disposable mirrors

that broke after each use.

In the country of stability

they were very sensible:

instead of using a mirror they looked at their photo

on the identity card.


In the country of madness

everything was amazing

and children’s curiosity

became wise men’s humility.

In the country of good sense

everything was in order

and everyone’s file specified

who was whom and what they lived for.


In the country of the amazing

the same thing never happened twice

and nothing was ever the same

in different moments

and everybody had great fun.

In —ow!— the country of order

everything was ever so boring

and changing seasons

was outlining grey damp patches

on the faded jackets of mannequins

in the open.


Posted in poetry | Leave a comment


(To Rimbaud)


Just arrived to the existence

I,  poor evolutionated hominid,

met with this mysterious world

where a thousand strange forces surround us,

where we do not know

where we come from

nor where we go.


And I made up, to defend myself,

a thousand spirits and little devils

that inhabited everything

and to everything they gave my meaning

and I myself was a spirit

that floated at random

by the seas of the Poem.


And,  so  I did believe in the pearls

of vowels and the horses

of consonants and in the gallant parties

of words and, clasping with both hands the railings

of phrases, I saw beyond what does exist,

like a set of blurred spots

that moved, mysteriously,

in darkness.







Posted in poetry | Leave a comment



We men are made of night

covered by a thin layer of day.

That’s why, if we close our eyes tightly,

we can see the starry firmament and the delicate

geometry of the constellations

expanding in our interior.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

Not so long ago that we came out

of the sea.

In fact, our blood’s composition

reminds us of salty water

and all we have could realized how when the positions

of sun, earth and moon coincide in the same axis

the spring tides that burst in our interior

rise till to flood our mood

and leave, on withdrawal, our brain

plenty of memories,

as spoils on

the beach.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

Humans and chimpanzees

share ninety nine percent of

their genetic material.


In the remaining one percent find

we poets

the little star

that make us write

what the rest of body



Hence you will see,


that the monkey’s faces I make

and that make you to laugh so much

don’t prevent me from taking you for a walk

by the martian fields of the time

nor to climb to the hills of the earth

to see from above

the ground from what we come

and what we return.






Posted in poetry | Leave a comment