Gnossiennes - No. 5

146
Originally uploaded by cocosolis

Another wave
A tearless farewell
Another wave
Memories to be shared
Another wave
The heart cannot ever tell
Another wave
If everything has been said

Invocación

045 (2)
Originally uploaded by cocosolis

No dejes que el barco se hunda
o el caminante tropiece:
Angélica, sé fecunda
cuando otro poema empiece!

A night's stand

Like on a vast stage, the stars of the night
take on the part of chorus in orbital procession
Upstage, downstage and then from left to right
Their tiny spark is darkness' sole concession.

Then comes the moon, sharing its borrowed light
She's hovered in the wings, just waiting for her cue
The audience will applaud at the first hallowed sight
As she enters the stage, as she comes into view.

Memories of happier times slip like grains of sand
through my hands now gone old but once so full of life
In the end only the moonlit night can hold on to its meaning

As the moon makes her exit after tonight's stand
Dawn finds me still on my seat staring at the flowers
Pondering about this being just another beginning.

The Curator

Photo0049
Originally uploaded by cocosolis

I gather things to build a universe
a single entity from pieces so diverse
I give my eyes to those who will give theirs -
Poor executor to unsuspecting heirs

My heart is set on that elusive glory
that comes from working out a story -
From giving out what others want to borrow
and know it won't be coming back tomorrow

Tesco Extra, Whittington Moor

Tesco light trails
Originally uploaded by jononon

The megastore, on stilts of steel,
resembles a rainforest house.
Inside, I am a kitchen mouse
hunting for his evening meal.

Redondilla

Picture 078
Originally uploaded by cocosolis

No es cierto que solo la lujuria
Nos une cuando todo ha fracasado
Nos une el vuelo peregrino del pasado
El recuerdo de abundancias y penurias.

Perpetual Motion

Lighthouse in Sunderland, May 09 C2C
Originally uploaded by cocosolis

 

My dream is called 'perpetual motion'

To leave behind all earthly emotion

To breathe at the same rate
Until I meet my fate
And thus crown a lifetime of devotion

Shelter in my tent

may08B 019
Originally uploaded by cocosolis

Come shelter in my tent, I have a fire
I'll keep it going all night so that you never
Feel cold or unreasonably subject to the elements

Come shelter in my tent, I'll bring you food
Things I have caught myself in hunting trips
Or have collected around, ensnared into my traps

Come shelter in my tent, a nearby river
can give us plenty of water if we'll fetch it
So you can quench your thirst and likewise I
Can kill the enormous need I have
To have you in my tent and share your burden.

Distant Star

Aug06 024
Originally uploaded by cocosolis

Each drop of rain tonight peels off a layer of my skin
Each gust of wind takes with it a portion of my soul
Each time the light of a distant star flickers in the sky
I fail to forget you - rather, the memories of you come flooding back:
Small gestures, words said in conversation, thoughts shared
Like the star yonder you will have by now forgotten
But to me these memories mean new light, a point
of reference in the dark of the night.

Otro poema de amor agricola

Dame de comer hierba
Dame de comer hierba y llevame a la orilla
Dame de comer hierba y llevame a la orilla del gran rio
A la orilla del gran rio que atraviesa la llanura
Dame de comer hierba y muestrame la ternura
Que tienen los verdes pastos
Despues de las fuertes lluvias

Arte Poetica, Too

The rigours of the rhyme I will abide
But only up to a point: I know it's best
To let the fledgeling bird fly off the nest
Than to let it be cast over the side

Bridgewater House tap

PICT0041
Originally uploaded by cocosolis

Feel up my water bottle one last time
You faithful mixer tap
The last twelve years
You got rid of my thirst and rinsed my dirty tea cups


Now my number is up
and the heart fills with excitement and fear
before the final leap
before the first step
the long awaited day, at last, is here

Disturbia

Defeated I stare

at the smouldering ruins

The bricks once all red and neatly stacked up
Now blue of the smoke and languishing on a pile

Defeated I stare
At the rain-sodden ground:
It was once all roofed-over
Now it lies open to the pregnant skies
Where storm clouds grow darker as they menacingly hover

Defeated I stare
At others who look upon my works
Some laugh, some show pity
There's not a single face I recognise

27731

Don't ask me why I love you: you are
The chosen one, the Fattened Calf
- a figure of speech, you understand.

To me you richly deserve
The most bejewelled fingers of the land

So come, let us go hand in hand
Walk a sandy Saint Anne's mile into the sunset
Knee deep into the tide, the wind
blowing, moist of sea water
and salt on our faces

I guess it comes down to a simple choice...

Achievement without compassion
Deep thinking, but little Thought
All hub, but without spokes
All energy without passion

No 'thud!' and yet some concussion
All thunder but 'Where's the lighting?'
All blows, but without the fighting
Innovation? Just follow fashion

Invisible before mocked
Shepherds that have lost their pastures
All guitars, but 'Where's the Rock?'

No doors: security locks
No work but 'breakdown structures'
No buildings, just lego blocks

Arte Poetica

To break out of my shell
and break into my soul
that is the humble goal
of every verse I pen

To ring up all the bells
of my inner church tower
and with beauty and power
prove that I can spell

And celebrate in song your cherished name
and treasure-trove in verse our exchanges
to turn them into that which never changes
(and I do mean by it more than just Fame)
That is all I pursue, and in my travel
my pen is like a mast, my words the sail.

Flybe to Southampton

The flight attendant, with bored and nasal voice
Gleefully announces the soap and perfume sale
I spy below the mountain and the vale
Their morning song defeats the engine noise

Ars Poeticae

Tip of the fountain pen that swiftly glides
Over the smooth and creamy surface of the paper
Take from my heart your ink so I may later
Look back at my own words with love and pride

Kettle

When the Sun shines, first thing I do:
To sing a new song about you
Then go downstairs and boil the kettle
and let the new day test my mettle.

Guia de caminantes

Oh quien pudiera ser el que camina
Diez pasos por delante de tu coche
Y con linterna, en medio de la noche
la noble ruta marca e ilumina

My Only Land

I'm born to roam the open paths
of many a distant, foreign shore
But far from you I'll be no more
Your country's now my only land

Luz Reflejada

Como un barril de plata, tus encantos
la luz que del Sol llega la reflejan:
brillan tan bien que la impresion me dejan
y yo la uso para escribir mis cantos.

Una letra

oh dulce letra que mi cancion domina
oh letra combativa y consonante
letra de amor, sonido que ilumina
letra que lazarilla al caminante

Weeping Willow

O Spider of your Web, o Weeping Willow
The tear that rolls down onto my pillow
The thoughts, like rain on sodden grass
The pain that's come to pass
The centre of the earth, or of the heart
In six short verses gets ripped from part to part

Folleto turistico - Madrid

Como en todas las grandes capitales
La historia ban~a, como un rio, tu orilla.
Can~onazos decoraron tus estatuas
En las que hoy el sol de enero brilla.

Y la gente se vuelca a tus aceras
Al compas sosegado del crepusculo:
La vida tiene en ti muchas esferas
Que colisionan al caer la tarde.

Drop by drop the snow shall melt

Thus drop by drop the snow shall melt

But in my mind you'll always be
Pure, universal like the Sea
In which the snow did one time dwell

Thus, drop by drop, the snow does thaw

A river forms that flows down hill
But in my heart you lie still
While your pure love I hold in awe

The snow does trickle, drop by drop
by heat converted into water
Following an eternal cycle

But like the glaciar on the rock
You in my song always endure
Until the Sun your soul unlocks

Empty Chair - an over-the-top verse

The empty chair covers my day
with a cold blanket of snow
My day begins thus on a low
My mind distracted, far away

The emtpy chair: when I walk past
and see today you will not make
the journey in, all I forsake
except my longing, so work comes last

Never before an empty chair
lowered a man's spirits so
his soul became a darkened pit

Please do dispell this deep despair
and make all gloom and sadness go:
Come into work, and sit on it

Another Divertimento Naive

I sing my song with the first light
Of frosty mornings in December
and in my song you I remember
O, Rose of England, fair, red and bright!

Divertimento Naive

Star that shines in the blue sky
A frosty evening of December
Please tell my Love that for her I
Will always Christmas time remember

In Town / At Night

Thus suddenly the door opened and I
Took the seven steps into your lair
How many nights of vigil and despair
In one sweet moment were turned into delight

Seven steps and one furious embrace
My lion heart of body and soul demanded
To shelter you my arms and chest expanded
To stay inside you - in our love's space

String Concerto

Fresh
Finely strummed
Harmonious chord
Disguised the dagger
That pierces the heart
Then the orchestra joins in

A change of heart

Now wherever I turn I hear your name
My eyelids up or down, your face I see
Nothing I taste but your imagined kiss

And yet I can but only tell you this
No matter how much my heart will ache:
In choosing you it made a grave mistake

So fare thee well, and take with you the sounds
and sights and taste that I now hold so dear

So take your leave, you who my heart has crowned

Never look back, nor ever shed a tear

Dives & Lazarus

Coffee no longer does the trick
Nor exotic herbal teas
Nor red bush from the Cape

What this wretch wants amounts to more
Than food scraps from your table
More than a drop of water on my tongue
More than dogs to lick the sores of my heart

But I digress

Coffee no longer does the trick
My days are a continuous dream
My nights an enfeverished vigil
My journeys on this earth are all this side of pointless

VER Haiku

Outside, the autumn rain
Inside, I press a button
and leap into the future

Transformers

Un corazon anhelante
Angelica, tu transformas
Y asi mantienes constante
mi amor, en su escrita forma

Divertimento

Duele mi mano de escribir canciones
Duelen mis ojos de mirar al cielo
Duelen mis pies por aferrarse al suelo
- Este pechito pide vacaciones!

At 5pm

You take your leave - my heart stops

If only for a tick or two

You pack it in and travel home

and I am left

Thinking of you

Firefight

"serán ceniza, mas tendrá sentido"

This cruel organ my blood pumps
barely contained inside my chest -
It gives my mind no break or rest:
Sensible Thoughts my blood does trump


This heart of mine, now set on fire
Set in its ways, obstinate furnace,
Its empty warmth little can earn us -
Its glow that's fuelled by desire


And yet I feel your eyes ignite
The blood that runs within my veins -
A swollen river in the night

My flesh will yet withstand the pain
That may my mind stand and fight
Against the might of my heart's reign

Piadosa diosa

Angelica, ten piedad
y el corazon no me quemes
No permitas que blasfeme
Oh diosa de oscuridad

Angelica, se piadosa
del cielo dame los bienes
que tu en tus ojos los tienes
Oh nocturna y bella diosa

No me trates como extran~o
Criatura celestial

Ven a comer de mi mano
Aunque sea de mortal

Harvest time

How much I long to hold your hand
while August clouds fly overhead
and skies ignite in gray and red
blurring the line of sea and land

How much I long to hold your hand
and be to fertile landscapes led
to go from earth to wheat to bread
under the warmth of summer's sun

Eclipse

The shadow of your beauty obscures the Sun
but I, a mere mortal, would not know:
your beauty itself projects a clear glow
and fills with light the path on which I run

The garden

The things I care about are not that hard

to find: they roam around

the garden on sunny days, scattering

my thoughts - these thoughts themselves, you understand

can be seen scattered on the pages

filled with my words. I care about

the words and thoughts and those who scatter them

among the grass and flower beds, that is

around the entire garden.

Llanganuco 1988

The narrow road, the oppresive valley
The stream that cuts its course through it
Wedged between boulders

in almost constant shade
Dwarfed by snow-covered peaks that touch the sky
All light from Sun or Moon reflected in them

And then, like a gem of absolute beauty
An emerald lake of icy and quiet
Waters that kiss the shores adorned
By no more than a few twisted trees
Dust from the road and boulders
Close to the waters' edge

Vision

Here comes the storm with soothing thunder
The drops of rain awake my senses
Alas, they also obscure my lenses

Summer haiku

The long uneven grass
A gust of wind
Ruffles my world's own feathers

Limerick of the senses

I know a lady from Crewe
who likes to smell her own poo:
she can tell by the smell
whether "everything's well"
when she's eaten a curry
or two.

Ode to my laptop

O sweet laptop! O sweet and lovely laptop
That sits atop my table on kitchen cooling racks
To try to compensate for your shortcomings

The fact you overheat
because you are old and work will not replace you
until the beancounters say that you've reached ROI point
That you have peaked in your usefulness to us and a new model
can be contemplated. O laptop, my love
The new model will not be as understanding of my needs
No more putting the kettle on and making coffee
While you boot up or the browser opens
No more having a sandwich while SAP loads and purchase orders
can be released into the wild like snakes raised in captivity

But with lower productivity.

O sweet laptop! So sweet and lovely you freeze up
like the Artic and one needs a pickaxe
to make you once again responsive:
If you were trully mine I would'ave given you
a memory upgrade and a reconditioned battery
But you are - alas! - just leased processing power

So I can work from home and reach homeostasis

So I can watch my kids during the summer

- the so-called work-life balance.

Drought

The grass had gone all yellow. There my mother
watering can in hand tended to her roses
while we all sat outside, that hottest of all summers
in July 1990. My grandfather
held in his hands a copy of the Telegraph.

"When ever will this drought end" whinged my mother
conversationally, and added "it will kill all my flowers"

"Drought? Drought?" said Grandad
"What do you know about droughts?"

We felt a story coming, the war and all that, Monty
and the Eight Army and his years of service.
"A drought is when you find dead livestock
on the side of the road; When you open a tap
and it coughs up some dust with hissing sound"

"A drought is when you have to cut a reed
and suck water out of a shithole
in the dry river bed"

He went back to his paper. Mother summoned me and sent me

inside with the can: "Go and fetch some more water,

be a darling" she said. We were sitting outside.

It was such a hot summer.

Cut through the gloom

Light up a candle in an empty room
The darkness goes, but not the gloom

Brujula

Ya la rosa geometrica señala
con sus ribones nauticos la ruta:
oh hieratica y magnetica batuta
que adorna, que dirige, que apuntala!

Landscape

Now the strong winds are diying down
The leaves off trees have fallen
The rivers with the rain are swollen,
waters gone murky, and almost copper-brown

Dusk Haiku

The first shining star
A gust of evening wind
The clouds, so high and far

Doce cascabeles...

Con sus botas de vaquero
y sus esbeltas calancas
hace resonar el suelo
al contonear de sus ancas

Atmospheric haiku

The gathering storm
Tap! The barometer
awoken from its dream

Vereda tropical

Sway in the wind like a palm tree
Laden with coconuts or papayas
Tough, broad brown leaves
flying like flags of nature

when the storm blows
Salt in the air gives taste
to your sharp cheekbones
Drizzle from the waves gives shine
to those eyes of yours
And I whisper, like the wind,
sweet nothings in your ear.

Feb 1975

En mi nin~ez, en largos veranos
Aspire el aire puro de mis calles
largas horas pateando la pelota
sobre el asfalto, o persiguiendonos
unos a otros en rojas
y verdes bicicletas
Tirandonos piedritas
y huyendo de perros guardianes
en barrios en construccion
y chacras aledan~as

Snowman

Look, this is when we built

a little snowman:

two black buttons

for eyes, carrot, pipe

red plastic sheet for scarf

red silly felt hat

It was such a cold winter

the one of 2009

we couldn't but come and play

not knowing if it would happen

again, anytime soon

The snow melted

but not the memories

smuggled then as pieces of future

in four-megapixel pictures

EMPOWERMENT

The sun shines mockingly outside my front door
Slippery ice covers the pavement
- the walk to school just got more interesting

Musn't forget to ring pest control services
Report that garden rat
I know it's only one but my neighbour too has seen it

At work the powers that be await to quiz me
None too happy with my results
But we don't call them that, we call them 'outcomes'
And I tread on the ice as if walking on egg shells
Telling my children 'be careful! Don't run off lest you should fall!'
That'll really make us late
and earn us a chat with the head teacher
and our name on the register,
please sign here and here

Then I think of the rat lurking deep in my garden

Job application

In a matter of minutes a form is completed
Add a few characters, like in a soup of letters
So much I have learned or I mime from my betters
But all I have is this form that I fill in, embittered

To a toilet seat

O toilet seat, I took no notice
while you strained under my weight
and my whole family's, day in, day out
Sunrise to sunset and later still

O toilet seat, now you have broken
and in your fancy design your little revenge
unfolds in a miriad of fruitless visits and phone calls
to high street retailers and trade establishments
who cannot help me find a replacement
to do your dirty work and bear the mass
of two adults and three children
day in, day out, sunrise to sunset and into the wee hour
up and down and up again
until your fancy cushioned hinges give up the ghost
and I get on the phone or the car to resolve
this agonising problem I hadn't seen coming
when I went to B&Q on another cold morning
and a fancy bathroom suite I scooped in the sales.

Paracas, the Cathedral

Paracas, the Cathedral, a rock formation
Stood like a monument on the beach
One day the earthquake came
Nobody was expecting it

Paracas, the Cathedral, an arch of rock over the sea
Then nobody had much sleep to lose
Or any need for innefective icons.

Yellowing leaves

Yellowing leaves
Post piled up and unopened
Someone has gone on holiday

What I must never do is blink

What I must never do is blink
when I am writing - it wastes ink
No more stopping twice to think
What I must do more oft is link
my brain and heart before they sink

What I must never do is yawn

when I am writing on the lawn

having been there since before dawn

wanting to be completetely alone

ending up tired and forlorn

What I must never do is grin

when I am writing - drink some gin!

Let all the ideas my head spin

that's the only way a boy can win

and, like a snake, shed his skin

Morality tale

An invisible stain now adorns my white ceiling
The ceiling I painted white, for I gave it three coats
It was a fiddly job, what with wallpaper patterns
You must use a small brush and up and down a walkway
made up of two planks resting on two stools
work your way, up and down on thick planks
with your brush in your hand, it is neckbreaking work,
inch by inch covering the ceiling paper in white satin.

Then one day a little accident at the dinner table
red wine spilled all over, in all directions scattered
a lone drop even reaches your ceiling, you spounge it off with water
a lone drop of red wine, you rub it off and then you think it's gone
a lone drop of red wine, you never again mention it to anyone

but you know it is there, when your eyeballs meander
to the patterned wall paper which since covers your ceiling
but you know it is there, where you wiped it with water.

Now your wife, on she talks about the holiday arrangements
Now your child asks again if he can have some more gravy
Now you awake from your dream at the family table.

Rosita

Las flores que he cogido en tu jardin
las he hecho un 'bouquet' para mi amor
mi amor paso la noche en un bulin
y ya no puedo mas con el olor

de chelas y de puchos y de orin
que se combinan en tremendo hedor
con sutiles trazos de aserrin
y todo exacerbado en el calor

eso fue ayer - ahora mi amor duerme
a pierna suelta ronca si pudor
y espera, al levantarse, un 'feliz dia'

pero mientras el yace, ebrio e inerme
yo en la cocina este bouquet preparo
y una breve nota de despedida.

Day in progress haiku

The office plant pot
A building casts its shadow
Light of a day in progress

A haiku out of Penrith

Single lane country road
the hissing of old wheels
one more dead little rabbit

En el dia de San Jorge...

Que suenen las campanas en la plaza
en homenaje a nuestro patron santo
y que me den del sueldo un adelanto
para irme de 'weekend' con una flaca...

Seis ovejas

May sheep safely graze…

Seis ovejas descansan en el medio
De un campo verde rodeado de tractores
Es un campo de pasto en que, sin flores,
Las ovejas se sumerjen en el tedio
De una manana gris de mudo invierno
Que veo desde mi veloz ventana
En un tren que va con rumbo a Londres.
Seis ovejas en invierno comen pasto
Yo desde un tren brevemente las veo
Y envidio su existencia sin deseos.

Dejame, alma, intentarlo de nuevo

Dejame, alma, intentarlo de nuevo
y llenar de palabras el pequeno cuaderno
que importa si el poema me resulta hasta el cuerno
que importa si los versos me salen hasta el huevo

Dejame, corazon, que desista de ruegos:
Este es de las palabras el maldito y eterno
combate en que las fuerzas negras del averno
buscan que amilanarme con pestilente fuego

Dejame, cuerpo, intentar todavia
liberar mis pasiones con palabras hiladas
en libretas de notas que van siempre conmigo

Otra vez mi exaltada cancion, alma mia,
Probare a liberar de su celda de mente
en libretas de notas que me brindan su abrigo.

Pais de leche y miel...

Recientemente hemos comprado un sofa nuevo, por deterioro del anterior. Lo que no les conte es el rollazo de deshacernos del sofa anterior. Como lo que ocurre con los automoviles viejos, esta es una ocasion para que las diferencias entre el 1er mundo y el 3ro se pongan en evidencia.

La opcion obvia hubiera sido pagar un adicional para que los que me trajeron el sofa nuevo se llevaran el viejo. Hubiera costado unos 80 dolares, pero como el municipio aqui ofrece hasta dos recojos al an~o para objectos grandes (electrodomesticos, muebles), optamos por acogernos a eso. El incoveniente es que lo hacen en dia fijo, cuando hay cupo. Ademas, el recojo lo hacen de la puerta para afuera - o sea, habia que sacar el sofa a la calle en la manana del dia "D".

Asi, estuvimos semana y media con el sofa viejo entre la sala y el comedor - comodo, pero ocupando espacio. El dia esperado, sacamos el sofa a la calle... y nada! Cheryl se habia equivocado de dia - los basureros pasaron pero se fueron con las manos vacias. Re-programar el recojo nos daba dos semanas mas de espera. Asi que no me quedo mas remedio que... tomar mis herramientas y descuajeringar, despedazar y destrozar el pobre sofa, cuya unica macula y pecado fue que la tela se habia gastado y roto - el armatoste, la estructura, estaba intacta. Hacerlo re-cubrir nos hubiera costado 65% del costo del sofa nuevo (pero en tela, no cuero - o sea, un falso ahorro).

Debo confesar que me senti culpable, serruchando y cortando el sofa para poder acomodarlo en la camioneta - tratamos, les aseguro, de encontrar una organizacion caritativa, que las hay, al estilo de los traperos de Emaus tan queridos de mi mama, para que se llevara el sofa. Pero la respuesta fue siempre la misma: si esta roto o raido, no les interesa. Aun para la caridad, en este pais hay estandares que cubrir! Si fuera ropa o cosas mas ligeras (celulares, computadoras) se podrian enviar al 3er mundo. Pero no sofas.

In the total darkness, a little light goes a long way

It was Easter 1986. I was supposed to go with a party of Scouts on a walking weekend in the Canta area, in the Andes just East of Lima (Peru). I was one of the six adults in the party of around 18. A change in my exams timetable meant I could not leave with the group in the morning coach to Canta. My namesake JC was in a similar situation, so we arranged to meet up and take a 4pm coach instead - it should put is in Canta by 6pm, just at dusk, and we should then be able to make the 3mile walk from Canta - at the top of the valley - to Obrajillo, the village by the river near which we'd be camping for the first night. Sergio, the leader, had prepared a map with the camping spot marked in it. Easy.


Of course, it didn't work out as planned. The coach took four hours to reach Canta - it got there at 8pm. It was a moonless night, and fog had covered the entire valley. My mate and I walked the four streets that made up the town of Canta and took the road to Obrajillo - apparently the only people to do such thing that night. We had no torch with us and could not see beyond our noses. At some point we heard water running - a small stream of water that run across the winding road, but since it had been raining the day before, we suspected it might have grown wider. When we got close enough we kneeled down to touch the water, then tried to guess the width of the stream, hoped there'd be no obstacles on the other side, and jumped. Good news: we got across unharmed. Bad: we fell short, and ended up wet to the ankles.

When we finally got to Obrajillo the fog had lifted. Only the village square had street lights. We followed the map, took the path out of the village towards the mountains and after a mile or so reached the end - the cobblestoned way marked by half-height stone walls on boths sides became just a winding path going up to the foothills of the mountain. There we hesitated. According to the map our group should be right there, but in the dead silence of the night (in the Andes people rise early and retire early - at 9.30pm there wasn't a soul in sight) we couldn't hear a thing or see any lights. We panicked. We called, shouted, blew our whistles - no response. We assumed we had misread the map - perhaps the campsite was on the opposite side of the river. We walked back through the village, through the cemetery end (how is that for atmospheric?), over a footbridge and down the path on the opposite bank.

From there, we saw it: a light was shining on the other site, very near where we had just been. It was a flickering light inside a tent - in the pitch dark it seemed so near! We rushed to it - it took us a good 30' to get there. To our huge disappointment, the light belonged to a parafin lamp lit by some peasants guarding their field from a makeshift shelter.

Beaten, we strolled into the village. We found one shop open, a frail woman and a single candle on the counter. We begged her to let us stay the night but she refused. She helpfully suggested we tried Don Melchor's - he was known to rent rooms to travellers. His was the house right next to the church on the village square. We went there and gently tapped on the door. Nothing. We tried again, this time whispering 'Don Melchor, Don Melchor'. Nothing. An old man sitting on the steps of the church, cigarette in hand, looked on. Panic once more seized us - we frantically started beating the door with our walking sticks and shouting 'Don Melchor!, Don Melchor!'.

The old man from the Church stood up and came towards us. Then he said calmly 'Yes, young men? I am Don Melchor'. How we spent the night at his place, how we found our comrades the following morning and how the whole expedition came to a successful end, will be the matter of another note.

A train journey

I do the Manchester – London train trip, on average, twice a month. It hardly feels like ‘London’ – it is more like a long local commute – especially if I have plenty to do during the journey. Then I get immersed in my stuff and suddenly we are there. Arriving into London is like joining a cattle stampede – a rush out of the train, into the station and down the escalators to the Tube, then more – and more frantic – rushing down more escalators. I emerge out of a side-exit of the Charing Cross Tube station – but right on Trafalgar Square, just round the corner from the office, to which I always dash, hardly ever stopping to appreciate my surroundings and the fact that I am in the heart of one of the world’s greatest cities.

Sometimes, when the weather is nice and I have a bit of time to spare, I do walk from Euston to Trafalgar Sq. I don’t follow a carefully mapped out route – I roughly know which direction to take, and sometimes I take little detours that, in the square-and-grid pattern my South American mind still expects in any large city, I hope will take me roughly to my destination – only that in England they don’t. Sometimes I end up on the Strand and the BBC’s Bush House, sometimes I err towards Regent Street and Piccadilly Circus. Today I walked through the thick of Soho and its cafes, bars, cinemas and ‘bookshops’. Sometimes I say to myself that, one day, I’ll build enough time so that I can stop by one of these cafes run by Turks, Lebanese, Cypriots and what have you. But part of me knows that, in London, the price alone will be enough to disappoint you – not to mention the indifferent service provided by underpaid Polish or Czech girls that look like they should be called Olga or Alena.

Walking back from Euston at the end of the working day is a even rarer treat – why, most of the time I’m late or feel that I should be getting home after indulging in some unscheduled networking in Head Office (‘good for my career’ I assure my wife). London is even more frantic at dusk than it is in the morning – people aren’t just in a hurry, they look really desperate, perhaps overwhelmed by the pressures a long commute puts on them and their families; perhaps wary of what the evening ahead has in store for them. There are of course pockets of contentment – the young and care free, the affluent, the tourist, students who by the most part seem not too have too terrible a time or to live quite as far as the average working Sussex-based commuter.

When, like today, I take the tram back to Euston, I’m always grateful for the tip a Head Office colleague passed on to me years ago: don’t do the obvious and take the Northern Line straight to Euston. On paper it seems to make sense, but it involves a lot more walking, deeper into Charing Cross, then more escalators at Euston. From Trafalgar, at the Admiralty Arch end, take the subway straight down and go for the Jubilee line. Then count two stops – alight at Oxford Circus. Cross to the adjacent platform and - voila! – you can take the Victoria line to Euston, only two stops away. When it works, it works a treat – especially when you strike ‘synchronicity’ and the change happens seamlessly. There are unlucky days, of course – once I got on the Jubilee line only to find Oxford Circus had been closed due to a security scare, and had no option but to go the long way round – and miss my train in the process.

Once on the concourse in Euston, I follow a sort of ritual – unless time is up, I always go to a shop called ‘Journey’s Friend’ and buy myself an ice cream, then go wait until they announce the platform for the Manchester train. I should find out why, when they seem able to announce all other platforms for all other trains well in advance, the Manchester one is withheld until the very last minute. I’ve concluded that it is because someone in Euston does not like Mancunians, and gets some sort of perverse pleasure out of seeing a whole bunch of us standing on the concourse, then running off the minute the platform is announced, blatantly vying for the best possible seat – the table seat, aisle so that one can hog the whole table and have room for stretching one’s legs; or window, so as to have access to the power point and ensure that one can spread the old laptop without worrying that the battery will run out. It doesn’t matter if you haven’t really got any urgent work to do – it looks good and one can always use the time writing witty little articles about train journeys.

Dos peruanos

Ayer en la estacion conoci a dos peruanos
Tomaba mi café y escuche el viejo acento
Y por unos segundos, retrocedi en el tiempo
A las calles de Lima en los largos veranos

Ayer en la estacion dos peruanos hablaban
Y tomaban café en la mesa de al lado

The Brave One

I sat alone in the Forbidden Cinema
Among the chairs, all upholstered red
and watched the trailers with mighty content
a night in town before going to bed

I sat alone and when the movie started
I prayed to God he would spare me the worst
and watched the characters as they damaged each other
and heard their laughter which was offered in jest

I sat alone in the deserted theatre
which showed a movie which was coated in pain
then I walked out to the comfort of strangers
and sought the shelter that was brought by the rain

Through cloud and sunshine

Look at you, through morning fog and mist
Look at you, emerging from a cloud
Reflective vest, red warning lights and proud
Lycra-clad goddess who makes morning mist lift

Waterfall

What end could be most beautiful
for the mountain stream
and its meandering course

Through the barren landscape
under a grey sky
suddenly the view of the valley
all doubt removed about its destiny

Por visitar mi chifa favorito

Por visitar mi chifa favorito
me subi a una combi en la Arequipa:
zarandeo procaz, que bien me equipa
para apreciar de un buen chaufa el saborcito.

Divertimento duelistico

Angelica, tu me cortas
con molinetes de maga
y de tajos con tu daga
cercenas mi arteria aorta!

The cat my neighbour keeps

The cat my neighbour keeps now is my friend

No more will I scare him off my garden

For I have seen the fleeting mouse scurry around

And I have made my peace with my former foe.

Regreso de la montana espaciana

Regreso de la voz, del edificio
Regreso de la voz, de la manera
Que supo dar a luz por vez primera
Que supo ser cabal desde el inicio

Regreso de los fuegos de artificio
Regreso del rugir de oscura fiera
Asi la vida nos viene desde fuera
Asi la muerte ejerce fiel su oficio

Oh espiritu poetico que cura
Oh espiritu tanatico que duele
Oh espiritu que en suenos ya perdura

Verso volcanico en medio de la nieve
Verso que llora, sangra y suda
Verso del combatiente cuando muere

Morning in May

Morning in May: what a delight!
The grass is green, the sun is bright
and as the train speeds past the canal
this sight is good for my morale.

Just then I see a smoke column rise
and the blue sky in two slice
power station, standing tall
it makes me feel so very small

Arrival into London Euston

The playground, bare
The old park lane
The biking postie
The bowling green and its small pavillion
The cranes supporting tall structures
Amidst the rows of terraced houses
- A brand new stadium in the background
The grey, red blue tube train carriages
Heading for their first tunnel of the day
The playground, bare
The church spire
The train, reluctantly slows down
The signs that greet the Northern visitor
- A spray-paint job, proclaiming "hello, shitbag"
Grey pigeons on the grey platform
Forever under cover
The rush of people into the concourse and down the escalators
Scrambling for change or for an Oyster card or for the shortest queue
The silent journey into a packed underground
The bustling square with its enormous lions
And large numbers of pigeons

Office romance

(Try reading with a "Billy Connolly" accent)

What have I got to do
to get closer to you?
I've tried making you a brew
and loitering outside the loo...

Parque

Cielo azul, nubes blancas, verde ladera
Todo lo veo desde este cuerpo, desde estos ojos
Con esta espalda que se recuesta
sobre una banca de ocre madera

Et lux in tenebris lucet

Y la luz ilumino las tinieblas
La luz del amor, desnuda como una lampara
Colgada del techo en el cuarto donde hacen los interrogatorios
En peliculas de espias o detectives en las que actua Humphrey Bogart

Y la luz ilumino las tinieblas
La luz del amor, como el tren que penetra el tunel
Silbando a cien por hora, creando un vacio a su paso
Una presion que hiere los oidos. La urgencia del viajero solitario.

Y la luz ilumino las tinieblas
La luz del amor, como velita en pastel de cumpleanos
Cuando cumpliste seis y el mundo era cosa de tres kilometros
La distancia del amigo mas lejano – y habia que ir en auto a recogerte

Autumn days

In autumn days the sky forever grey
The garden fence, brown or almost red with new panels-
A summer's endeavour, like the few remaining berries
Hanging from our neighbour's bushes
Uncollected, uneaten, gathering dropplets of persistent drizzle
Waiting to whither fully and be washed out
With the first strong rains of October
Praying perhaps to be gone for good before the short dark days
Should find them, left behind and forgotten

Haiku

The luscious foliage
Flocks of birds
Dreams of the trees in winter

Arte poetica

Musa que gimes desesperada
con el furor de la tierra arada
en la que siembro ya mi semilla -
agricultura de maravilla

Musa que gimes con alegria
sobre el trigal al final del dia
en ti celebro feliz jornada -
agricultura sobre mi amada

Be kind

Be kind to every creature
and hurt no living thing:
Pick up the lovely beetle
and chuck it in the bin!