Admonitions to a special person, Anne Sexton

Watch out for power, 
for its avalanche can bury you, 
snow, snow, snow, smothering your mountain.

Watch out for hate, 
it can open its mouth and you'll fling yourself out
to eat off your leg, an instant leper.

Watch out for friends, 
because when you betray them, 
as you will, 
they will bury their heads in the toilet
and flush themselves away.

Watch out for intellect, 
because it knows so much it knows nothing
and leaves you hanging upside down, 
mouthing knowledge as your heart
falls out of your mouth.

Watch out for games, the actor's part, 
the speech planned, known, given, 
for they will give you away
and you will stand like a naked little boy, 
pissing on your own child-bed.

Watch out for love
(unless it is true, 
and every part of you says yes including the toes) , 
it will wrap you up like a mummy, 
and your scream won't be heard
and none of your running will end.

Love? Be it man. Be it woman.
It must be a wave you want to glide in on, 
give your body to it, give your laugh to it, 
give, when the gravelly sand takes you, 
your tears to the land. To love another is something
like prayer and can't be planned, you just fall
into its arms because your belief undoes your disbelief.
Special person, 
if I were you I'd pay no attention
to admonitions from me, 
made somewhat out of your words
and somewhat out of mine.
A collaboration.
I do not believe a word I have said, 
except some, except I think of you like a young tree
with pasted-on leaves and know you'll root
and the real green thing will come.

Let go. Let go.
Oh special person, 
possible leaves, 
this typewriter likes you on the way to them, 
but wants to break crystal glasses
in celebration, 
for you, 
when the dark crust is thrown off
and you float all around
like a happened balloon. 

love

love which may grow

never a tree nor fruit,

nameless,

lives in the non-word-

world of a pause

between wind and forest,

in the ripples of a lake,

coming with the birds as

witness to silent growth,

in forgetting and in being

one with their songs and

the green leaves exhaling

and  when all ’if as’ will stop,

it will come through pain

like fresh bread comes out

of the oven’s heat,

like an apple falling

into the grass, sweet

in its own time.

Sam Shepard, If you were still around

If you were still around
I’d hold you
Shake you by the knees
Blow hot air in both ears

You, who could write like a Panther Cat
Whatever got into your veins
What kind of green blood
Swam you to your doom

If you were still around
I’d tear into your fear
Leave it hanging off you
In long streamers
Shreds of dread

I’d turn you
Facing the wind
Bend your spine on my knee
Chew the back of your head
Til you opened your mouth to this life

                                source unknown

link:  If you were still around

Found today on G+ .

Read before.

Thinking of dead and living.

And feel more for an alive person-

alive meaning still incarnated. Touchable.

Vulnerable. 

En abril, las aguas mil, Antonio Machado

Son de abril las aguas mil. 
Sopla el viento achubascado, 
y entre nublado y nublado 
hay trozos de cielo añil. 
Agua y sol. El iris brilla. 
En una nube lejana, 
zigzaguea 
una centella amarilla. 
La lluvia da en la ventana 
y el cristal repiqueteo. 
A través de la neblina 
que forma la lluvia fina, 
se divisa un prado verde, 
y un encinar se esfumina, 
y una sierra gris se pierde. 
Los hilos del aguacero 
sesgan las nacientes frondas, 
y agitan las turbias ondas 
en el remanso del Duero. 
Lloviendo está en los habares 
y en las pardas sementeras; 
hay sol en los encinares, 
charcos por las carreteras. 
Lluvia y sol. Ya se oscurece 
el campo, ya se ilumina; 
allí un cerro desparece, 
allá surge una colina. 
Ya son claros, ya sombríos 
los dispersos caseríos, 
los lejanos torreones. 
Hacia la sierra plomiza 
van rodando en pelotones 
nubes de guata y ceniza.

Anoche cuando dormía, Antonio Machado

Anoche cuando dormía
soñé, ¡bendita ilusiòn!,
que una fontana fluía
dentro de mi corazòn.
Di: ¿por qué acequia escondida,
agua, vienes hasta mí,
manantial de nueva vida
en donde nunca bebí?

Anoche cuando dormía
soñé, ¡bendita ilusiòn!,
que una colmena tenía
dentro de mi corazòn;
y las doradas abejas
iban fabricando en él,
con las amarguras viejas,
blanca cera y dulce miel.

Anoche cuando dormía
soñé, ¡bendita ilusiòn!,
que un sol ardiente lucía
dentro de mi corazòn.

Era ardiente porque daba
calores de rojo hogar,
y era sol porque alumbraba
y porque hacía llorar.

Anoche cuando dormía
soñé, ¡bendita ilusiòn!,
que era Dios lo que tenía
dentro de mi corazòn.

note: didn't quite like any translation found

Wayfarer, there is no path, Caminante no hay Camino , Antonio Machado

Traveler, your footprints

are the only road, nothing else.

Traveler, there is no road;

you make your own path as you walk.

As you walk, you make your own road,

and when you look back

you see the path

you will never travel again.

Traveler, there is no road;

only a ship's wake on the sea

Caminante no hay Camino

Caminante, son tus huellas

el camino y nada más;

Caminante, no hay camino,

se hace camino al andar.

Al andar se hace el camino,

y al volver la vista atrás

se ve la senda que nunca

se ha de volver a pisar.

Caminante no hay camino

sino estelas en la mar.

Masticando Silencio, Jose Larralde

Jose Larralde , Herencia pa un hijo gaucho III

José Larralde , Herencia pa' un hijo gaucho II

Jose Larralde , Herencia pa' un Hijo Gaucho 1

Have You Ever Seen The Rain, Willie Nelson,Paula Nelson

Willie Nelson , Summer Wind (Official Music Video)