Saturday, July 7, 2012

FEAR OF YOUR REENCOUNTER IN A SONNET



It was a day of bitter farewell
that made my love from you fly break
and for my soul to turn away mistreated,
in your oblivion forgetting being loved.

Oh wound of love, now I fear that the scar
done by your eyes is due to open again
closed for some time, deemed anew to bleed,
in this reencounter to be utterly threatened.

I feel fearful and foresee will not obtain
the medicine so needed from your mouth,
nor will you satisfy in torture thirst;

at the foot of the source put to agonize again
while hearing your laughter in the stream
of a love that endures -I see- today.


© albertotrocóniz / 12
Text from: "POEMS OF LAY LOVE"
Image from: “TARO PAINTS”

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Tuesday, February 14, 2012

ETERNITY DEMANDS A CIRCUMSTANCE


Let's face the fact: we love each other;
yes, I have known when my eyes met
with your loved ones, so dark and deep,
where there I saw a light that´s also mine.

What is externally concealed by the body
a glance can not deny
because it´s from the depths a direct contact
of souls that want their windows open wide

and they have said to each other: "I know I love you"
beyond disguise, and our circumstances
that for the present time seem to be impossible;
but the fact is there, thus we shudder.

But what advantage is there for creatures
to recognize themselves as one in lofty orbits
if there is not to be further full fruition
of bodies, of the flesh? ...

in the mutual possession of each other,
in carnal fusion that takes both to the abyss,
to infinity, to the point where death
smashes all the barriers interposed, ...

and no longer it is me, nor you a girl
I met by chance, but only the Absolute.



© albertotrocóniz / 12
Text from: "POEMS OF LAY LOVE"
Image from: "TAROT", Arcana XI: "Strength / Lust"


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Thursday, February 9, 2012

FROM A TEACHER TO STUDENTS: A TRIBUTE

Friends, some of you here are my pupils
and there are others that have been,
or will be in the future, with "bad luck";
allow me a few comments that I feel:

Albert Einstein had said that is "the school
the invention of old age to take revenge"...
from the accusation of continuous youth
which shows as in a mirror the contrast 
of life that is in bloom and ever young
and the relentless slaughter of the time.

As he who is the professor always finds
all courses, perpetual and renewed,
in front of him, standing by, the estate
always the same and vigorous of life
in twenty years of age the clock stopped,
with time unchanging mocking at his face
as in a bloodily reversed devil´s pact.

And is the painful contrast evident
of all the years passed in a breath,
that open sores of former joys forgotten,
the longing for what could have been,
the ride near the end and all its sins,
the final course which leads towards the death.

And in revenge of the hour-glass, professors
looking to spend their aging each year in front
of youth batches evergreen as an insult,
as a mocking laughter of the gods,
in retaliation I suppose, perhaps unconsciously,
they erect themselves as if a Cronus god
to devour flesh of generations new.

Overwhelming demands then are there raised
of work without limits or an end
which represent, I know, the many hours
stolen from the rest, and from sports,
going out with friends or else with the sweet love,
to travel round the world or just to lie
on the park in spring facing the sky

to see clouds drift by across the blue
quietly and ponder questions: what is life?,
what´s the destiny of all, and its arcana ...;
and try to find our own answers that no book
neither teachers or syllabus, can give;
that only each one alone and by himself
in direct insight might see if in silence
the mind is quieted, from common toils afar…

without "sword of Damocles" of handovers,
without the guilty conscience of the expenses
without the urgency for the next exercise,
of attendances, examinations, marks.

Society does not treat those youths as adults,
people who are already so by age,
as caged birds would be the fitting image,
or tamed creatures to jump the fences brought
of the Career, a steeplechase resembling so to say.

Yes, I know, there are other rewards
-of architecture I speak because I know-
the cause is neat and gives us information
in a wide variety of fields
and plus discovers the deep creative vein
that makes us equal to God "Great Architect".

And yet we see that in the scales unbalanced,
the other plate is there much overloaded
with the youth lost and with the extensive hours
and then more hours of never ending work.

And apart, of course of some outstanding master
luckily found at last -as one finds a rare bird-
and half a dozen teachers that are good
with something to offer that interesting sounds,
misunderstanding of much professor fool,
endure so much the egos and their whims,
treatment unfair of some frustrated despots,
or leaden weight of lecturers much gray.

It is also added the uncertainty in the present
of future work and money to be gained
that allows us to be at last independent,
being no more a burden to the family,
able to travel and go around the world,
to buy a sports car, and even a small house,
and found a home and have some children there,
(or perhaps that sounds already outmoded?).

A true vocation more than that of Saints
to stand in the gap is here necessary,
to overcome discouragement and "lows"
and not to throw the towel on the floor
given the example that we see on the street
of so many ignorant dumb scoundrels
that without knowledge and also without qualms
flourishes in business or thrives in politics.

So friends I understand you, I've had
more or less the same as any one around;
if anything serves, tell me of course with you,
because beyond the teacher and the student,
exams and marks, beyond assigned roles,
the human aspect must at the end prevail
I've passed that too, so I speak.

Above all: a generation can´t be lost
denying best fresh blood to the old crop rows
who have already given, and now dry,
deprived of sowing without the future seeds,
are just to be stubble and henceforth
outworn responses only from the past.

What a sin!; a treadmill around the neck, then thrown
into the sea, responsible deserve
for ruining roads for treading of the youth
by shortsightedness and selfishness so dumb,
the treasure of the future making waste!.

I regard it utterly intolerable, therefor 
tell me among the outraged in their ranks!.


© albertotrocóniz / 12
Text from: "AS I SEE IT"
Image from: "PHOTOFILTERED"

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Tuesday, January 17, 2012

GET OFF THE CAROUSEL AT ONCE

The support of an application,
a football team or to a party, ...
that´s very well, but it is irrelevant;
as nothing matters being in the contingent.

For what is, is being out of time
and space, that are mere delusions;
another order of reality -in fact-
the only reality, the rest utterly false.

For nothing is, although it seems to exist:
mere shadow figures projected on a canvas;
the only real is the light and the screen
and when it´s off the Great Silence remains.

But we are all the time pending on form
on name, ideas, and experiences
of our ego, the idea of being something
changing with modes and all the circumstances.

Already fed up, look at what matters,
we get so tired of the journey for eons
where we like toys do turn and turn around
and round and round on our ego axis.

Let's try get out and just stop from that,
direct the attention maintaining the point
that is behind the known, and observe all
without any rejection or attachment.

there is the Being independent, free
of pain and pleasure, and all the rest of processes
that create worlds, and subsequent destruction;
this is the truth, only this is what matters.

The ego is false: I am not an idea,
I am the unembraceable reality
I am the Self that is revealed in silence;
someone has said: "The High Indifference".


© albertotrocóniz / 12
Text from: "PHILOSOPHICAL FILES"
Image from: "PHOTOGRAPHY"


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Wednesday, November 23, 2011

MODEL SHIP

You do not cross the seas, but you do cross the time,
how much more risky that long journey can be!;
the afternoon light is filtered through curtains
and a prodigious ray welcomed on your sails.

Attached to the base, and apparently immobile
dust deposits slowly on top of the old masts,
on the half crumpled ropes, on the yellowed sails,
and on your broken deck unconsciously a fly lands.

The attentive ear listens immersed in golden silence
in darkness of the room, and from the wingback chair,
the roar of time smashing inclemently on the objects
you soar through with secure unmoved course undaunted.

So I had never seen so much a vessel daring
and suddenly I embark on the prodigious tales
of unheard countless days of winds and of bonanzas,
of worries and of joys, arrivals and storms,

of meetings and farewells, of kisses and of tears,
of the clear skies that suddenly become coarse,
of loneliness and laughter, death and abandonment,
of projects and drowned love in the bottoms of seas.

How many sailors seen immersed in the toils
following the pole star that points towards death
helpless rowing and flailing, and floundering then sinking
in the huge surf of hours, in the wild surf of days!.

Everything brought by time, by that stormy sea,
-that relentless deceit, without noticing hardly-
that we are hit in the face and then soaked are left
seeping down into our bones and barely knowing it.



© albertotrocóniz / 02
Text from: "POEMS OF THE EPHEMERAL"
Image from: "PHOTOFILTERED"

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Sunday, November 20, 2011

SAINT EDMUND


Today we talk politics,
but not the current ones,
we remember the deeds
from many years afar;

Was the eight hundred and fifty-five year,
-Ed had fifteen- when crowned
as son of saxon king
to the East Anglia throne.

Despite his tender youth,
perhaps because of that,
the boy reveals himself
as a sage and wise man.

Ignoring all his flatterers,
the court of sycophants,
and being just and equal
dealing with everyone.

Driven once by the spirit,
attending its demand,
to a tower retired
to worship and to pray.

In solitude learned latin
the entire amount of psalms
by heart often recited
at every occasion had.

Dare anyone to take him
for someone who is faint,
fearful, lazy or a coward
pusillanimous, or "blessed".

Defended with great courage
his kingdom in distress
from many ambitious enemies
that invasions pretended.

In an unequal battle
was captured and jailed;
Danish nobles were angry,
because the guy was fair.

Faced with his refusal 
alive with whips was flayed,
and in the midst of suffering
he invoked the Holy Name,

Was used as a target
to practice with their bows,
with arrows in him nailed
seemed like hedgehog.

After that was beheaded
to distant bush head thrown;
when they went to collect it
it cried the right spot.

This day we worship Edmund,
the holy name that means
"he who protects the property"
and he protects indeed!.

In Edmundsbury Abbey
erected to his cult
until the Reformation
his relics kept for long.

It is good in this age
of cowards and corrupts
to refresh good examples
the saints have left to us.



© albertotrocóniz / 11
Text from: "POEMS OF TRIBUTE"
Image from Tapestry Depicting St.Edmund

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Wednesday, November 9, 2011

MASKS

Afterthought beguiles the person:
bearing our masks we are all doodles
when we identify with them.

Each plays the role to him assigned
and does his task in this world
making possible
God´s show.

It's not wrong being an actor, on the contrary it's fun;
the madness is to take the role for real
(personally and collectively hold).

And which I refer to death is:
abandon everything internally;
the idea of a person is the first.

Thus allowing the great mystery
to fill the available void
being only just mere instruments.

Honing our capabilities
will promote the harmonious sound
for the music SILENCE plays.



© albertotrocóniz / 11
from the "PHILOSOPHICAL FILES”

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