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The Four Faced Wind

Poetry by Valeria Castellanos

Month

February 2018

The End of February – 2015

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The End of February

 

The afternoon is cold, and the moon is on the rise,
As transparent as my fingers and as empty as my eyes.
I am so far away the wind can no longer hear my words,
My breath is barely separate from the shadows of the birds.

I am self-contained.
I am inside of myself,
Inside of my shell,
Inside of this gloom in this room.

It is Tuesday afternoon,
And, I am pretty sure I will be alright,
If I can just hang on,
Until the dogwood starts to bloom.

Oh, but what if she does not bloom?
What if she decides to be like other dogs,
To bark instead of blossom?
What if she becomes a snake?
A grasshopper?
A possum?
What if she decides to never-more,
Be host to the beautiful, four heart flowers?
Then, never, would ever, this room contain another bloom,
And, my shell would lose all of its protective powers.

I am a creature, tied to the future.
I survive by looking ahead.
Tomorrow is always yet to come,
And, yesterday is long-gone, dead.
Sometimes hope is around the corner,
Somewhere up the staircase,
Somewhere under the bed,
Somewhere over my head.
But, sometimes the dogwood lets it go,
And, it falls to the ground instead.

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Dust – A Love Poem for my Valentine

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Dust

 

I fall in love with you
I fall in line with you
I dance in my romance
With you
And, miracles ensue
We resonate together
We become a laser
Focused into a single beam
Living our lives in a single dream
We become a poem
We become as royalty
We are a totality
You are my reality

I dance in a world made manifest
Through the medium of light
You are my guide and my vision
Your music is my sight
Your perfume and your hands
Conjoined
Illuminate and illustrate
My night

Your love enthralls
Encompasses
Enshrouds me
Floods my work
And, fills my world
Like sweet perfume
It fills my room
Covers my being
Covers my seeing
You are contained
In every speck of dust
That enters my illumination
Between now and my death
You are in every breath
I breathe or touch

My love for you is deeper than my dreams
It is older than my heart, it seems
Older than the unfurled world
Older than the dust

You complete me with your aroma
Your atoms enhance my soul
Your particles entrance me
Your aura makes me whole
I gather the dust you give to me
You complete me with your smile

I caress your skin
And, mark it with kisses
I gather you into
The corners of my being
Your heart completes my seeing
Your breath is my sail
And, I inhale

Your intentions are my guidelines
They clear the pathway
For my footfalls
To the dust of your radiant force field
I submit, I yield
And, I am healed

You are selecting
Collecting
The storms and stories and glories
And, molecules of metal and emotion
That generate my light
You are the sun ripened dust of my day
And, the star dust of my night

Love
Like the ubiquitous dust
In the air
Even when you are not there
My love for you is everywhere

And, all the dust of the world
That has ever been given to me
I give to you
Until it is reclaimed

Without you I am splintered
Scattered
Shattered
Fragmented
I am, myself, nothing but dust
Thus, I must
Rush
To find you
To cover you
With my love
Older than the galaxy’s dust
Older than the earth
To remind you of your worth
And, our expectations of rebirth
And, to keep you from falling
Into lies
Or
Into someone else’s eyes

V. Castellanos – April 29, 2015

The Gray Bird on the Beach

 

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The Gray Bird on the Beach

Walking alone along the road,
I thought of poetry and of my dreams.
The dust I stirred created dragons,
Swarming in the shimmering heat.

The dust, descending, turned to sand,
And, out of my footsteps, flowers sprang,
Fringed with jagged, cutting leaves,
And, clothed with seeds that stung my feet.

The beach was bare, without a stone.
And, I went walking, all alone.
Out to the beach, alone, again.
The liquid sun struck my ring, like rain.

“Where are you going?” I called to the gray bird,
Standing, on a sandy hillock, looking out to sea.
With one foot tucked up underneath him,
So very proud he seemed to be.
And, though I saw him very clear,
To him, it seemed I was not here.
He seemed intent on another world,
Unseen, except by those with second sight.

Tall he stood, ignoring me,
Intent on what I could not see.
Stiff and silent, standing there,
He seemed to stare,
At things that seemed to me, just air.
Oh, in his heart he seemed to see,
The very spirit of the sea,
The soul of cataclysmic foam,
The arms of sky that he called home,
And, the land of clouds he loved to roam.

He heard the words the siren sings,
And, winds extolling tide pool kings,
He never saw my sun struck ring,
Nor the waves of my pretended wing.
And, never, though I went quite near,
Did the gray bird ever seem to hear,
My wild, determined, loud hellos.

V. Castellanos – 1962

Winter Stars in Florida, the Land of Flowers

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Scorpio – The Land of Flowers

I am bound to the tides and the call of the seas,
And, the thunderous, silver branches of the heavy banyan trees,
To the rolling, turquoise waves and their malachite swirls,
To kingdoms carved from coral rocks and castles made of pearls.

I am bound to water hyacinth, amethyst and joyful jade,
And, to the great, blue heron who is hunting in the shade,
Beside the shallow waters where the deep, blue mangroves wade.

I am bound to centers of rippled-river, moire whorls,
And, the star-white constellations, of the spider-lilly’s curls,
To delicate palm fringes, fibrous, overlapping, green,
To coiled up rainbow colored snakes, in strangler figs, unseen,
To the ivory-sweet and filigreed, blossoms of the palm,
Aged by rains of springtime and storms of salt sea’s balm,
To shining spiders, golden-orbed, with webs of wobbly, summer dew,
To the ancient, autumn scorpions, of angry, bitter hue,
Who wait behind the lichen’s lacey, white, etched scars,
And, know the tricks of turning, into winter’s wondrous stars.

V. Castellanos – 1998

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