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The Four Faced Wind

Poetry by Valeria Castellanos

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Beach

Magic Carpet Ride

My artwork, ink on paper, 5½” x 7⅞”

We are on a magic carpet ride,
On an undulating road of cloud,
We are sailing through jade jungle halls,
Over emerald shade, green light grown walls,
Over seashell sparkles and opal streams,
Our hair kissed about in the gold sunbeams.

‘Round towers and torrents of cloud we fly,
Our wild spirits soar like the birds of the sky,
And, the span of our wings is as wide as the sea,
For I am in love with you,
With you,
And, you are in love with me.

An indigo light,
Floods the sky of our night.
The moon follows soon,
As a worn, silvers sphere,
She smiles like a mermaid,
A soul hovering near,
In an octopus cloud,
Spun of dark mist and swirls,
Medusa’s hair shining with snake spittle’s curls,
And, the span of our wings is as wide as the sea,
For I am in love with you,
With you,
Oh, with you,
And, you are in love with me.

At night we fly soft,
Through the cool Milky Way,
On the warmth of the winds,
Through the sparkling day.
You and I are there dreaming ones.
We are the drifters,
The whispering wind-waifs,
The ghosts of shape shifters.
We are the wandering, wondering nomads,
The pilgrims of spinning-skies wild open roads,
The green flash of sunset, the purple moon’s nodes.
We are children of all but forgotten stars,
Blue-green dreams of Neptune,
Red kisses of Mars.
We are made dizzy by dancing with the rainbow,
Flying with griffins above laughing trees,
By humming in clouds where the bright thunder seethes,
And, breathing the air that the sky giants breathe.

The silver sea shimmers,
Sea glimmers,
Grows wet,
Under our feet,
And, the heat,
And, the butterflies rise,
To a wondrous size.
They glow in our eyes,
And, their flash conjures visions,
Of velvet disguise,
Of orchid brushed breeze,
Of thin, cloud-whisp trees,
Of sky-haloed heron,
And, jasmine kissed bees.

When we come back to land,
Put your hand in my hand.
With hearts still in the sky,
Let’s make love in the sand,
For I am in love with you,
Oh, with you,
And, you are in love with me.

Off to the Shore

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“Off to the Shore” – My Digital Art – 2018

If I should have my way,
I would be off to the shore today,
Where the air is full of breezes,
And, the sky is full of birds.
The bright, clear, brilliant, liquid light,
Is cut into by palm tree silhouettes,
Lizards quick and slick,
Are hidden in the thick,
Spike shadows,
Smooth, gray driftwood,
Swirls in the tide pool,
Prancing, bright eyed, hermit crab fool,
Hovering yellow butterflies,
Adorning perfect turquoise skies,
Spring waves murmuring,
Beneath azalea mists,
All kissed,
By periwinkle sprinkles,
Breezes graced by silver gongs,
Invisible songs,
Water the color of the fishes scales,
Wave the color of mermaid’s tales,
Hibiscus the color of sunrise,
Sands of ancient oyster shells,
The color of kisses pure,
Jasmine white,
Perfume and salt.

I am an ocean of my own,
Composed of blood and bone,
Of minerals, metals,
And, mostly water,
Flowing under the surface tension of my skin,
An ebb and flow of emotions,
Premonitions, preconditions, preconceptions,
Imprinted on the space between time and God.

How could I be anything then,
Except a reflection of myself?
I am a fluid being,
Flowing with my currents.
Even when I am not at the edge of the sea,
I am required to bend with the tides,
Washed by weather and seasons.

These patterns cannot be understood.
They are larger than my perceptions.

The morning dew calls me by name.
I answer, my footprints sink in the sand,
In the morning tide,
Wandering, here and there,
My feet are bare,
Frangipanis are flowering in my hair.
I am bowing to floating clouds.

I am still young,
And, trying to learn,
To smile with all of my being,
Trying to find a way to live recklessly,
And, completely,
In the present.

March 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

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