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Claudia Peña Gustavo Cardenas Gutierrez Anabel

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bio-biblio

Claudia Peña (Santa Cruz, 1970) is a researcher, writer and poet. Published collections of short stories "The Gospel According to Paulina" (2003) and "What mom does not see us" (2006) and the poems "Useless burning" (2005) and "In the sky behind my back" (2007). This is his first novel.

poems

seasoned horses on my grandfather

banned horses

neigh under my weight.

While frames are silver stain

they are concerned with the smell of blood.

black horses grandfather

stand on two legs

his mane on my face.

The horses bow their backs.

Tonight grandfather

incrustaré my bones and my nails

on your horses crazy.

no longer be yours on tools and saddle pads.

no longer be yours sharp claws.

I arrived I

female infidel

and stubborn

to run to skim their hair

for riders to melt iron.

I, grandfather

above.

I will tear down your horses hell.

They wasted no

my blood on their backs.

I tame his wild neighing. I'll know

overcome their helmets in the air.

be able to ride them with the back arched

.

Acez your horses grandfather

but the day

just beginning.

Rite

Sometimes my body is opened to shelter

man (there are men who arrive

sensitive / giants / lost).

also sometimes confused

belly tenderness

truth (that strange habit of disappearing

are men.)

While they sometimes do not get caught

smells, the taste. I can hardly

, when you are gone, rebuilding its passing

gasps and my desire.

It occurs to me that the blood

(timely and complete) reflects the atavistic

washing instinct that shadow, that saliva. Sold

ritual I go blind, the sharp

days between your skin and my forgetfulness

(no angels left hungry

light and sighs).

But blindness is short

and diluted, naive, hope to tame

spell, my destiny.

The body does not forget:

the body remains,

always nest.

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Sebastian Molina

Santa Cruz de la Sierra, Bolivia. 1985

has published books jaiku After this silence and silence again.

How

express what the music

illuminates when muted?

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Pablo Sebastián Molina Emma

How Long Does Diverticulitis Last

Villazón Osorio Marcia Richter

VILLAZÓN EMMA RICHTER

bio-biblio: Born in Santa Cruz de la Sierra, 1983. Writer. Lic, Juridical Science, and Social Policy. Currently pursuing a career in the UAGRM Hispanic Philology. He won the National Award "Novice writers" of the Departmental Chamber of Santa Cruz Book with poems Fable fall.

poems

HERE FROM WILD FRUIT

Dime city, which are among your portraits of heroes and your trees with snakes.

Tell me who you are, regardless of your history of blood and angry riders.

Tell me what's behind your landscape reigns, crime and feasts.

Tell me, who knows what animal I walk your streets before hurrying.

Oh, tell city, in your children I look at you and I look at

and perhaps all pass through the world is this:

tied to the image of a square with eyes

recognized part of a sweet smell with thorns,

be a bit of river, prairie, child, fish and violence.

Oh, city of murderers, paint my memories,

molten stand at the root your air stranger!

Making me by


Somewhere, someone travels to you,
traveling night and day. Anne Carson



try to do everything carefully.
It instructs me to keep house in order and I do
first desperately, then without thinking
(without worrying as when I'm facing light);
then sweep the leaves covering the yard, pulling clothes
in ropes, cooking, remove the dust,
serves the flower buds of bricks:
veil their growth, his strange dream of a fist.
I take my job with sweat and guilt, but when
expired canned buttons down the toilet,
I stood there for several minutes.
is a relief to see how clean the water absorbs and takes all. Rest
seeing is sucked incredibly smelly
our lives, and emerge from what looked like child's vomit,
a foam similar to the sea.
is difficult to keep track of dirt, debris
we leave in the bathrooms, dishes, in the hallways, it's like lifting
what makes us the time every minute
in our privacy and keeps cobwebs around corners. Really
is hard, but when I see the foam that has been
evil, is for me like a song, one that will give me strength when it comes

night and has no other voice but that
I answer the phone.


(De: Tales of a fall)

Cibipresidentjack Mods

Mogro

MARCIA MOGRO

Bio-Biblio: born in La Paz, Bolivia, June 2 1956. Studied literature at the Universidad Mayor de San Andrés. He lives in Santiago de Chile since 1985. Have published their articles in magazines, newspapers and anthologies.

PUBLICATIONS

1988 "Semiramis, 16 (MG ).-"( poetry)
Chilean Young Poetry Collection," End of the Century Series "Black Box
and Documents Publishing House, Santiago, Chile

1995" The Hanging Gardens (poetry) The Little Man Sitting
Editorial, La Paz, Bolivia

2000 "De la Cruz to Date (poetry)
Hombrecito Sitting Editorial, La Paz, Bolivia

2004" The Hanging Gardens (poetry)
Editorial The Little Man Sitting,
La Paz, Bolivia, Second Edition

2005 "Lacrimosa" (poetry)
Hombrecito Sitting Editorial, La Paz, Bolivia

Referred by: Jessica Freudenthal

mentions: Fernando Rosso

Jaime Taborga

Diana Kuljis

Poems:

BOOK "SEMIRAMIS, 16 (MG) .-

COME WITH ME TO THE FAR LANDS OF BAGHDAD ...

TALK:
I do not have touched


but it is dark like night and cry.
cry because I'm freezing and I

bones ache and I feel my head hurt.

horror of our loneliness,
MEN AND WOMEN OF ALL AGES

AND ALL COUNTRIES IN NUMBER INCALCULABLE

HAVE STARTED A DANCE.

And now we're so high

botarnos began and I thought:
all preserved in the ice
and thought then when I find
,
will produce a large fire,
everywhere
spread,
to the ends of the empire.

LISTEN:
had to split it
body for all roads, all-apachetas
,
to serve as an example
and never repeat such acts.













THE BOOK "THE HANGING GARDENS"

MY HOUSE WILL OPEN ANY DEATH
A PEOPLE OR FLOWERS.
SILENCE. STREET.

washing clothes of their dead

and crying over the hapless river changed course

water and changed the landscape forever
your city


pierced the hapless
and cried for long polar nights


fell asleep under the suspension bridges as the river crosses

your city like a dream

hapless
like a dream against stones

river reflecting sky

far away and blue like a dream





















THE BOOK OF THE CROSS TO DATE


but every time you squint your eyes, amid
the din of battle and the crowd,
willing to crime and spinning like a dervish
I wonder if I'm human or animal case
am the result of a skeleton
well studied and invoked as a dialectic
inside of my own thinking

this has happened.
BOUND.
evening up to the rooftop of his palace,
from there considered the stars:
"Cross," he says
an unprecedented and dawn sky

custodian the same hill, crossed the same river

them hanging gardens.. .
I have come to be sad, I have a hurting heart

so rotten, so hopeless, so dramatically

opposite to my prior to the passage "

body of a woman wanting

siren not no angel

the Captain
with great sadness and melancholy remembrance
moved to other parts of the sky and latitude parallel














BOOK "Lacrimosa"

1.
but the city is impressive and beautiful

open displaying his body extended


in size and diversity as a show of anatomy
compared attracting
unceremoniously with his strange and splendid start
stage has come to this city
has seen the river, bridges
the mountains, places, buildings

but now stands where this street

from looking around, search the sky
says we should be together

alongside one another
together, together you should

I
2.

feel tearful wakes
absorbed the blood moves through your veins

cinnabar red sea rumor sparks sparks nostalgia sadness


know that birds and peregrine falcons highlighting her silhouette against the sky, also known

nude shows immaculate

status Length and angle fore and cavities

displayed showing all kinds of havoc
and demonstrating the highest level of perfection


should be together side by another
together, together you should

me (as a litany
invoked immaculate
lying between the sheets)