Some days I think I need nothing


more in life than a spoon.
With a spoon I can eat oatmeal
Or take the medicine doctors prescribe
I can swat a fly sleeping on the sill
or pound the table to get attention.
I can point accusingly at God
or stab the empty air repeatedly.
Looking into the spoon’s mirror,
I can study my face in its shiny bowl,
or cover one eye to make half the world
disappear.  With a spoon
I can dig a tunnel to freedom
spoonful by spoonful of dirt,
or waste life catching moonlight
and flinging it into the blackest night.

— Richard Jones

Poem called: ,,My Damsel in Distress” by Mr Zilch

A beautiful poem I just found on my mailbox and decided to share in my blog. For the moment my inspiration has taken some vacations (But that rebel one didn’t leave a memo):

“She’s living
with a different kind
of personality.

She values
all the things in this world
especially humanity.

She makes me happy
by just merely
saying how much she loves me

She makes me proud
because of how she can fight
for unanimous right.

She may be weak at some point.
She may be afraid at some fight.
She may be bad at some things,
but who cares?
She will always be
My Damsel in Distress”

A beautiful poem in Spanish called: ”Lluvia de verano” by Darío Falconi

                                                      a Oscar Conde

Nubes de caliza
devoran el llamado imperativo de mi infancia.

Me apoyo en la ventana:
pasa el viento con su urgencia,
la tierra danza en el patio
y la tarde se cubre con óleo de estaño.

Llueve. Pienso en ella.
En el beso que me dio antes de mudarse,
sus caprichos de princesa de barrio
y en el canto de su voz cuando me nombra.

¡La vida es una farsa!

Una pelota que no pica.
Un trago de agua podrida.
Un caramelo de sal.

todo se detiene en el patio de la casa.

Arde el nuevo sol
y las gotas se suicidan
como el salto obligado
de un clavadista a destiempo.

Darío Falconi

Pérdida y encuentro (Original poem by me! )

Silencios tallados sobre la piel.

Fui parte de sutiles despertares.

La cama fue testigo de oscuros secretos.

Veranos desolados esconden mi locura.

Sonrisas fabricadas en mis labios gastados.

Las sombras se cansaron de llenar ausencias.

Respuestas mecánicas a preguntas redundantes.

En cada amanecer se inventan finales rasgados.

Destinos separados por caminos opuestos.

Personajes ficticios viviendo en la ciudad.

Costumbres oxidadas nublaron mi cabeza.

Desconecté mi alma de la sociedad.

Y encontré mi destino calcado en tu atardecer.

A la ciudad ausente

A la ciudad ausente.

The reason why I chose Catharsis as my blog’s name

Writing to me is an exercise that allows me to release most of my feelings and continue living…

But the author of the following painting and poem describes better than I do:

Catharsis © George Fairchild Pastel on paper, 14x17in.

© George Fairchild
Pastel on paper, 14x17in.



Our emotions run high…
They’ll consume us, if you let them…
Anger and jealousy
Spinning out of control

Purge bad emotions
Any way that you can…
Take the weight off your shoulders
And leave it behind

Once you have done this,
Move on with your life…
And use your time
For kindness and love…


Little Ashes

The new baby is born

Every drop in the sky is torn

Soaked clouds in the winter

The wan horse rides to the new enter

Stars aroused next to the Sun

Their inner light enfold the Earth Son

All thunders and lightnings reveal unyielding weaknesses  

Allow the Fenix to start from the little ashes.

Sleepy Roses

Cries through darkness from that hollow night reveal his weakness

Our garden started yawning below the blurred Sunset.

How profound and gentile is the weeping of the wet grass by the frozen rain.

A virgin evening wakes up from a dream delayed by the tremor of the Sun who fears going to sleep wondering about never raise up again.

Jealous Stars dance around blind clouds while the roses feel captured by a gloomy nightmare

Sleep is too heavy and each petal lies on the other.

Each spine is raised as a fence to never let out.

Each fragrance is wrapped with ray of light borrowed from the moon

Roses sing and dance in the breeze, and their dream is to awaken.

The day is so close and roses still sing in the dark.

They want to wake up but the light is hidden between the Sky cracks.

Everyone hides from the beauty of those sleepy roses.

The true poetry is the screaming roses, the light race and the Sun awakening.

The night runs away with his forbidden love and the stars follow them.

The Sun calls, and the roses open their petals.

What a joy to see the awakening of our roses, our dreams have finally come true!.







The voice breaks the air, makes easier breathing.

Every time I speak, the sound is shrouded by blind clouds.

Bold raindrops touch without consent my naked skin.

Single moles seek for partners in virgin places in your body.

Two distinct colors seem to appear below our dark shadows.

All your natural tattoos reveal a silent past which is afraid to merge with our present.

Each scar of yours howls to the red Moon praying for more time in your skin.

I am still waiting for becoming one of them.

Being part of the history of yours, every minute and second mixed in just a single moment.

This scene of us held by gravity and sustained by our marks, those that tremble with every star whisper.

I am still waiting for you to come and kiss every exhaled breath which becomes part of the deep air scars.

Your scars look for mine, they want to be one as I want to be one with you in every single manner over our drawn bodies.

You, me and our scars are the perfect picture for a distant love.

Our moles are not single anymore, they are part of our imperfections.





The joint venture between Sleep, light and Bed

The sleep is so light and nervous about that new soul next to it

Every new night, both souls are joined and the sleep starts screaming again

When the Sun shows up every bed wrinkle feels so shy that hides under the sleep.

The lost smileys find themselves through the whisper light and the sleep is still anxious about it.

Every old skin finds with the new one and mix with the breathing and fall asleep again with the ancient light who froze in the morning darkness.




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