Poesia Viva

Un dia, casi cerca del ocaso

la ojas de otoño cubrian pasos

y la colorida alboreda se pinto de payazo

con miles colores como un ruiseñor

y ese dia me tomo en sus brazos

para decirme adios.

De rabia moria

y desidi desde ese dia

matar en mi toda poesia,

mis letras no escritas perdieron color

hice con sus tintas una sada y un pico

para enterrar mi dolor

Y en una noche en tinieblas

bajo una timida luna llena

cabe nuestra tumba.

La tumba de nuestro amor.

El sepulcro de sus ultimos besos

y con ellos todos mis versos.

Pero hoy a la noticia de su regreso

los desentierros

y con ellos

renace mi poesia de nuevo.

Limpio bailando mi lapida vacia

sacudo de mis pies el polvo del tiempo,

el polvo del desierto que fue mi alma fria

y con flores  de azaares rocio mi cuerpo

que el besaria al terminar el dia.

                                                        Pero jamas regreso.

Hoy camino por un otoño macabro

de llanto y de espanto

de esos donde la reencarnacion de animas

y el celebrar la muerte

parecen coexistir.

Un olor a Flores secas y perdices muertas

se dejan en mi un sentir en mi jardin

y en las noches muero de locura y nostalgia

Y al ver en las calles y plazas

a un fakir pasar

con sus turbantes de hilos

y sedas finas

y sus diamantes y piedras en sus sortijas

o cuando veo amantes besarse y reir

como chiquelos empezando a vivir 

siento que quiero escribir cartillas

llenas de poesias y sonetos

para recordar sus besos

y su forma de reir

aunque entre tanta agonia

quise huir de las letras

y mate en mi la poesia

cosa que una vez le jure que jamas haria

pero asi como el enterro su amo

yo el mio lo sepulte

ignorando los versos

que me pedian gritos volver y renacer.

Ignore entre llanto sus reclamos

y entre cuadernos y librillos baratos

los aprisione

 en limbos de gaveteros y estantes de cedro y cahoba

empolvados

en algun rincon de nuestra vieja alcoba

y amarillos retratos.

Pero el volvio una noche de repente a mis brasos

y todo lo que en mi moria  olvidado

tomo un nuevo un nuevo color

un nuevo matis que hizo llover

versos, hikus, y todo lo hermoso escondido en mi ser

y  mi moribundo cuerpo

y mi moribunda poesia

clamaban de alegria al revivir.

Y en unos minutos perdidos

de siglos muertos

y recuerdos

mal revividos

mi poesia

fertil como un campo de sorzales renacio al fin

en un viaje de misteriosa alegria

donde todo fue luces que se encendian

y apagaron con majica rapidez

y asi mi poesia pudo  renacer ,

cual paloma resucistada.

                      

Tal vez vive aun en mis cuentos largos

                            disfrazada de poemario                                  

o en letras mal compuestas

que guardan aun

una secreta esperanza

de que el amor antiguo vuelva y reviva

viejas añoranzas.

Pero desde desde aquel primer dia

tomaron  un giro al fracaso

las esperanzas mias,

que en mi pecho tejia

con telas de oro y tegidos de sedas

entre bordadas iniciles y vanas letras

que decian AMOR.

Hoy dia camino un nuevo  camino

donde suelo escribir

lo que no se vivir.

Pero hoy aprendi con la sabia poesia

que ya es tiempo  de renacer, crecer

y creer.

Si no sabes amar

jamas entenderas

que es simplemente hermoso 

ver una poesia nacer!

 

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Claire is Not Home; Claire is Rescued & Safely Home (New Chapter)

Claire is finally rescued. But all she could do was re-play a “dream game” in her mind. They, the kidnapped young kids, loved their so called “dream game”, and stayed in their induced games for hours with a blanket over their heads. She spent many hours on those dreams and the only face representing it was Steve Jobs. Claire had no idea of who that person was, but that was the face shown at the beginning of that digital dream they were submitted to to control them and brainwash them. There their reality was different, and they have all the control. Their reality was quite different.

Claire had being not only rescued from her kidnapping by some computer hacker who found out not only her but close to 50 other young men and women were submitted to a mind control online game. And one of them was finding a way to escape. That Hero was no other than Claire. Yet she told the reporters, policemen, and everyone that she survived thanks to Steve Job’s face on a secret phone she got, and who she felt kept telling her to go on and never give up. She was obsessed with Steve Jobs work and words. Somehow she kept his words with her at all times.

Now Claire was safe and back home. But her memories kept going back to a phone game and the abandoned building where they were kept hidden and tortured. At least she had time to play a game for few minutes without no one knowing. One of her guardians was her accomplice, he only wanted to feel her boobs in return, nothing else.

But (Was Claire really back home? Or was she still living in a dream? Read more from Claire on my short Police Novel “Claire is Not Home” and “Clair me is Back Home” here in my websites http://www.evelynrdz.wordpress.com & http://www.evelynrodriguez.wordpress.com(more…)

Presenting You the Wonderland Book!

📓Totally jealous but happy that someone can do this amazing art with photography.

Check out the Artist, Kristy Mitchell’s work  below at:

The making of the Wonderland Book

In my mind I imagine amazing sets with amazing models that I could turn into almost magical creatures but in reality I reject my creativity. But the creator of the Wonderland Book has done a beautiful graceful job in making her own magic imaginary world become true, with so much determination, hard work, discipline, and passion.

I love her work it makes me travel back in time to a magic world that only exists in Kristy Mitchell’s Wonderland.

Writer/ Evelyn Rodriguez-Lallave

What is my color and my race?, I’ve being asked!!

True race doesn’t lay on the color of your skin. It lays in the percentage in your blood and DNA. Stop acting stupid like all the racist bigots of many cultures and races like fanatic Muslims and so on…

_E.R.L.

As the top student of my old College Sociology class I was assigned an unusual project (at least to my impression). I was supposed to research my family tree and then explain with what race I identified the most with, and to the teacher’s surprised I picked five different races, not the tipical, one, two, or three, that most students usually picked.

Here was the races’ list I was given?

Am I;

White ?

Black ?

Spanish ?

Asian ?

Middle Eastern ?

Indian ?

or Jewish?

And why I identify myself with that particular race?

Well it took me a long time to gather facts, since I never  met my father and I look more like him that my late mother, was Puerto Rican-White. Well thinking about my mom I found out I was “Spanish” with a strong White European background in our family DNA. And tracing what my father might have being, it was hard to   Descifer if he was a dark Spanish male, mixed with Black, Middle Eastern, Asian, or Asiatic/Indian, through some people who saw him, before I was born were able to tell me that he was part Indian and part Black. I decided to give him a fictional nickname, “The Moor” because that’s how I always imagined him and my vision of him was confirmed based on my family friend’s tale. I then sat down with my notepad and pen and paper in hand and I wrote my five choices.

I’m Spanish. Me llano, Evelyn Rodriguez. Hola!!

I’m Black. ( A medium milky chocolate beauty, curvy buttocks and wide hips don’t lie, lol )

I’m White (My perfil and my mother’s White DNA gave me the right to claim white as my race)

I’m Indian ( My father, who I long ago forgave for abandoning me, gave me his Indian race and features and the right to embrace the Indians a great part of me.)

And I’m Asian, don’t Indians come from Asia. Plus my eyes and fine straight black hair allows me to claim it, probably as technicality.

The result of my project? Well, I got a -B, because according to my professor  I did not understood the project and selecting five races was deviant. But I rather be deviant and get a B than deny my own ethnicity and the races who made the gorgeous me. The    Whole and grounded self in me.

Ain’t I a Woman?

May I say a few words?

“Let’s never forget history; History cannot, should not repeat itself.”

_E.R.L.

Ain’t I a Woman?
By Sojourner Truth

I want to say a few words about this matter. I am a woman’s rights. [sic] I have as much muscle as any man, and can do as much work as any man. I have plowed and reaped and husked and chopped and mowed, and can any man do more than that? I have heard much about the sexes being equal. I can carry as much as any man, and can eat as much too, if I can get it. I am as strong as any man that is now. As for intellect, all I can say is, if a woman have a pint, and a man a quart – why can’t she have her little pint full? You need not be afraid to give us our rights for fear we will take too much, – for we can’t take more than our pint’ll hold. The poor men seems to be all in confusion, and don’t know what to do. Why children, if you have woman’s rights, give it to her and you will feel better. You will have your own rights, and they won’t be so much trouble. I can’t read, but I can hear. I have heard the bible and have learned that Eve caused man to sin. Well, if woman upset the world, do give her a chance to set it right side up again. The Lady has spoken about Jesus, how he never spurned woman from him, and she was right. When Lazarus died, Mary and Martha came to him with faith and love and besought him to raise their brother. And Jesus wept and Lazarus came forth. And how came Jesus into the world? Through God who created him and the woman who bore him. Man, where was your part? But the women are coming up blessed be God and a few of the men are coming up with them. But man is in a tight place, the poor slave is on him, woman is coming on him, he is surely between a hawk and a buzzard.

Another Claire Story; Claire Returns Home

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM! A third gun shot was to confirm the body will remain a body for good.  That’s how Luis “gatillero 1” like to do things. He has learned his modus operandim from “El Sapo” of Columbia’s drug cartel, when he worked for him and his people in Miami in the early 80’s.

Luis del Castillo was not Colombian, he was from Aguas Buenas, Puerto Rico. The day I met him he was sitting at a police station in Miami’s Federal Drug Detention Center  retelling his story and the details of his crimes to a colleague and an old friend Detective Evangelina Mendoza, who had finally arrested him after long years of trying to capture Gatillerito 1, the biggest criminal in the history of the small Caribean US island of Puerto Rico, the biggest drug dealer after Pablo Escobar himself.

Evangelina was of Cuban and part Puerto Rican descent, she had a love hate for Escobar and other big drug lords of her time, but her job came first. And no matter how much money she was offered to stop her investigations against the “South Cartel”  and how many time the handsome del Castillo tried to woo her with expensive gifts and many special and romantic dinner invitations that she only accepted out of curiosity and hook to be close to the man she wanted to put in jail herself.

Luis was mesmerized by Evangelina’s beauty, her hazel green eyes contrasted with her tan skin and long brown curled hair. Even in the moment of his arrest he smiled knowing that she was the one who finally captured him. He could’ve escaped if he wanted but now in his late forties he was ready to face his destiny and retire from a long life of crime.

Evangeline was happy and sad that del Carrillo was facing the law. It was about time. His old boss Escobar was dead. His friend from Mexico and Puerto Rico where fighting over some US drug territories. The Italian mob was disintegrated and mixed with the Cuban and US gangs and he couldn’t trust his life to any of them.

Gatillero 1, uno, as his cronies has dubbed him, felt the Feds were his only hope. The only thing he needed to do to secure a good deal with the Feds and secure the safety of his own life and his families was by becoming a snitch. And with  Escobar dead, or in hiding, his men dead or in jail, and his enemies trying to kill him being as snitch was the least of his troubles.

Evangeline worked undercover to gather all the final evidence they needed against del Carillo, but she couldn’t have done it with the help of  her witness, and former secret military agent Clair Gonzalez. Clair had also being a famous escort who had her own runs with the law and was del Carillo’s exgirlfriend but was now a special witness against him.

Clair watched through the glass window with officer Carl Smith by her side as he was interrogated by Eva’s officers. Gatillero uno laughed like a kid with a new toy as he told in details all of his criminal acts.

He began stealing oranges, and mango, later electronics, selling them at the Flea Market in Mayaguez, where he grew up with only the poor watch of a drunken grandmother.  Gatillero uno soon moved up to house breaking. He 1st got caught at the age of 14 but was soon released and after his grandmother passed away he began working with his uncle who took him to live with him in Miami and taught him how to sell drugs and showed him the ropes of his business making him his first hand and  body.

Del Castillo worked with his uncle but he had a bullet with his name on it. He never forgot how who when he was a teenage boy, he would bit him up, and force him to sleep with prostitutes, or to rob senior’s houses for jewelry and antique herloins.

His uncle David had also forced him to be a mule and traffic his drugs all over Puerto Rico, and Miami, with two other young  teens, one of them being Evangelina’s cousin, Rico Mendoza. Who was found death in a burned car in Puerto Rico.

While in Puerto Rico and working under his uncle’s orders del Castillo and his little gang  would travel in the island by public transportation and bikes, to avoid being traced by the DEA officer who where after their tail for sometime now.

Mendoza was sort of their leader, even though del Castillo imparted his uncle’s rules and punishments if needed, and the tougher kid in the gang. But Rico Mendoza, who later on became an FBI, fed himself was the bravest and ruthless.

He would beat his victims regardless they age or sex, he would laugh like a crazy hyena while he did most of the dealings and did most of the talking with the biggest narcos the rest of the West side of Puerto Rico.

Mendoza desided to go on “business” by himself  and then expanded his trips to North and Central parts of the island. His main “point” of operation was a small old town named Aguas Buenas on the tail of the biggest criminal cities of Caguas, Carolina, and San Juan. It was an easy for Mendoza to expand to the big cities called the whole Metropolitan area once del Castillo went to Miami to work with his uncle.

Del Castillo’s uncle found out that Rico was double playing him and got him killed. Evangeline thought that del Castillo has being the mercenary who killed her cousin, but she couldn’t prove it.

Evangeline have sworn to avenge the death of his cousin and began following del Castillo closely but he was not easy to catch or arrest since he always lived a double life. While in the US. he was a street criminal and a local store attendant, church goer, and husband with a beautiful wife and a kid.

But Evangeline had a secret weapon and she knew that del Castillo loved women more than anything even more than money. So she planed to get information from him by using her looks and by using Clair’s help. Evangelina had saved Clair’s life more than once.

Evangelina was working at the Port Charlotte police dept. when she first met Clair. Clair had being kidnapped and Eva was one of the officers assigned to rescue her and who arrested the criminal’s who kidnapped and tortured Clair. Clair at that time was an important case witness about women’s trafficking by a group of a gang in the U.S. and Europe, mostly Rusians with a big ring in Florida and other cities.

Clair had being their victim before and the woman of one of the gang leaders, she was working secretively with the FBI when she got taken by them, beaten, and tortured and almost killed.

Evangelina and her team found her before she was killed and with a very detail and secret operation they broke in into a storage lot where they were keeping Clair and with an effective attack with pepper gas making the criminal to surrender, defenseless, and finally rescuing Clair.

Thanks to Evangelina, Clair was safe and alive, she was home again. It was her duty now to pay back and help Evangelina and the DEA in their their case against Luis Castillo aka Gatillero 1.

It was the least that she could do to help her friend, the woman who saved her life. Clair was not only grateful she was determined to turn her life around for good. After her kidnapping she swore she would not have any more secrets, she would return to the FBI and she would help in the arrest of el Gatilleto 1 and all of his friends and his enemies too. She knew the right people and had the right connections and she would make them talk and help her. She swore she will turned them all into “sapos” snitches.

Clair was alive and she was back home and this time she was ready to take care of some unfinished business along with Evangelina and she would stop running from her destiny and her new fate.

She is here to capture del Castillo one way or the other. As a Fed and working along with the DEA Clair feels as if she is at home?

But is she? Can she trust the FBI? Is Evangelina her true friend or is she just using her?

TO BE CONTINUED….