LAUREL LEAVES POETRY


Monthly Poetry Magazine



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POET AND POEMS OF THE MONTH


BIANCA BEATRIZ P. YUZON



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Mr. Carlos Gutierrez

Mr. Carlos M. Gutierrez P., born in “Buena Vista del Norte” Diriama, Nicaragua, is called “poet” by his peers in Nicaragua and “colleague” by older scolars when referring to his work in poetry. He writes with expressive, picturesque words that causes his writing to come alive. He writes about true life experiences, and those of others in a way that challenges ideas of fiction and reality. It is Carlos’ philosophy that poetry should be read by all peoples from different ethnic backgrounds and ages. He believes that this is one way to bring people together. This brief bio is taken from Carlos’ biography published in his first book of poetry, Where will she go?  A donde ira?, 50 romantic poems in English and Spanish, published by Trafford Publishing, Victoria, Canada, 2004. To purchase his book, please email sales”trafford.com.

 


 

LÁGRIMAS

 Lágrimas, lágrimas, lágrimas, como las puedo calificar,
si hay tantas lágrimas para contar,
lágrimas para amar, para disimular,
lagrimas para meditar, lágrimas para no pensar.
 Hay lágrimas burlonas, lágrimas que desafían,
lágrimas de aquellos que confían que son productos de amor,
lágrimas de hipocresía lagrimas de dolor,
lágrimas a corto plazo de gozo, lágrimas que mienten.
 Pero eso si, su genero no importa,
todas las lagrimas son hermosas,
y se convierten en rosas,
através del sufrimiento,
para ellas mis pensamientos,
ya que la vida es corta,
solo interpreta sus mensajes,
sus motivos y razones,
y hallarás siempre corazones,
que ya han recorrido tus pasos,
y entre amores y fracasos,
son las lágrimas de amores,
las que más he disfrutado,
porque aunque me han dejado destrozado, 
con ellas he lavado mis penas,
y han dejado mi alma llena,
de un bonito pasado.
¿Te has alguna vez enamorado?


TEARS 

Tears, tears, tears, as I can describe them,
if there are so many tears to count,
tears to love, to disguise,
tears to meditate, tears to not think,
There are mocking tears, challenging tears,
tears from those that trust, they are a product of love,
tears of hypocrisy, tears of pain,
tears of short joy, tears that lie.
Its origin does not matter,
all tears are beautiful,
that become roses,
tested by suffering,
for them my thoughts,
since life is short,
only interprets its messages,
its motives and reasons,
and you always find hearts,
that already have crossed your steps,
and between loves and failures
they are tears of love,
Those that I have most enjoyed,
because even they have left me destroyed,
with them I washed away my pains,
and have left my soul full of a pretty past.
Have you ever been enamored?

by Carlos Gutierrez, from his book Where will she go? A donde ire?


AUTORRETRATO

Soy demasiado viejo,
para sentirme demasiado joven,
soy demasiado joven,
para sentirme demasiado viejo.
Estoy casi siempre correcto,
para sentir que estoy casi equivocado,
estoy casi equivocado,
para sentir que estoy casi correcto.

Estoy casi vivo,
para pensar, que estoy casi muerto,
estoy casi muerto, pero todavía estoy vivo.

No se cuantas veces he nacido,
y no tengo idea, cuantas veces me he ” Enterrado,”
vine a este mundo, y no se como,
tampoco se a donde voy.

El alma va y viene, cuerpos son enterrados,
y algunas veces no hay suerte del todo,
para sumergir tu cuerpo en el lodo,
para purificar tu cuerpo, o para purificar la tierra,
y resucitar como la semilla, en una confundida lluvia de pensamientos.

Yo no creo en ficción tampoco en fantasía,
todo es real, vida, muerte, cuerpo, espíritu, gloria e infierno,
todo es real, como el estar aquí o no estar.


SELF-PORTRAIT

I’m too old to feel that I’m too young.
I’m too young to feel that I’m too old.
I’m almost right to feel I’m almost wrong.
And almost wrong to feel I’m almost right.

I’m almost alive, to say I’m almost dead.
I’m almost dead, but I’m still alive.

I don’t know how many times, I have been born,
and I have no idea how many times I have, buried myself.
I came to this world and I don’t know how:
I don’t even know where my nose is pointing out.

The soul goes. The soul comes. Bodies are buried,
and sometimes there is no luck at all.
You immerse yourself in the soil,
to purify yourself or to purify the earth,
and resurrect like the seed in a confused rain of thoughts.
I don’t believe in fiction or either in fantasy.
Everything is real, life, death, body, spirit, glory and hell.
Everything is real, like being here or not.

by Carlos Gutierrez, from his book Where will she go? A donde ire?


MAR Y ARENA

Veo olas gigantes, mar cielo arena,
caracoles de diamantes y una luna llena,
veo arco iris multicolores,
escucho poemas de amores,
Gaviotas que vuelan a prisa,
siento una suave brisa,
barcos agitando sus velas,
almas ahogando una pena.
Mas se dilatan mis ojos,
al mirar tantas sirenas,
y mi corazón se exalta por los labios rojos,
que descubrieron mis ojos al mirar la arena.
Mujeres que encantan con sus esbeltas figuras,
mujeres que deslumbran al corazón humano,
con sus cuerpos perfectamente moldeados en su fisura,
que no hay duda en su hermosura no hay nada vano.
La verdad que este verano,
me ha dejado conmovido,
pues el mar es mas colorido
porque se ha esmerado el soberano.
Ha traído este verano
miles de mujeres bellas,
cual dulces doncellas,
del tiempo de los arcanos.
Mas las playas en si no son tan bellas,
la hacen bellas las doncellas,
que se broncean en la arena,
a la luz del solo una estella.


SEA AND SAND # 34

I see giant waves, sea, sky and sand,
snails of diamond and a full moon.
I see multi-colored rainbows.
I listen to poems of love.

Gulls that fly in haste.
I feel a smooth breeze.
Boats shaking their sails,
Souls drowning a pain.

But my eyes open wide
when watching many mermaids,
and my heart is exalted by the red lips
that discovered my eyes when I looked to the sand.

Women who enchant with their slender figures,
women who dazzle the human heart,
with their perfectly molded bodies, in their crevice,
that no doubt in their beauty nothing is vain.

It is true that this summer,
has left me affected.
The sea is more colorful
because the Sovereign has prepared carefully.

He has brought this summer,
thousands of beautiful women
as sweet damsels
of the time of the arcane ones.

But the beaches themselves are not so beautiful.
The damsels make them beautiful,
The damsels that are bronzed in the sand,
by the light of the sun or a star.

by Carlos Gutierrez, from his book Where will she go? A donde ire?


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