Poem 4 by Freddy José Villanes Tovar.

4

Life, lies, love.

Could be no more.

Life, lies, love.

All I can stand.

Life

(Mine)

lies

(Mine)

Love

(Mine too)

Can´t stand

anymore.

¿Do you?

Poem 2 by Freddy José Villanes Tovar.

2

I love what I love

I could pretend more:

look for

every where

But it´s not me.

(Could be someone I used to be in the past)

But I love you now

and enough

or little

it´s mine.

As Blanquita rests (and I think of her) by Freddy José Villanes Tovar.

 Blanquita (mom) rests laying on her bed:

Her hands have the color of the sand

(I know how to count the days)

(I know and I´ve learned

that you don´t love me)

(I know when you make a wound

in my side and laugh)

(but I love you)

(because you smell good...

because you are pretty..

because you speak of sparrows

and butterflies)

(But above all I´ve said, because I´m

just a fool..

a big one..who endure you)

Let´s forget it..(it´s so hot in the city and smells gasoline everywhere)

Here I am remebering you..

"Hitting" my head on the wall because I did not tell you

(among other things)

what you know that I want from you.

It´s late: Dad scapes out to the streets (he says he goes for shopping

but Blanquita and I know

the color of nostalgia

in the afternoon

as the years pass by)

I love you (I´m goin to do it always beacause I have nothing else to do

and because the life has the same color of your eyes -black-and because

the world is made of something that the common people calls "imposibles" and

I call "misteries")

Good bye, Miss "misteries"

keep the perfume of your body,

take to others the fragance of your nights

and think a little bit in this "adventurer"

(Mom is silent, unbelievable; but she´s not sleeping;

just resting as giving me time to write this...)

Lord (by Freddy José Villanes Tovar)

Don´t know why


I found Him

Mom pushed me some way into

But He did all the rest.

Conceited, I failed

once and more,

Years and years

I did not learn.

Until now:

Mom's ill..

Dad's old.

I´ll be lone soon.

I did not take precautions about it.

But God?

What is..Who is...How?

Again and again I wondered and wondered

until one night

when mother could not fall asleep (and it was too late)

I whispered softly:

"Please, My God, help me, help my mother, I´m yours"

And it happened:

He appeared ...

"Lord, God...."

I´m your child,

we all are...

And then I did not have to look for anything anymore:

He´s come

To stay...

(It's Sunday

Sun shines

I write

You read

All is connected.)

My love is with you.

TRUE LOVE, by Freddy José Villanes Tovar

She does not know English. She speaks French: the lovely language of artists and writers. And I love her. Remember, Seven, I told you I fell out of love with her. It was a lie. I still love her and it will be forever. Eliberto has told me that it is a platonic one but the word does not correspond to what I feel. I prefer the word "pure". Sex is not important. It sounds weird, but it was always that way. All I want is to be with her, share our lives, live our ways together.¿Strange? I´m more, but not more rare than those who really know for sure the meaning of love. I´m mad but not wrong. Well, for those who think I am nuts, keep on thinking so. Perhaps only nuts love completely in a way nobody else does. Why do I say this today?...You and her will find it out soon. I´m not crazy or insane. I was. Now I´m just one who loves. (Must be the Greenhouse effect, everybody is doing things nobody did ever) I love you. Good Night

22.03.2014, by Freddy José Villanes Tovar

Life, by Freddy José Villanes Tovar,

All my life is this house

You may say like others "Home"

Inside I´ve been a poet, a singer, a dancer.

But I´m a little bit tired of so wonderful things

and I just want to be a man.

Have a woman, children, job, go to work, come back

home and rest.

My life is not so boring:

I have friends in the internet,

in the neighborhood,

and I pray Lord every time I can.

(I´m not complaining)

Life is a gift, a present by itself.

I know that.

But I want more.

(Don´t know why but I remembering "Oliver Twist" by Dickens).

March 21st 2014,  by Freddy José Villanes Tovar, from Santa Anita, Lima Perú

The writer, by Freddy José Villanes Tovar, from Santa Anita, Lima Perú

I´m not a writer but I do that: write.

Sometimes I can feel like some of them.

Some of my friends think I´m some of them.

But I don´t.

Writing is only the only way I have to do now what I love most: sharing.

Others use so complicated words I used to use too.

I do not do that anymore.

Let me tell you something:

My mother did not like me to do this.

"Things of lazy people. What kind of work can be that: writing?"

Mother is wise (like all).

But Lord is most.

I have to invent a new word for what I do or express it in another language.

Would you help me ?

Time is over and I have to do other things.

Mom is sleeping. A spanish pop ballad sounds on the radio.

Dad waits to go to bed.

It´s a pleasure to do this, but I have to leave.

March 21st 2014,  by Freddy José Villanes Tovar, from Santa Anita, Lima Perú

About Freddy José Villanes Tovar, from Santa Anita, Lima Perú

Freddy José Villanes Tovar. Born in Huariaca, Pasco, Pasco (PERÜ) in 1963 (August 27th).Primary School in Lima, La Oroya, Huánuco and Lima. Highschool in Lima "CEP. Nuestra Señora de la Merced". Studies in Law not concluded, English Language and Oratory. My Parents: Abelardo Villanes Palacios (Surgeon) and Blanca Tovar Masgos (Nursing Auxiliary) "VERBO NUEVO" Oratory Club Founder. "SPEAK OUT" Club Founder

MEET THE AFRICAN PRESIDENT,COURTSEY OF THE PENDING ELECTIONS, by Edward Dzonze

We have just been granted a glimpse of His Excellency the African president, riding through the town on a tortoise' back, dishing out brand new notes from the bank. We have been granted a glimpse courtesy of a pending election pitying the poet and the poem on bringing the president to the people. From down the road He smiles and waves at the kids starring at him through the window. So serious are his guards who cannot see him going mad demanding to have coffee with me in my residency, Declaring his cause as pretty much imminent. Having coffee with a daring poet who brought him to the streets without his consent. Riding through past traitors and dissidents unhurt, past patriots and party activists without seeing them saluting. The African president vowed he will never leave my residence without meeting the wordsmith himself. Dont deny it when I say I am a realist because if the poem cant invite him here dont expect the poet to do so anytime soon, he knows pretty much the president moves in a motorcade. Edward Dzonze. 12/03/14

ON MOTHER'S DAY, by Edward Dzonze

Here is to the breasts my father fondled with affection before becoming the only source of food I knew.

Here is to the lips that gave me the first kiss, the same lips that taught me to say when I want to pee. Here is to the hip that gave me a sure grip while strapped tight on her back.

Here is to the woman who endured the labour pains for me to breath this air and have blood flowing in my veins.

Here is to a mother who chose not to abort so that we can be living testimonies of her unfailing love.

Here is to you on a mothers' day.

Copyright ©2014 Edward Dzonze 08/03/14

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