Little Doubts · by Lady Dosis

Rise from the seeds
and let your pretty
little
doubts
suspend
into the belly
of the universe


Voices of the Earth · by Lord Dosis

Your voice,
only one of the infinite voices of Life
Listen to all life
Some speak in dreams
Listen to all life
Some speak with silence
Your voice,
only one of seven billion human voices

Three hundred thousand human languages
Throughout time
all at once
Expand, we hear voices of animals
What do they say
What do their dreams say
Expand, we hear voices of plants,
the trees
The insects
The mountains
The lakes
The waters
Voices of the Earth
Ancestral spirits of all life
Future spirits of all life
A chorus of the mystical magical
And we all grow millions of ears, antennae,
nerve endings and beginnings
to listen to all, to all, to all the voices of the Earth
And we all listen all at once
Listen to the Earth sing
Listen to the Earth sing
Listen to the Earth sing


Turquoise Whale · by Lord Dosis

magic bring
turquoise spring
weaves through the ocean

magic shiver
turquoise river
weaves through the sea

magic fin
turquoise skin
weaves through the ocean

magic potion
turquoise ocean
weaves through the sea


Song at Sunset · by Walt Whitman

SPLENDOR of ended day floating and filling me,
Hour prophetic, hour resuming the past,
Inflating my throat, you divine average,
You earth and life till the last ray gleams I sing.

Open mouth of my soul uttering gladness,
Eyes of my soul seeing perfection,
Natural life of me faithfully praising things,
Corroborating forever the triumph of things.

Illustrious every one!
Illustrious what we name space, sphere of unnumber'd spirits,
Illustrious the mystery of motion in all beings, even the tiniest
insect,
Illustrious the attribute of speech, the senses, the body,
Illustrious the passing light—illustrious the pale reflection on the
new moon in the western sky,
Illustrious whatever I see or hear or touch, to the last.

Good in all,
In the satisfaction and aplomb of animals,
In the annual return of the seasons,
In the hilarity of youth,
In the strength and flush of manhood,
In the grandeur and exquisiteness of old age,
In the superb vistas of death.

Wonderful to depart!
Wonderful to be here!
The heart, to jet the all-alike and innocent blood!
To breathe the air, how delicious!
To speak—to walk—to seize something by the hand!
To prepare for sleep, for bed, to look on my rose-color'd flesh!
To be conscious of my body, so satisfied, so large!
To be this incredible God I am!
To have gone forth among other Gods, these men and women I
love.

Wonderful how I celebrate you and myself!
How my thoughts play subtly at the spectacles around!
How the clouds pass silently overhead!
How the earth darts on and on! and how the sun, moon, stars,
dart on and on!
How the water sports and sings! (surely it is alive!)
How the trees rise and stand up, with strong trunks, with branches
and leaves!
(Surely there is something more in each of the trees, some living
soul.)

O amazement of things—even the least particle!
O spirituality of things!
O strain musical flowing through ages and continents, now reaching
me and America!
I take your strong chords, intersperse them, and cheerfully pass
them forward.

I too carol the sun, usher'd or at noon, or as now, setting,
I too throb to the brain and beauty of the earth and of all the
growths of the earth,
I too have felt the resistless call of myself.

As I steam'd down the Mississippi,
As I wander'd over the prairies,
As I have lived, as I have look'd through my windows my eyes,
As I went forth in the morning, as I beheld the light breaking in
the east,

As I bathed on the beach of the Eastern Sea, and again on the
beach of the Western Sea,
As I roam'd the streets of inland Chicago, whatever streets I have
roam'd,
Or cities or silent woods, or even amid the sights of war,
Wherever I have been I have charged myself with contentment
and triumph.

I sing to the last the equalities modern or old,
I sing the endless finalés of things,
I say Nature continues, glory continues,
I praise with electric voice,
For I do not see one imperfection in the universe,
And I do not see one cause or result lamentable at last in the
universe.

O setting sun! though the time has come,
I still warble under you, if none else does, unmitigated adoration.


elation · by Lady Dosis

we have become
the flower
that we've always dreamed we’d be
forever in the
dance
forever in the
perfect
pinecone frenzy of
elation


Voice of the Earth - or Protoplasm · by Adrian Arias

Cuando entro en el río
mi pequeño cuerpo tiembla
sé que estoy vivo
y no pueden los dioses arrebatarme esa sensación.

La historia de la creación aún no me considera un ser
porque soy una mezcla de sonidos de muchos lugares
una colección de aromas sin fruto
un arrebato de luces dispersas en el aire.

Pero ya sabemos como son los que escriben la historia
quieren catalogar los estornudos de los reyes
cuando no pueden explicar el origen de las raíces
y no consideran la migración de las mariposas un acto histórico.

A veces parezco un insecto a veces un enorme mamífero
me gusta mucho ser el aleteo de una ave y el silencio de una roca
comer del cielo su luz
y del tiempo la humedad.

Mi pequeño cuerpo no tiene límites
porque se transforma a cada instante
y nunca se sabe cuando empiezo
o cuando termino.

A veces soy hierba creciendo en la vera del camino
a veces soy montaña
soy pez y a la vez el agua
soy el clima y el silencio.

Mi cuerpo es abismo y tierra firme
soy el significado soy lo desconocido
fluyo entre tus ojos tus dedos tus labios
cuando tienes sed bebes de mi.

Cuando lloras por la belleza de un árbol soy tus lágrimas
y al mismo tiempo soy las venas del árbol
soy tu sangre y la hormiga
que no te has dado cuenta pasea por tu mejilla.

Soy la luz que te hace parpadear
el zumbido de cada color
la semilla invisible
que germina en todas partes.

Soy la pregunta sin respuesta
soy el sueño que no recuerdas
y al despertar
soy el aroma a tierra que sientes a tu alrededor

Y a lo lejos el murmullo del río
es mi pequeño cuerpo que tiembla cuando entra en él
porque estoy vivo
igual que tu.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

English translation by Adrian Arias

When I enter the river
my small body trembles
I know I'm alive
and the gods can't snatch that feeling from me.

The history of creation doesn't yet consider me a being
because I am a mixture of sounds from many places
a collection of fruitless aromas
an outburst of lights scattered in the air.

But we already know how those who write history are
they want to catalog the sneezes of the kings
when they can't explain the origin of the roots
and don't consider the migration of butterflies a historical act.

Sometimes I look like an insect sometimes a huge mammal
I really like being the flutter of a bird and the silence of a rock
eat from the sky its light
and of time the humidity.

My small body has no limits
because it is transformed at every moment
and you never know when I start
or when I finish.

Sometimes I am grass growing on the side of the road
sometimes I am a mountain
I am a fish and at the same time the water
I am the weather and the silence.

My body is abyss and firm ground
I am the meaning I am the unknown
I flow between your eyes your fingers your lips
when you are thirsty you drink from me.

When you cry for the beauty of a tree, I am your tears
and at the same time I am the veins of the tree
I am your blood and the ant
that you have not noticed, walk down your cheek.

I am the light that makes you blink
the buzz of each color
the invisible seed
that germinates everywhere.

I am the unanswered question
I am the dream you don't remember
and upon awakening
I am the smell of earth that you feel around you.

And in the distance the murmur of the river
It is my small body that trembles when it enters it
because I'm alive
Like you.


Voices of Earth · by Archibald Lampman

We have not heard the music of the spheres,
The song of star to star, but there are sounds
More deep than human joy and human tears,
That Nature uses in her common rounds;
The fall of streams, the cry of winds that strain
The oak, the roaring of the sea's surge,
Might of thunder breaking afar off, or rain
That falls by minutes in the summer night.
These are the voices of earth's secret soul,
Uttering the mystery from which she came.
To him who hears them grief beyond control,
Or joy inscrutable without a name,
Wakes in his heart thoughts bedded there, impearled,
Before the birth and making of the world.