Infinite Hope

raindrops on the ocean
wild to the touch
craving rays of sunlight
biting down the shore
Hunting my dreams, a whirlpool of lust. I picked up a pen to write lines uncrossed. My skin, burning; my breath, fast; as though burning ember would turn ink to ash.

I. Hope

Hi everyone who’s anyone!
Here is an amazing project by a highly recommended poet, Bittor Duce Zubillaga. Don’t miss out!
Wishing you a wonderful evening!
I. Hope

Bésame y baila conmigo Obra colaborativa englobada en un proyecto de crowdfunding con los autores: Bittor Duce Zubillaga Alejandra Caffa Mara Sánchez Ocharan Hermengaudio González Abreu Enrique Guillén Márquez Sonia Blanco Fernández Abraham Álvarez Mouaffou Hortensia Sánchez-Bretaño Soler Rocío León Flores

Just released, my first illustrated children’s book.
Proceeds will go to Fundación A LA PAR

The Penguin Who Played Field Hockey

The Penguin Who Played Field Hockey Here is the story of how everything that has never been done before is a brave moment away from being achieved. Of course, it gets easier with the right teacher who helps you climb up the big hill. Field hockey is a sport for everyone and just like it happened in the book, female Olympians have o...

lightening its weight
in the arms of the trees
the smile of the moon

I. Hope

📷 Catherine Hyde, Venus, the Moon and Jupiter in the arms of the trees

full of moonlight

the cherry tree
on a moonlit night
on a moonless night

I. Hope

The struggle is real 🤣

a world
forged once, long ago
over the ash and blood
of our ancestors
sacred land
sacred waters
sacred air

at the edge of sunset
drawing fingerprints
two swans

Infinite Hope

📷 Carmina Turiño Belver

Half asleep, dressed in grey on a matching rainy morning, just out of your everyday coffee shop, juggling with all the carry-out coffees for work and an umbrella (colour irrelevant).
Emerging through the protecting halo of the umbrella, getting past the air between my eyes and the puddles on the grey pavement, a stranger’s hand.
“It’s already up,” My eyes opened to the sound of an unfamiliar voice amidst the city’s morning routine.

‘Why is the hand still there? … Oh…’
That internal ‘Oh…’
is the sound
of internal walls
crashing
to the sight
of this ⤵️⤵️⤵️⤵️⤵️⤵️⤵️⤵️⤵️⤵️⤵️⤵️⤵️

(David, it’s beautiful, and it’s up, but where is it? 😅)

“Congratulations! Your child is this week’s star, you get to take the school elf home for the night.”
…

🖖🏻

on the last train home
a moonlight beam
sits beside me

I. Hope

nuit atroce

le ciel, il craque
la mer est fatiguée

la terre, trempée
la route, boueuse
au loin, le phare

éteint

I. Hope

*****

Tr.:

aching night

the sky, it cracks
the sea is tired

the earth, soaked
the road, muddy
in the distance, the lighthouse

off

📷 Riccardo Rea