A moon lit night \ version 2

A full moon penetrates this cool November night.
Its' light whispers  through  naked trees 
and  caress the cold brown earth.
I   feel the ever present Appalachian silhouette resting
in a peaceful familiar  posture Tranquility has engaged
another evening and friends that graze this fertile land lay quietly hearing the darkness call.
A grateful sun has gone to rest and the timbers that shared
their shade slowly close their lights  as the wind stirs a blanket of autumn colored leaves.
A door creeks, two whispers pass hurriedly to find a warm embrace
and at a distance there is  a howling swell of  city sounds,
thankfully  still too far away to break this evening's song.

Dreams

Whispers in my heart awake as my eyes weigh heavy,
Endless roads   search eternally for a way to go.
Are you just my  companion
or a light to show me truth
Are you just one entwined of many
Do you have them too.
Can I hold you dearly  until darkness turns a brighter blue 
or will you vanish suddenly in my darkest hue.

Starlight at Hawthorne Valley Farm

A full moon penetrates this cool November night.
Its'  light whispers  through the naked tree  branches.
as the moon glow caress the cold brown earth.
In the distance I feel the ever present Appalachian silhouette 
resting  in her peaceful familiar  posture.
Tranquility has engaged another evening  and friends that
graze on this fertile land  lay quietly hearing the evenings song. 
A grateful sun has gone to rest and the timbers that shared their shade slowly close their lights one on one.
The wind stirs a blanket of brown crumbling leaves, a door creeks,
two whispers pass hurriedly to find a warm embrace and  at a distance there is  a howling swell of  city sounds, thankfully   still too far away to break this evening's song,

Primavera

sometimes days don't belong to us

Enrique Chiriboga Villaquiran 11.17.10

sometimes days belong to the wind
sometimes days are toys we master and enjoy
sometimes days slip away while we lay in our bed
sometimes days are beginnings and
sometimes days are  ends
sometimes days are winters and
sometimes days are spring.




Rest in peace   Tata  Enrique           

Y Porque Triste

Why ?
Why did you come today?
I was sitting
quiet-
still -
not bothering;
and you found me.
Were you lonely?
Did you think I forgot you?
Don't worry its not that easy to do and it hasn't been so long.
I was happy and now I feel the winters' cold.
Will you always be near is there not a time that you will go away ,
far away.
Please don't answer...,
your silence helps me pretend that you are not here
and I can be happy once again.

Sadness.

Dad

Far, far away you sit. 

Its six  in the morning and I can hear the pages turning, 

You sneak a cigarette so as not to let Silvie worry.

Your type writer is resting while you drink your morning coffee, 

the first of many.

You are surrounded by  a million books, 

each has  a corner that you have  bent where  important thoughts
and words wait for that right moment when they need to be said.

On your desk a few snapshots of  people you love who are not near.

Your window  leans across the length of your desk and faces
the big tree , who like you sits and stares south remembering .
the mountains,   the sky, the friends, the music,the silence.

the innocence  Once there was spring.

Your shirt is tucked half out of your pants , old slippers and a robe
that you wear only because you need  a place to hold your cigarettes ,
your eye-glasses and of course a  book

Your eyes are red and your hair is a mess,your face is filled with lines
and  holes and marks that grace your nose. A fine nose you have
wrote.  Yes it is It is a good place to hold  your head.

Inside  your desk you have neatly filed all the projects you have
dreamed. You told me once,What is a man but not his dreams ,
What is a man but not his word , What is  a man if he doesn't
yell at the wind , What is a man who is not browned by the sun,
What is a man if  he does not  plant a tree.What is a man but
the name that he lays on his heart. Something like that...
you always told me a lot .

In your desk a  folder with memories , 

You.! you have a folder of memories .Funny to find out that you
are a sentimental old man. Who would have thought behind that
disguise; that you hold precious those insignificant prizes.
It is nice to know.

There is a garden that you have started to grow. All these years
I would  have never known that you have the patience of a farmer,
who plants and waits ,who waters and waits, who nurtures and
waits.    who waits to enjoy  the day the seeds break the ground,
who enjoys watching the  vine grow tall and flower a garden and
who enjoys cutting a flower to share with his love that smiles, and waits.

Well Dad, its not exactly a poem and its not exactly a story,
but I guess nothing is exactly how it should be always.
Today is  Father's Day I woke up thinking  how nice it would have
 been to wake up and share a coffee and a chat and  to say
I love you Dad. Soon. But as things are and  not as they should
please  know that I was thinking of you just the way your are.

As always your son and  friend.

(to my dad Marco Antonio Chiriboga Villaquiran on Father's Day)

You

Yesterday he wanted to thank me for
what I have given him but I told him
it wasn't me it was you .

Can't you see no matter what happens,
tomorrow will live because of you.

I am sad because I have to say good bye ,
but I'm  elated by the thought that I know
who you are. That you are part of  who
I am and that he is a part of both of us.

I love you more then these words  can know .
more than I know more then He will ever know.

I guess the best way to say it is that
yesterday,today and tomorrow is all  you,
the way I look at the sun  and the flowers,
the way  I plant a seed,
the way I phrase a word ,the timber of  my voice the color of what I see,
It is  in the  moments that I find beautiful , or when I am silent or brave  or happy or mad.
Its in the way I dream with the moon and cherish the stars and  feel the cold and the rain. Its in the way  I twitch when the first snow drops and shake when the first day of  fall gets cold.It's in the way I  show my love and hold my child. It s in   the way I embrace my brothers and sisters and  its in the way I say hello and fear good bye.
It s all you  and now its all me  and soon enough it will be all him.


( some last thoughts from a son to his mother)

My sweet beautiful Emily

My sweet beautiful Emily.
In her eyes  I see the stars
of an unknown universe.
With her touch I feel the warmth of the brightest sun, even though it is the coldest winter.With her laughter she  vanishes away all the clumsy noise that crowds the air and  fills my heart with music that lets me dance in the whirlwind of my days.
Her dark hair flows teasing the wind and her eyes, her eyes glitter a brilliant radiating stare that is always looking for a new place to rest the beauty of her smile.
My sweet beautiful Emily if God gives gifts then you truly are a present wrapped in beauty laughter and wonder.

(To Emily for being Emily on her 15th birthday)

Where is Marco ?

Where is Marco ?
"Zero latitude Zero minutes Zero Seconds
The middle of the world !!!
Where you can jump and touch the stars,
Where streets are paved of cobble stones
and songs of long ago serenade the air.
Where colorfully painted houses proudly adorn the streets .
and from their majestic balconies perfume the air with the scent of red gardenias
The house are tight ,no space between, each a labyrinth of court yards          
that flow deeper and deeper into mysterious halls protected by big wood doors and eyes of angels that follow you from
the stone built walls .Everywhere churches and squares where people meet.

Their skin rough from the cut of the wind and Carmel color from the
heat of the sun. Their dress, colorful and heavy to protect
them from the mountain air Men and women wear felt hats of different colors
to claim the province from where they come.

The women adorn their necks with gold beads ,that lay on embroidered white shirts.  A smile from them at times shows a missing tooth or a golden smile but they welcome you with a long lost look. These are the indigenous people who still protect the earth and worship the sun. These are the people that remind me of where I came from and where I come . I am in a place where men tip their hats and you kiss everyone hello. No one is a stranger and everyday brings hope.

I'm in a place where you never are alone because snow capped mountains cradle you and the blue sky caresses your soul. Once Incas walked these mountains , here was their kingdom Here is where my grandparents,my father ,my mother were born this is where I call home.
Quito Ecuador."