Poema: La Tumba del Príncipe Connell | historias de un embrujo hermoso… surrealistas

por Luis S. González-Acevedo

IV

La Tumba del Príncipe Connell

En aquel bosque mortuorio de tu Isla Esmeralda,
–tú sabes cuál– en la colina con vistas a la pradera,
tus ojos menguantes y anhelante tristeza
serán aliviados por piedras mágicas
que cantan ecos megalíticos por sus grietas.
Allí, tu pasado inmemorial descansará.

El alma de Taína,
las olas de Poseidón cabalgará.
La princesa caribeña montará
con valentía las crestas del mar.
Deseándote…
Amándote…

Tumba del Príncipe Connell, Taína por ti vendrá.


–La versión en inglés de La Historia Poética del Amor Feroz y Atlántico de La Princesa Taína y el Príncipe Connell aparecerá en la publicación de mi novela stories of a beautiful haunting… surreal en abril del año 2021–

–Cuando traduzca stories of a beautiful haunting… surreal al español dentro de 2 años, La Historia Poética del Amor Feroz y Atlántico de La Princesa Taína y el Príncipe Connell aparecerá en su publicación, historias de un embrujo hermoso… surrealistas en abril del año 2022–


Poem: Prince Connell’s Grave | stories of a beautiful haunting… surreal

by Luis S. González-Acevedo

IV

Prince Connell’s Grave

Surrounded by the Emerald’s ancient forest,
on a hill overlooking fields and meadows,
your dying breath, fainting eyes and longing sorrows
will be soothed by magic stones singing megalithic echoes from their clefts.
Among the stones, your immemorial past will rest.

Taína’s soul will crest upon Poseidon’s wave.
The Caribbean princess shall ride the ocean’s waters. Brave!
In lust for you…
In love with you…
In search of her Prince Connell’s Grave.


–The Poetic Story of Princess Taína & Prince Connell’s Wild Atlantic Love will be featured in my novel stories of a beautiful haunting… surreal in April of 2021–


Poema: El Regreso a la Vía Atlántica Salvaje | historias de un embrujo hermoso… surrealistas

Cliffs of Moher, Condado Clare, Irlanda

por Luis S. González-Acevedo

III

El Regreso a la Vía Atlántica Salvaje

Como todo en la vida, mi Señor de Leitrim,
tu aventura tendrá fin.
El llamado llegará para que regreses
a la Vía Atlántica Salvaje y el océano atravieses.

Navegarás hacia Éire
sufriendo la tortura del mar.
Vientos del oeste te impulsarán
hacia Kiltyclogher,
donde día tras día llorarás:
“¿Cómo sobreviviré sin su amor?”
y el llanto de la Princesa en su dolor será:
“Eres mío, Connell. ¿Cómo soportaré esta vida?”

Las lluvias de Irlanda
son de Connell, sus lágrimas fantasmales.
Los huracanes caribeños son las angustias tropicales
de los años solitarios de Taína.

La princesa inscribió su dolor,
lujuria y amor
con petroglifos en La Piedra Escrita,
la piedra del Cacique Hayuya,
mientras soñaba con MacNean Upper, las aguas
del Príncipe Connell e Irlanda.

Pero…

Al pasar el tiempo,
llegó su más grande temor con acelerado tempo…


–La versión en inglés de La Historia Poética del Amor Feroz y Atlántico de La Princesa Taína y el Príncipe Connell aparecerá en la publicación de mi novela stories of a beautiful haunting… surreal en abril del año 2021–

–Cuando traduzca stories of a beautiful haunting… surreal al español dentro de 2 años, La Historia Poética del Amor Feroz y Atlántico de La Princesa Taína y el Príncipe Connell aparecerá en su publicación, historias de un embrujo hermoso… surrealistas en abril del año 2022–


Poema: Cruza nuestra Isla Esmeralda | historias de un embrujo hermoso… surrealistas

Cerca de Ceide Fields, Condado Mayo, Irlanda

por Luis S. González-Acevedo

I

Cruza nuestra Isla Esmeralda

Cruza nuestra Isla Esmeralda con tu poderosa hueste,

mi príncipe de Corracloona, para que los vientos del este

 –Connell– te lleven a la ribera.

Tendrás que hacerle guerra al rugir del océano bravo y frío

para que orgulloso el Señor de Leitrim desembarque en sus costas.

Ábrete paso bruscamente por los bosques de Puerto Rico

mientras las lluvias punzantes de Taína

ahogan tu alma irlandesa bajo su tierno descanso

y te guían hacia el centro de su isla.

Allí, la Princesa te obligará a rendir la angustia

de un corazón por amor tan afligido.


–La versión en inglés de La Historia Poética del Amor Feroz y Atlántico de La Princesa Taína y el Príncipe Connell aparecerá en la publicación de mi novela stories of a beautiful haunting… surreal en abril del año 2021–

–Cuando traduzca stories of a beautiful haunting… surreal al español dentro de 2 años, La Historia Poética del Amor Feroz y Atlántico de La Princesa Taína y el Príncipe Connell aparecerá en su publicación, historias de un embrujo hermoso… surrealistas en abril del año 2022–


María’s Island (short story) | Post-Hurricane Flash Fiction

María’s Island” will appear in a collection of poems & short stories by Luis S. González-Acevedo (release: 2019-2020)DSC_0055


 

María’s Island

hurricane-earth-satellite-tracking-71116.jpegAnton Cortázar Toledo quivers in front of the urinal, steps back, and pulls on the cold lever. Waters rush down its porcelain back, disturbing the fresh blot of yellow like a cleansing waterfall.

“Boarding for Flight 920 to Orlando will begin shortly. Please have your boarding pass ready.”

Anton moves quickly toward the lavatory. After wetting his hands with lukewarm water, he positions them under the automatic soap dispenser, wets again, and rubs vigorously. The sight of the baptismal liquid washing away the tainted suds intrigues him.

The hand drier starts automatically as his fingers slide steadily back and forth below the vent. “Good as new,” he celebrates under his breath.

“Good afternoon,” says the stranger stepping up to dry his hands.

“Buenas tardes,” Anton replies in native Spanish.

The man leans in a little, as if confused, but eventually smiles and nods.

“Good afternoon,” Anton adds –in English– as he walks away.

As he steps out of the restroom, he can’t help but notice the digital clock with bright numbers on the wall –an acute awareness of time confronts him.

Near the gate, passengers continue to line up as Anton moves toward the end of the line.

He greets an approaching American couple with familiar warmth. They glance at him with little interest, saying nothing. Red-cheeked, he moves forward with the line, tugging along his carry-on.

 

| | |

 

Anton sits on the floor, next to his luggage. He pulls out a puzzle, a souvenir he picked up near Laguna del Condado. The puzzle conjures the smell of the lagoon’s troubled waters. He carefully selects a piece from the box and lays it over a previously assembled cluster. It seems right, but doesn’t settle perfectly. It’s slightly forced. He scatters the remaining pieces but doesn’t find one that’s more fitting. Given the piece’s shape and colors, it appears to be the only possibility. He presses gently, again, but the cluster doesn’t give naturally. Steam rises from within, and his chest inflates and deflates precipitously. His temples play a soft rhythm.

Groping himself with uncertainty, Anton pulls out a phone from his blazer’s inner pocket. No emails. No texts. No voicemails. The empty inboxes don’t surprise him, but he’s disappointed that he hasn’t heard back on the promotion. He clears his head, refocusing…

The woman standing nearby holds him captive with her mere existence. She sobs delicately. Silently… Her shoulders shimmy.

“She must be dear to someone,” he thinks.

“Someone staying?”

“Someone waiting?”

Her head sinks. His eyes are locked. He studies her meticulously, intensifying the quest for truth. His eyes pause briefly on the tag attached to the oversized bag between her elbow and torso, “María C. Burgos García.” She stands hunched, face drawn to the floor while cupping her mouth and nose with a trembling hand.

María’s breathing hops as she tries to catch her breath between private sobs. These vital moments unfold under Anton’s microscope…

“She’s torn,” he concludes.

“She weighs what she leaves behind against what awaits.”

“Who? What does she leave behind?”

“What? Who claims her in Orlando?”

“Should she stay?”

“Go?”

“Only she knows.”

 

| | |

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, boarding for Flight 920 to Orlando has been delayed. Please stand by for further instructions.”

Some passengers scatter about, but María remains rooted. She keeps to herself, eyes fixed on the cinematic images reflected from the waxed floor. Anton sits on the seat closest to his place in line. From there, he witnesses the wet trails coming to life on her face.

Anton’s eyes shift to his phone, not wanting to be too obvious with his observations. He taps a random app and skims quickly through a myriad of senseless posts.

María reignites his interest.

Gazing surreptitiously at her, he thinks: “Go or stay?”

Anton stares pensively at the gate.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we will begin boarding Flight 920 to Orlando.”

Turning away from the gate, his eyes rush down the long white corridor, cleansing his soul as they run. They’re drawn to Avenida Ashford by the lagoon.

His phone chimes. He checks his email:

 

“From: Stewart, Jack

To: Cortazar-Toledo, Anton; Frustrada, Jane; Mizphits, Jared

Date: Tuesday, September 19, 2017

 

Anton, Jane, Jared,

I just received news that you have been promoted.

Congratulations!!!

Jack Stewart

Director, Human Resources”

 

“Stay or go?” he asks himself, as if demanding an answer.

María looks back at him with smiling, brown eyes as she quickly retraces her steps.

“She’s choosing to stay,” he says with amusement and some emotion –his voice breaking. The small crowd nearby stares at him –bewildered.

His breathing settles. He’s relieved and at peace, maybe for the first time in decades. He understands. He understands her…  Anton taps [delete].

Tossing his boarding pass into the trash on his way down the corridor, he follows María toward any dreamful possibilities floating in his lagoon.

–by Luis S. González-Acevedo