diumenge, 26 de febrer de 2017


I'm going to add the notches
cleft in the stone
to count the space between
dead hours
and pursue the hollow of those others ...
whose are living in the shade
of the open distances

And I will spy in the days ...
those many other empty distances
until to hear the disassemble words
when the crash the silence calms
and the helpless lips of absence ...
fall  sick of  language

©  Ophelia riu  2017

dijous, 15 de desembre de 2016


c  o  r  e

Don’t  ask me
by the force that burns
and propagates me,

Don’t  ask me
the secret of magma
which ascends the ducts
of  lacerated  skin [...]

From the body’s core
sprouting stems are born
and perforates  epithelia
and primary vortex

From the body’s core
ascends the bruise,
that vampire shadow
biting where it deepens
in the habit of inertia:

©  Ophelia riu  2016

dimarts, 13 de desembre de 2016

I doubt[...]

I doubt[...]

[...] and between the bittersweet hybrid of the hours
I doubted
if it's when you steal me the most
that I understand the meaning
that nuance that brings the truth
sewn in the shadow of secrecy,
that flattery word,
that plans to the edge
a stalking in claw
to tear the temples
and oppresses and burns
as a forgetfulness
and it's a knife
it gets cold
on all the urgency
and on anatomy dissection
of my delirium

Among the bittersweet hybrid of the hours
“I hesitated”, I say
because when you steal me
it's when I most yearn[...]

©  Ophelia riu  2016

diumenge, 11 de desembre de 2016

inaudible pearls…

inaudible  pearls…

when we were wild[…]
and walked
wrapped in a cruel beauty
night crescent
those time inaudible pearls
they make this a smooth road construction

and stay full
tapes tears
balancing  the blue star
and pentagram
the song of the sirens

when we were wild[…]
clusters of golden age
and drawing
with hexagonal ice’s calligraphy

©  Ophelia riu  2016

dimarts, 19 d’abril de 2016

polar birds

polar     birds


nothing was really a cruel ...

wandering albatrosses looked at me
hum along
"Scarborought  Fair"

but I was not looking to Batman
and I never found Uriel
only the glacial pulsion
arms in cross of the crazy harlequin
who stole
Sarah Guyard-Guillot  wings

patrolling ...
a cliff
wounded by light

no crime under the pillow
overshadowing the skylight:

compassion was not a toxic substance ...

and only in the unlikely territory
of the Polar Bird

withered lightning
the wave boreal

-© carmina ral 2016 (Ophelia riu)

dilluns, 15 de febrer de 2016

with - tact

with - tact

how to hoist
through the veins

             [of the space
blurred physiognomy
of my body,
there are days

              [when sketch
my pieces,
and belay...
the invisible thread
the meeting,
in a sort of point
fine tunning,
to prevent flee
of the verses,
and achieve,

                [as you say,
"keep in touch"
30,000 kilometers
                    [of touch.

dilluns, 25 de gener de 2016



Sitting on the clothesline,
among my washed skirts
I have sung with your voice ...
digress from ashes, rain, sex,
and our tracks
lost in Japan,
my dark circles ... that you read
and others not,
Salmon that show through top,
a sock falls flat
It prowls made Gran Vía
burned by the sun,
I think bubbles
follow me where I walk,
scattered through the heavens,
and verses where I burn ...
then think Junzaburu
walking among cherry trees,
and I never get tired of being game,
take pictures of your wings
Cam made of fingers.

-© Carmina Ral 2016