Saturday, November 21, 2015



I wish all a prosperous, colorful season & enjoy my poem, now in English, as promised:


Your sun rays touch me and feelings
Of sensuality stir in me. My awakening
Isi primordial. I’m the enchanted, ready
to give, to bloom, to surrender.
I’m thirteen, you are the boy on the next
block whose name I never knew. The one
who brought me a flower every morning.
I’m sixteen you are the one who serenaded
me under the weeping willow on the meadow
at the edge of the stream. I’m nineteen, you,
are the husband I always wanted. I’m twenty
a young mother, I watch the world burst
with love in my baby’s eyes. Life goes on.
And now in this new lovely autumn, I say,
Your rays are generous. And my awakening
Is primordial. I’m the enchanted, ready
to give, to bloom, to surrender. Because
   you have arrived in great splendor!


Sunday, November 8, 2015


                     OTOñO   ©
                 by Camincha

Tus rayos de sol me tocan y mi sensualidad
despierta. Mi despertar es primordial. Yo 
soy la embrujada, lista a dar, a florecer. 

Tengo trece años, tú eres el muchacho en la
próxima cuadra cuyo nombre no recuerdo. El
que me traía una flor todas las mañanas.
Tengo diez y seis, tú eres el que me serenó
bajo el sausal en la pradera, al lado del arroyo.
Tengo diez y nueve, tú eres el  esposo que
siempre deseé. Tengo veinte años, soy una
madre joven. Veo el mundo explotar con
amor en los ojos de mi bebé. La vida sigue.
Y en este bello otoño, que gozamos, yo digo,
Mi despertar es primordial. Yo soy la 
embrujada, lista a dar, a florecer. Tus rayos 
son generosos. Y es todo lo que necesito. 
Porque tú has llegado en todo tu esplendor!


Sunday, August 23, 2015


      by Camincha
I don't want to read 
all there is to read. 

Really, I don't. 
All these lovely stories 
that sound so charming.   And 
often end so common place. 
I write them myself.    Of course 
not commonplace, though! 

Really don't want to read other's 
except they beg me.    Like a kitten 
scratching at my ankles 
for attention they beg me to caress their 
lines with my eyes.    To share 
their turn of events.    To turn the page 
and keep up with the story.    I do, and feel 
good afterwards, like when I share 
a cup of coffee with Mary even though 
I should have gone on with the house cleaning. 

Turning the pages I find about foreign 
lands exciting characters, though more 
often than not about people like me who also 
enjoy and survive and hurt and read about 
                         others like me. 


Thursday, August 6, 2015


Miraf'lores, Lima Perú   ©          WORDS  209              LINES 29       

                                       by Camincha

I come down to the Coast that has the seducing curves of my
morena, who sings, Tamales calientiiiiiitos!!!!!!!! Through
the streets of my city on Saturday nights. And the voice
of my cholo with his eagle–beak nose, skin the color of mud,
my color. My Inca whistles at my door. Sharpens my knives and
       scissors big and small.                          Miraflores.

I come down to the Coast. To blue, green eyes. Full bearded
Europeans. The cafe latte skin of my criollas and criollos. To
flat streets that roll to the ocean. To its white foam. To the heat
of its shade. The tears of its garüa. The corner of La Picaronera.
The callejon next door. The European chalet. The Gardens of
La DiagonaL Ice cream from D'onofrio. The church across
Parque Central. The benches of Alameda Pardo. Sunday's
promenades. The British-Peruvian school, blue uniform, hat,
white shirt, red tie. Ferocious exams. Matinees at the Excelsior:
       The cowboy and the girl. .                             Miraflores.

I come down to the Coast. I take El Expresso to go to Lima, El Urbanito
to El  Mercado Central, to La Tiendecita Blanca where our mothers
bought Chantilly Creme to decorate birthday cakes, and still serves
butifarras, paltas rellenas, tamales, empanadas, humitas. Memories jump
through the intersection of' Larco and Pardo, f'ive blocks in diameter,
with a rainbow of flowers in its center. Walk to Schell St. where my school,
San Jorge, used to be, then to Porta St. that saw my growing up years.
El Terrazas Club still a block away, looking forward to its next Carnavales
Festival. Would you like to dance? sounds in my head. Dance? His
eyes full of  adoration. EI Malecón gives me his cliffs that roll to the
Pacific while the scent of jasmine, dahlias, sweet peas, honeysuckle,
       sweet  narcissus, stalk my steps … Miraflores, my Miraflores.


Saturday, March 7, 2015

Be Part of the Solution. Share.

Thnk U 4 giving me Ur attention 4 so long. For a while pls look 4 me in my FB page. Am not saying so good bye, am just changing the address. U can find me:
                                  Camincha Benvenutto  M.A.  
                                   Certified Court Interpreter

                   A Directory of American Poets and Fiction Writers
                                        Camincha—pen name—
                723 Moana Way   Pacifica CA  94044    650 359 0890            


Saturday, February 7, 2015

Con el Pasar del Tiempo.

     Con el Pasar del Tiempo   translation of   As Time Goes By
2 all that hv ?¿¿¿¿? re Con el Pasar del Tiempo. No. Con el Pasar del Tiempo is not circling the globe in Amazon, yet. But very close as just finished editing the official PROOF.

Q)  Meantime, who is this talking 2 Mimi? Her boyfriend, her brother, her father, her……….?
    Mimi  recordó sus palabras de despedida cuando la abrazó: Has sido el gran amor de mi vida. Dios no ha querido que estemos juntos.
    Etienne también había recibido una carta de—palabras cáusticas—expresando su desapruebo, su desilusión.
    Y ellos ni siquiera saben…Etienne murmuro, palideciendo.
    Mimi suspiró. Sus ojos se llenaron de lágrimas.

Tuesday, January 27, 2015

Share Share Share

On my mind, a warning, DO NOT JAYWALK in SF, police officers handing out tickets 2 trespassers of $133. & UP. Alternatives 2 COLLEGE, which–I hv always known– is NOT 4 everyone. Check out practical, short vocational courses. I also suggest to employers, bring back, TRAINEES, getting paid, while learning on the job. RITE AID, in Pacifica, Linda Mar shopping center DESSERT, 2 scoops of delicious ice cream 4 only $1.69! Best price in hair care, shampoo, cut & dry: $18. Sasoon Academy in San Francisco 359 Sutter St. Other cities also hv similar services. Look for the“Academies or Schools” in cosmetology. EAT on $1. a plate: from any Safeway's ––big stores, more selections–– FROZEN FOOD SECTION. Excellent selections of ON SALE from different brands. Main courses, desserts etc. And NO, 2 answer Ur ¿¿??s U don;t need a MICROWAVE. U can cook them on regular stoves. Follow instructions on package or bags.

Tuesday, January 20, 2015

Coming 2 Ur area.

Delighted 2 tell U the translation of As Time Goes By will b published very soon. I'll give U advance notice so U can
preorder, get the most for your money. Meantime refresh your memory reading it in English.

Friday, January 16, 2015

Ohhhhhhhhhh! The cookies. And advance

notice: As Time Goes By now coming out as Con el Pasar del tiempo.  Hmmmm what FUN!

The Corner Store, Where the cookies came in two sizes…

                      Camincha  ©            Fiction 502 words.

The corner grocery store of Alba’s childhood, she recalls being nine, was very special. It took the role of today’s Community Service Centers: If you were not home when a package was delivered, they would accept it, hold it for you. They would take messages. They would let you know when that special brand you were waiting for came in. If you didn’t have a phone they would let you use theirs. Some charged una peseta, twenty cents, or if you were a regular they would just let you borrow it. Saying, “No. No charge for you,” and slide back the peseta you had placed on the counter perhaps adding with a smile, “you are a preferred customer.”

Alba’s grocery store at corner of Porta and San Martin in Miraflores, same block as her house, was owned, like most small grocery stores in the area, by Chinese. Two Chinese men. Both tall, good-looking. One was called Lin Lin. Alba never knew if that was his real name or not. She just accepted it, the way children take some things for granted. Lin Lin was friendly, helpful to his clients. He smiled whenever he saw Alba. Often he saw her from his post, sitting behind the counter, before she saw him. As she approached all of a sudden, his eyes would be visible, then his smile as he rose from his chair.

Lin Lin’s store was spacious, clean, with a large counter and a high ceiling. Its walls were lined with drawers. Little drawers. Large drawers. They went all the way up and down the walls. The drawers contained all kinds of merchandise. On one side, they held a well-organized rainbow of threads, ribbons, small pieces of yardage. Next needles, thimbles, measuring tapes. Another group held writing paper, pencils, erasers of all shapes, sizes and colors. An entire side had make-up, tiny perfume bottles and First Aid items. Other drawers held rice, all kinds of beans, noodles, wheat, coffee, tea. But the drawers Alba always zeroed in on were the ones that held the cookies.

In fact that was why this grocery store was so very special to her because of the cookies that were sold there: butter cookies. Flat. They were plain on one side and on the other, they had a clown’s face outlined in brown. They came in two sizes, one the size of una peseta, twenty cents, the others the size of a silver sol, un sol de plata. Cookies so thin that she wondered how they held their shape. When she put them in her mouth they felt sturdy. Ah! but soon they cracked into tiny, little pieces and their delicious flavor spread through out Alba’s slim, little body.  

And she did get a lot of cookies for one or two cents since Lin Lin was most generous. He measured the sale with his hand. And to Alba’s delight  he had a large hand with long fingers.