AUTUMN

   

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

                AUTUMN

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.

                      AUTUMN

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!

                      AUTUMN.

OTOñO

                     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. 

                      OTOñO

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!

                        OTOñO

READING ©

READING   ©

      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. 

                                END

Miraflores

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.

                                                          END

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—

                                                             camincha@comcast.net

                723 Moana Way   Pacifica CA  94044    650 359 0890            

                                  caminchabenvenutto.com

                                                   FB  

                                                  

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.

Share Share Share

BE PART of the SOLUTION, 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.

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.

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. 

                                                                         END