13 Nov 2011


Some years ago I lived one of the magic moments of my life in Port Vendrès, a town located in the South of France, close to Coilloure (where poet Antonio Machado died in 1939) and to the Spanish border. It's a small town, in the seaside, with nice views and a peaceful atmosphere. A wonderful place to love and to be loved.


In the morning, looking out from the balcony,
watching the lights of the bay,
the fishing boats moored, the masts
tearing the sky that is spying us
from the rounded island of the moon.
Your head rests on my shoulder, your hand
playing with my lips, printing
a new desire for existence, confirming
the response of a free love and sincere
naked as our spirit
which aims to mature like a fine wine.
Covered by this seascape
I feel your embrace in the heat of the moment
the vertigo of this inner journey has just begun,
this desire to live together and hourly
the day that gives us the passion
of lovers, with the miracle
of this shared sea
that pulls all loneliness
and want to slip from our skin,
as the dawn
of every Sunday.

José Luis García Herrera

6 Nov 2011


Driving to sadness

Driving to the nowhere land
I miss your hand in my shoulder,
your smile lighting the night darker
and the way as you make it fun.

Driving to the sad end of my life
I cry for all the good times we live
crossing the years as one heart
that beats much stronger than the sun.

Driving to the city of loneliness
I write my last poem with wounded lips,
with the taste of your longed kisses
walking by the fields of my cheeks.

Driving to the avenue of a cold december
I feel that I will die under the moonlight,
that never and ever I could find
the best woman in love I can remember.

by José Luis García Herrera

4 Nov 2011


Every time I listen the song "Working class hero", sung by Cindy Lauper in John Lennon's Tribute, a great emotion overwhelms me, with the memory in my heart of our bodies tight, longing for love and desire. This is the poem, the first poem to open this blog, I wrote thinking in those moments so wonderful.


I'd like loving you
with same passion as Cindy Lauper
sang Working Class Hero
in Lennon's Tribute.
Wishing that my hands touch your skin
like a glove of silk, like a voice
crossing all the skies
to pray for the miracle of being your man.

I'd like kissing you
with same devotion as Cindy Lauper
put in every word, in every step
to the real inspiration for living.
Wishing that my lips leave in your neck
a verse to be repeated at any moment,
at any time I need to remember
how hard is living far from you.

I'd like making love to you
with same energy as Cindy Lauper
left on the stage:
delivering soul in every note.
Wishing that my chest is the fortress
where you feel loved and saved,
where you cry of happiness
when Cindy Lauper sings our song.

by José Luis García Herrera