This blog contains a collection of renowned and young authors from around the world poems in the languages in which they were originally written. Each file includes author’s photo or portrait and brief biography. We offer news and announcements of interest to professional and amateur writers (writing competitions, poetry press, etc) too.


Este blog recoge una selección de poemas de reputados autores y jóvenes promesas de todo el mundo en las lenguas en las que fueron escritos originalmente. Se incluye en cada ficha una breve reseña biográfica del autor y fotos o cuadros de éste. Se complementa el grueso del material con datos de interés para escritores profesionales o aficionados a la literatura (como información sobre certámenes literarios, editoriales dedicadas a la poesía, etc).

Barack Obama

                                                                                                                Pop

    Sitting in his seat, a seat broad and broken
    In, sprinkled with ashes,
    Pop switches channels, takes another
    Shot of Seagrams, neat, and asks
    What to do with me, a green young man
    Who fails to consider the
    Flim and flam of the world, since
    Things have been easy for me;
    I stare hard at his face, a stare
    That deflects off his brow;
    I’m sure he’s unaware of his
    Dark, watery eyes, that
    Glance in different directions,
    And his slow, unwelcome twitches,
    Fail to pass.
    I listen, nod,
    Listen, open, till I cling to his pale,
    Beige T-shirt, yelling,
    Yelling in his ears, that hang
    With heavy lobes, but he’s still telling
    His joke, so I ask why
    He’s so unhappy, to which he replies...
    But I don’t care anymore, cause
    He took too damn long, and from
    Under my seat, I pull out the
    Mirror I’ve been saving; I’m laughing,
    Laughing loud, the blood rushing from his face
    To mine, as he grows small,
    A spot in my brain, something
    That may be squeezed out, like a
    Watermelon seed between
    Two fingers.
    Pop takes another shot, neat,
    Points out the same amber
    Stain on his shorts that I’ve got on mine, and
    Makes me smell his smell, coming
    From me; he switches channels, recites an old poem
    He wrote before his mother died,
    Stands, shouts, and asks
    For a hug, as I shink, my
    Arms barely reaching around
    His thick, oily neck, and his broad back; ‘cause
    I see my face, framed within
    Pop’s black-framed glasses
    And know he’s laughing too.


Barack Hussein Obama (Honolulu, Estados Unidos, 1961), conocido como Barack Obama. Cuadragésimo cuarto presidente de los Estados Unidos.

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"Poetic Souls " es un blog sin ánimo de lucro cuyo único fin consiste en rendir justo homenaje
a los poetas del mundo. Los derechos de los textos que aquí aparecen pertenecen a cada autor.

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perjudicado por su publicación, por favor, no dude en comunicárnoslo.