I remember now I remained patient

in the last of the trenches,

my face paralysed,

my fingers frozen on the verge

of that isolated trigger,

but I was always thinking of you,

you were the whore in my head

while the enemy ahead

just wanted me and my comrades dead:

A spoilt bastard I used to be

and no-one intended to impersonate me,

I was the sound of every known human rage,

the fury behind every posh curtain,

all the weight of our souls locked inside an empty cage:

We called it “The Tin Noses Shop”,

mere improvisation to compensate us,

to give us a face already lost.

Masks for facial disfigurement

beyond any age of consent,

no gratitude, no smiles, just more smoke

coming from anyone else’s cigarettes.

No, it was not.

Europe wasn’t our playground anymore,

so, fuck civilization, mates,

and no matter how many flowers

this luminous hospital room may contain,

I just need my left eye back

and a couple of mirrors

to help me shave my pains away behind this mask.

No, Miss Anna Coleman, no,

my plasticine life does not begin here and now

because there is no home for me to go

and there will never be;

I am no pacifist tool for future

plastic surgeries, Madam,

for I have chosen, from now on,

to hide my bones in that opera house

and live the rest of my life

as a fucking celebrity phantom.


Poem by Jose Yebra

Photos by Malin Ellisdotter (c) 


Aunque mi amiga Malin Ellisdotter haya cerrado su blog, seguimos colaborando en otros medios (Facebook e Instagram). Éste es el último poema que he escrito al que Malin a asignado esta poderosa imagen.

Though my friend Malin Ellisdotter has shut her blog for good, we are still collaborating in other social media (Facebook & Instagram). This is the last poem I have written and Malin has brilliantly matched it with this powerful pic.


Your fake smiles do not feed my soul
and I do not trust my surface anymore:

we were swimming in the lake
the last day of that rebellion
then there came the lies
our bodies drowning
while we fiercely dispised our useless lungs:

the real nothingness of that fake oxygen;
and well_______
if they had won
why would we have shot our sons
our daughters with discomfort?

Will our wounds be already healed?
Will shallow people finally understand
the meaning of the artful noise
of broken bones?

Nobody knows
and we don’t really mind
as this human parade
is turning people blind_____


November 2, 5 and 10 2017 – 3 images in this slideshow (requires JavaScript). Yesterday I received another poem from my friend José Yebra. Hope you’ll enjoy the reading; I don’t want to feel the soil inside my nostrils anymore. I don’t need your spontaneous violence against everything which bothers your easy way of living. […]

a través de Soil — MALIN E H PHOTOGRAPHY


October 30 2017 – Yesterday I received a poem from my friend José Yebra. Hope you’ll enjoy the reading; (We/They) were all pressed against the wall, no souls implied, no illusions imprisoned: lives stoned to live bloodless among corrupted forces: evil human nature who wants to put an end to thousands of years of suffering, to […]

a través de Against the wall — MALIN ELLISDOTTER H PHOTOGRAPHY


Hoy toca otra colaboración con mi amiga Malin Ellisdotter, que ha dado vida a mi poema a través de una de sus magníficas fotografías. The World is blue, mates!!

November 28 2016 – From my iPhone 5s archive. Today I received another poem from my friend José and I hope you’ll enjoy the reading; The world is grey without the color of your terrified fate. The world is blue without the informal shapes of the Earth in you. No world can resist more and […]

a través de The world is blue — MALIN ELLISDOTTER H PHOTOGRAPHY


Another collaboration with my friend Malin Ellisdotter. Her images give life to my poem…

Otra colaboración con mi amiga Malin Ellisdotter. Sus imagenes, poderosas, dan vida a mis letras…

May 2 2016 – Self portraits from May 2. iPhone 5s, self timer. Yesterday I received another poem from my friend José, he was inspired by my work and I have to publish his poem. I hope you’ll enjoy the reading; Headless gentrification No, it is not our loneliness, whether they don’t mind or even […]

a través de Mortal souls — MALIN ELLISDOTTER H PHOTOGRAPHY



You don’t deserve

My skin,

My eyes,

My lips.

You are not me,




Among millions

Of stem cells,

Stupid conjunction

Of deserted lands

Which no pharasal verb

Will ever define.

So, please,

Give me back my whole being


You swallow

All my rage.


Tu savia,

Que recorre mis venas.

Mi sangre,

Que alborota tus ramas.



Enredados entre brazos



Que nos sujetan con fuerza

A la raíz de la Tierra.

Y al separarme,

Se me va la luz,

El entendimiento

Al borde

De la misma proteína

De tus fundamentos


Si alguien te quiere

Con su hacha cortar,

Que primero me parta a mí,

Como rayo purificador

Que de mitades

Hace ejércitos,

Que de leña

Crea batallas,

Que sabe

Que ni en billones

De años

Que pueda permanecer

Será capaz

De respirarnos,

De saborear

Nuestro aliento mutuo,

De sentir

En su piel

El ritmo acelerado

De la sal

De nuestra eterna


(Poema en dos partes, en dos lenguas, inspirado en las imágenes de una artista excepcional, Malin Ellisdotter. Sus imágenes os trasladarán a otros mundos, a otras dimensiones imperceptibles, improbables, tan increíbles, que están ahí, a nuestro lado, pero somos incapaces de verlas.)