Abuelito's Clock

Last night, home alone,
I stubbed my toe while in my dimly lighted room
lit by only night lights plugged into outlets,
a room ready for bed time.
I bend over to rub and soothe the pain,
tiny shadows cast, climbing over folds,
my wrinkled skin made surreal by this darken room.
Noticing toe nails left unkempt,
my Abuelito’s feet evince.
A reverie of recall when last I witnessed them
hooked around the legs of a wooden stool,
his toes splayed in Mexican huaraches
covered in clay dust and grey dirt
from the streets outside his shop
where he’d repair, resole 'sapatos' .
They're slipped like sleeves onto black cast iron anvils
that resemble upside down feet.
Sunlight dimly lights inside his shop at day time,
lit at night by shards of moonlight rays piercing
through strategically placed slats of tin and cardboard roof
Supported atop walls of grass and mud
not unlike many casas in Torreon.
Under the moon and 'piszca de estrellas'
with squinting eyes and bottle glass lenses
he would clean and repair 'pistolas'
to make a few extra pesos.

Like in Edgar Allen Poe’s ’Tell Tale Heart’,
"...a slither of light cast a shadow upon his eye",
a dim light lays upon my aged feet
reminding me of how ‘time’ passes by
like when shadows cast are captured only by chance.

Existing in Irony

The antithesis of the spirit of the day;
a day when devout Christians celebrate
the monist belief that all exists in the name of ‘Jesus’,
my dream last night carried me within
the nebulae of contemplation into suicide

Impassioned onus of understanding my agnosticism,
the doubt that I now carry within about the origination
and the 'truth' of the professed ‘scriptures’(all religions),
If this be not true, in that all our efforts to be ’good’
yields no reward of promised ’heavenly joy’,
then why persist in accepting the struggle and strife
of ’life’?

If all exists without purpose, an existential thought,
then why choose to exist in a world
where pain and suffering dominates?
Exist, where the hands of those who wish
to mitigate the suffering and assuage the pain
is for naught.

So many of us consider this option
during this time of the year
when social pressures are in their heighten epitome
and depression insidiously arises quietly
because we've not met other's and our expectations
of ‘successes’ in love, in wealth, in health,
and all without a religious vision of Hope.

But once again, then I think,
why base my belief system on religion
or institutions that dictate an abidance
to only those options they've offered
in their dogma or proscribed mandates ?

Here, then, I make a choice to believe in either
‘freewill’ or ‘determinism’.
I choose ‘freewill’, therefore,
I choose unselfishness, the sharing of ‘good’,
based on my moral convictions and as explicated
by Sam Harris, a contemporary philosopher, educator,
'one's moral convictions are not based in religiosity
or prescribed social norms; manifest hypocrisies'.

Volitionally, in this way,  I therefore choose to live.

Remembering John

John Lennon’s voice spoke softly but loudly
His gentle sounds reverberated the beat of our hearts
in what we thought, in what we felt
what the issues of the time had meld

We remember his music because it was us
We remember the words
‘Imagine’ what the world would be
if we ‘let it be’!

We were battling in wars
with ideological misfits
children dieing , mother’s crying
for government’s games of power

Since his words have been silenced
we have once again raised our hands
in violence
We gather our fruit now before others eat
Only to feed ourselves without caring
for those with shoeless feet

We’ve placed our faith “In God We Trust”
and find our children living in the streets
when few live in castles made of gold
and like the violence placing his words on hold
we have fallen back to leaving our soldier's lives
lying in foreign dust

Can we ‘Imagine’ once again?

Life Carries On

Life strolls through the trails, pathways and streets
It walks uncaring and sometimes ruthless
without a whimper, without a whine for all those
stretched out arms grasping, clawing to grab on
to its apron strings for one last tug

Through scapes of rock face mountains, tree lined forests,
bends of rivers and sandy arid deserts,
it carries its gait with flowing air
uncaring of words written, sedating Life's woes,
vicariously, in an ambiance of lantern light and insulation
with aesthetic prose '...a starry night or dazzling sunlight'

Life carries on in spite of the primal wares
of primeval games played by man
seeping out life’s blood of ethics and morals,
Suffering and pain, broken hearts and travails,
seemingly disavowing human emotions

It plunders, unscathed by human discomfit
It cares not of religions or dogmas written
attempting to explain the why’s and hopes
or creation with their demons and deities.
Life carries on with an uncaring face

A Day With Our Kids

He’s a stout sixteen pound grey curly hair mini poodle
quiet and docile until his sister, via adoption a feisty
thirteen pound soft black curly hair also a mini poodle,
provokes him during play or tugging on a doggy toy
then he will just lift his front paw placing it atop of her,
she will then submit, subordinately, to his show of dominance.
Yet, when they’re released outside they both furiously scamper
onto the backyard scattering the furry tail arbor residents up their trees
and also scare the feathered friends that were eating on their feeders.
It always takes on a ferocity like a scene from an Alfred Hitchcock movie
where they take on a persona of autocratic rulers over their domicile, they’re dynasty.
He, Jules, follows her like a grey cumulus shadow
mimicking every sniff and curiosity as the ’royal’ terriers they are.
She will bark at anything as he then reacts with a deeper
more manly vocal bark as he gazes into space not even knowing why he‘s barking.
When my wife wishes to leave the house for whatever reason
Jaz must always go with her yet Jules won’t follow if I don’t go along.
My wife and I have come to the realization
that they have adopted us almost with a gender bias.
If I choose not to go with my wife and Jaz, of course, shadows her
Jules won’t go or jump into the car not even for a ride,
a favorite thing of his, but then he proceeds to whimper
in a high pitch tone as he sits on the sill
of our large picture window, possibly regretting at the moment his choice of human bonds, watching them depart.
He sits there on his tiger pillow with incessant whimpers and sadden eyes
waiting for mom and Jaz during this regrettable absence.
At night when it’s time to go to bed it is seemingly
their most enjoyable moment because they get a bedtime ‘chewy’
and get to share time with mom and papa on a warm bed.
As we all lay in bed and mom and I are reading, an ambiance of restful calm resides
while soft classical music is audible from the radio.
Through this salient calm, they can be heard softly chewing as they lie
side by side like Siamese twins yet to be separated of their attached umbilicus.
This is all calming until he decides to get up to get a drink
from his water bowl that sits on the floor next to the door.
Then a common nightly ritual begins where she will steal his ’chewy’
and put her paw over it while still chewing hers.
When he hops back up on the bed once again abutting his body next to her,
he notices that she has absconded his chewy and then he proceeds
to sound off with short howls while looking back at us
asking for our assistance to take back his chewy now being horded under her paw.
She at the same time is growling and jerking her head back and forth
watching his movement seeming to say “pay backs are hell, huh”?
It is humorously ironic to observe this nightly game between the two of them
because during the day he manifests a dominance with his front paw
while playing and wrestling with her and now watching him
ask for our help as she now holds captive his chewy under her paw.
During the day when it’s time for them to eat from a shared single bowl,
he allows her to eat first as he stands behind her like in a food line.
He waits till she’s finished then he’ll approach the bowl to eat.
Wondrously, the tradition in manners and inherent social ethics
of ‘ladies first’ seems to be well served in this case.

Sharing You

A disquiet comes o’er me
A sense of mourning in every cell
that resides within me
Now my soul is restless

When love fills this space
where my spirit rests
a calm and restful feeling
emits from every fiber of my being

This calm seems to have ceased
when it now peers into my heart
a once quiet and peaceful place
where time stood still

You’ve said all is still the same
but now you rarely call my name
and that sense of loving care
within me has since left

The feeling when your heart
would touch mine and mine alone
now feels of temperance
as if it shares it’s attention
with another somewhere else

If this be the case
then whisper gently those words
quietly and softly not to heighten the restlessness
and reawaken that once love filled space

Release me, free me
from this restless place
Knowing that someone else
now shares this space
allows at least my heart
to reside along with selflessness
and a different calm will soon arise
in a mist of subtle tearful restraint

Linking Hands

Holiday seasons arrive, festive tables are set
with the clanging of forks, knives and spoons
Coats and scarfs are strewn on couches and beds
Gathering of Moms and Dads, Uncles and aunts
Familiar faces evince some with feigned smiles
others with crumpled frowns
where gravity has gradually been winning
the challenge of taught cheeks and eyebrows
a noticeably changing landscape of folds and aging spots
A high traffic of piercing chatter and high pitch screams
from Nephews, Nieces and cousins
only previously heard of in conversation
now run by appearing from around the corners of other rooms
Unfamiliar voices fill the room
they share the now busy space in the kitchen and TV room
The waft of sweet and mashed potatoes with gravy
freshly baked rolls , greens and turkey await carnivorous consumption
The clinking of glass with ice inside swirling interrupts
A moment of reflections and thoughts sharply cut into
the chaos of voices as reminiscence and melancholy
enter the room
Then the holding of hands
some smaller lost in the larger
as circle of souls and hearts in the room are linked
then one voice speaks to a common deity
thanking for the spiritual intervention of this gathering
and wishing those less fortunate
the alone, the lonely, are also touched

Forgotten

Have we forgotten to care
because we struggle daily
to feed our own children
We ramble about trying to find warmth
both for the cold of our skin
and the stagnate mind and heart
due to our own strife
Will we once again find the time
find a space in our heart for the other
he or she that has less
For the children who are innocent
yet they ’re left to go hungry
And because of their youthful ignorance
we will selfishly let them starve
both in food intake
and mind nutrients
Some will take advantage
of that innocence
Have our personal toils distracted
where once there was human kindness
now replaced by apathy
Where once there was caring
now there’s non-empathy
Have we forgotten the ‘human truism’
when there’s a cognizant willingness of sharing
in carrying the weight of life’s toils,
it’s struggle and strife,
the burden is mitigated for all
and from this comes knowledge,
a light shining upon contentment, calm and resolve.

Soldier's Quest

Loud flashes of light above
reflecting off clouds ominously
Where once in youthful times
these sparkling lights meant celebration
but today they open up the skies
with loud explosive sounds

They shake the earth
awakening the demons underground
unlike when excitement, back home, filled the air
today they burst the silence
with redden fields and angry death

In a brief intermittent respit
when eardrum breaking blasts cease,
howling pain filled human cries
still fill the smoky air.

A still moment arises and my memories
of loved ones who wait for me
back where these flashing lights
and sky emptying cracking sounds
do not suck breath from life
but celebrate the joy of living,
I think of my heartfelt love'd ones,
their warm embraces and the kisses.

I reflect upon the freedoms,
the occasional abuse of liberties
we partake and are afforded us.
My mind fills in reverie of returning,
planting my garden with beans and tomatoes,
cutting my lawn, sitting in my back yard
with friends and loved ones,
grilling steaks and drinking beer,
listening to music on radio and singing childhood songs

Tears spew out from my eyes
but I do not have time to wipe them,
an explosion o’er my head
rattling my helmet and my brain
reawakening me to the reality
that my life and freedom lies before me
along side my buddy, my brother,
and inside my mind, belief that soon
the Truth of our quest will become victorious

Jules

His right front paw curled up unnaturally
He seemed to stare somewhere into an ethereal place
A space unbeknownst to anyone but him
He begins to quiver and shake
He was being held in my wife’s arms
when first I noticed his eyes
seemingly reaching deep into this space
Then his head rested limply on my wife’s shoulder
I knew in the depths of my soul
where my human emotions rest
that something was not right with Jules

I pulled him from her arms
gathering him closely to my chest
Trying to calm his quivering body
letting him know I was there
My gut was wrenched
Tears came quickly running down my face
He’s only nine was all I could think
Please your too young
I held him tighter
I’m sure he could feel my heart beat
Soon his body ceased from shaking
His eyes no longer staring into an abyss
He looks at me and with a gentle
soft stroke of his small tongue
he licked my cheek tasting my saline tears
For now all is well but time
for both of us is so much more salient.

Wintry Warmth

Waking early this November morn
Looking out into the still dark of night
I see a sheath of white covering roofs and chimney tops
Solemnity softly slides down from the white veil of the moon
The wintry ’ides of November’ visit me in my room

I turn to look atop the comfort spread upon my bed
There lying snuggled close in carefree sleep
My two small curly soft hair canine friends
One cuddles closely to my wife’s bosom
The other snails itself warmly near her head

A calm hovers o’er my spirit
A gentleness fills my heart, my soul
Mine eyes behold a cherished moment
Love descends filling the room
Quietly I saunter back to the warmth of bed’n sheets
To embrace my wife, my friends to hold

Cold Reality

The destructive winds from the north and west
have finally calmed at least here but now
its wrath has traveled east unsettling
the Atlantic coast and shores.
Outside my door a wet grey
has been left behind.
The once ornamental crimson, pumpkin orange leaves
are sprawled covering the lawns
giving a rubble look from broken dead limbs
and twigs fallen from now barren trees

Cold air and a dirty gray abounds
A stiffness of my joints, a muscular soreness
has invaded my incarnate shell
where even in my soul,
my mind has slowed giving way
to an introspective tone.

A battle within of a feeling of being ‘alone’
and the feeling of ‘lonely’ is a consequence.
It comes not just from the ambiance of the season
but as a result of a self indulging cognition
in considering the queries of doubt and ambivalence
posed in my head to whether a reality
of a Divine presence or even spirituality as in the Tao,
‘damn you’ Stephen Hawking’s, Nietze, Sartre, etc

‘Alone’, is a soldier sitting, barely breathing
so as not to make a sound, his heart races
Sweat flies onto the quiet mist
off his face because of the incessant
shaking of his body from desperate fear

‘Alone and lonely’, is the child in Haiti,
parents and siblings taken from her by the hand
of Nature’s wrath and consequential disease,
sitting all alone in dirt and debris
her tattered shirt and dirt basted little face
gives her the look as if she's part of the rubble.
She's in pain from broken heart and blood dried wounds
she's lost in her tears now dried and crest on her face
and no one sees her, no one comes.

Cold reality?

Welcome Today

I sample rhymes and meter, loosely formed prose,
relish and treasure the simple haunting
of another poets heart,
as my ears are filled with the mellifluous sound
of Chopin’s ivorys and Shubert’s string quartet
The sweet vocals of Johnny Mathis, the Righteous Brothers
Or Eva Cassidy’s vocal renditions of the classics

My eyes consume and absorb into the depths of my being
the words by Shelly : …”the sunlight grasps the earth,
the moon beams kiss the sea, what is all this kissing’s worth
if thou kiss not me” or the inspiring introspective words of
‘Unknown’ ’Desiderata’: “…be kind to yourself for you are also
a creation of ‘God’ like the birds, the trees and the seas”.

The wind blows briskly sometimes with a howl
outside my window today
It rings of sounds brought forth from the north
Unsettling the warmth of the day before
No longer can the leaves hang on
and the pine needles falling like strands of gold
covering the walkway and felling
the few verdant patches of grass
leaving a surreal display like brush strokes
on Van Gogh’s ’Starry Night” or Wyeth’s
field of grass in ’Christina’s World‘.

I welcome this display these sounds
introducing me to this new day
bare footed I walk atop this golden carpet
outside my door as the wind blows my robe open
asking that I also be in full display
as the wind blows crimson and orange leaves
into my hair standing naked now
holding hands in Nature’s care

A Smile in Space

Why do glee filled eyes and joyful smiles last so short a time?
Why do moments of this kind come so infrequent?

Sometimes those times of momentary joy come silently
They appear in quiet spaces in the oddest places
When no one is looking and it’s cloudy
When the sun is slightly piercing the cumulus
and touching with shadows cast on a single soul
She sits alone on a bench amidst a conifer maple and oak

A salient breach of solemnity arises encircles
papa and mama, octogenarians, sitting together
quietly with arms entwined into one another’s
staring into space, a space known only to them
she gently bends her neck to lean her head on his shoulder
a sense of exasperation abounds the two of them
yet a soft and gentle gasp of fulfillment
to their lifelong moments in time

A tiny tot sits alone on a thick patch of green
interspersed with golden strands of wheat
blowing gently in the breeze as she turns
to look at me with those large hazel blues
and a smile that only innocence could demand

If only this smile could pierce the gray of day
cascading everlasting rays of sunshine
upon those who sit alone
in the dark and cold
casting shadows of lonely souls

Editors Frenzy

Standing amidst the grandiose and enormity of rock formation
looking up, up and still not able to see the very tip of the snow cap
atop this natural forming scape that stretches above and beyond
clouds pierced by the chard formation of the tip of this mountain
gives me a sense of how an insect feels when landing on my arm
or when I stand hovering over a tiny toad that sits very still
as I stroll the wild damp brush below my feet and now imagining
how it feels if it feels or what it thinks if it thinks when it fearfully
looks up at this enormous entity that moves and threatens it’s existence
if it’s even cognizant of it’s jeopardy, with the human sense of fear.

Hearing the roar of an ocean wave as it gathers afar, far beyond my visual scope
and it’s rumbling forming much larger deep underneath than above
running faster and faster toward the shore line where I stand barefoot
as tiny ripples flow in and out through my naked toes curled gripping the cool white sand.
I notice with virgin gasps the large promontory rock formations have taken character and shape from the millions of slaps of splashing ocean tides seemingly playful yet
mindful of competing space through the epochs of time

The black cold of a cloudless night sky allowing the crystalline sparkle
of hovering stars and moon floating seemingly resisting movement,
resisting falling to earth and always watching me watching them.
Night after night depending on the equinox determines what star formation
stands sentry over me whether it’s the three star belt of the buff Orion, the
tail dragging Dragon or the olla of Ursa Major and the chatter of the Seven Sisters

This exercise of observation with nonsensical imaginational interpretation allows me
escape from my ego my self and also the written run on sentences unconventional grammatical implementations is intended to incite the traditionalists the elitist into a frenzy of wanting to edit and apply correct annotations punctuations capitalizations maybe even syntax etc.

My intent is to show that spontaneity in putting thought into script writ has it’s merits in rawness pureness and an inherent nature of the founding means of written communication diminishing the nuances of linguistic misinterpretations in the web of language translations.

Waking with a Smile

This morning I awaken with a smile
My night was restful with sleep
Dreams juxtaposed with memories and faces
Flying and super human performances
Embraces of love with those no longer
In my world even after I wake
Three years prior to this wonderful sleep
I couldn’t close my eyes to rest to sleep
for more than an hour as I attempted
to sleep in a sitting position.
Excruciating pain would travel from my hips
down to my knees and up to mid chest
Referred pain I guess it’s called
In this waking moment I celebrate prosthetics
and medicinal pain supplements
I am now able to carefully bend
to put my own socks on and tie my own shoes
I can bend to wash my ankles and even my legs.
I welcome being able to stand and talk to friends
in one spot for more than fifteen minutes
I’m able to walk my little miniature poodle
friends around one square block
No longer can I cross my legs while sitting
Caution is ever present when lifting and
most sadly when walking viewing a Winter scape
No longer can I chase the tennis ball, a game I loved
nor can I jog when once I used to run miles
But now I can play and cautiously chase my little friends
I roll in the grass with them
and able to stand up afterward on my own
I can sleep in a bed
I can dream of running and flying
I can sleep and dream, wonderful dreams

Water and Life

The wisdom I gathered from water
when first mother playfully splashed me
with a spray from her finger tips
The kitchen sink as mother gently held me upright
Sitting in the bathtub filled up to my toddler thighs
A childhood memory of wading in a plastic pool in our back yard
Tiny brooks or streams I'd walk into only up to mid calves or knees
A river running rapid over rocks and fallen branches
my short exciting sojourn in a canoe through a wooded park
An ocean wave ebbs onto the beach of sand and rock
I run into it’s arms of high waves
I’ve learn to swim against the tide
recognizing the choice of not fighting the undercurrent
Now that I have swam so many rivers and lakes
and even challenged strong ocean currents
my strength has waned with the number of seasons past
once again I only wade knee high
but my weakened arms and legs still recall
that feeling of a cold stream or river
and how they would battle up stream against the rapids
and sometimes into those large ocean tides where they would
swim along side dolphins
A small amount of wisdom I've gathered
upon those river banks
the high tides and their ebb
Vision of the grand expanse of the oceans abode
It started from that sprinkled splash upon my face
from mother’s finger tips and loving grace
I learned of the wisdom of water
how to stroke up stream analogous to Life.

Comes the Northern Wind

The sun has moved further away
It’s fingers no longer touch the day
with sweltering heat
I now see the wind blow
as the leaves now a rusty color
fall fast at an angle
seeming to leave a trail from the tree
where they’ve been separated
There’s a chill in the evening
as the wind blows from the north
It gives pause to how much cracked open
the windows are left at night
The darkness when peering up at the moon
is now seemingly more black
Orion and Ursa Major seem to glitter
more brilliantly this time of year

Nature has changed from it’s verdant dress
to the seasonal russet, orange and yellow chemise
It kindles a visual aspect
and that dusk comes earlier
Sweaters and wool shirts
become a preferred choice of wear
reminding us that the northern winds
will soon take residence
The occasional translucent precipitation
will soon fall feather light
with those tiny patterns of white
that have been said
never duplicate in pattern

These annual seasonal changes
seem to turn quicker
the more of these I’m witness
When once I would look forward
to these changes with
the excitement of physical activities
Now I welcome these seasons
with but a pleasure to my eyes
as time has also caused me changes
where now I walk when once I ran.

Que Paso?

Have our two hearts morphed legs
Now walking away in separate ways
Our days are spent apart
and when they meet in evening hours now
seems the days distance is still present
no longer is there that once cherished embrace
The once always present desire to touch
has sadly been spurned and only memories reside
On occasion our voices of the heart
speak the words that are now rote
‘I love you’ yet the physical signs
that reflect these words
of warm hugs or the spontaneous
touch of lips seem lost by time
A cool ambiance now pervades
unlike those warm and lust filled vapors
that once filled the room
when we would look into each others
windows of the heart and a seductive smile
would introduce the next moment of
primal desire leading us to the warmth
of our feathered stuffed pillows
strewn throughout our mattress room
raging with distorted arms and legs
upon each others bodies pressed with sweat
and gasping breath wanting never to cease
and when it did, a quiet salient moment of
embrace feeling each others hearts beat
pressed against each others chest
What has caused these two hearts to walk away,
away from that once love filled space?

Que paso?

'Slow' Button

Life stands still this early Saturday morning
before the light emits
from a rising sun
The robins and tiny wrens
Chickadees and even the hum
of wings from ruby throated humming birds
release their morning harmony of
Chirps and song and the rustling from preening
All else is quiet

My mind wrestles with random thoughts
Wish life had a ‘slow down’ button
I see my reflection from my picture window
as I sit on the mantle staring out
My memories of recent past
The faces in my life all hover
in these rambling thoughts
Some I will see today or tomorrow
Some will remain as welcome memories

An early morning jogger goes by
This is the sign that human life
will soon awaken to share the day
They will contribute to my future memories
and their faces will somehow hover
in my soon to be next mornings' rambling thoughts
Hope I remember to push that ‘slow down’ button

Empty Questions

The sun light dominates the day
Sharing with an azure sky
Birds are chirping and rustling about
Outside my open window
A soberly wonderful ambiance yet
An emptiness abounds within me

My mind is bartering with
Curious thoughts that take me
To daunting places of
Hollow destinies and constant
Questionings of why we
Even exist and the truth of purpose

I need to become involved
In life in spite of the ‘absurdity’
A distraction from the querying
Accepting the presence of ‘being’

Time's Quiet Sound

Time simmers quietly
Behind closed doors
It gathers it’s age
Carries it’s dust
Without sound
Sometimes too quick
To be found
Before grey resounds
On eyebrows and temples
Memories gather
To chat and compare
Of good and bad
Of Love and scorn
The praise of newborn
The salient sorrow
Of those lost
Crimson suns and golden fields
come and go
Multi-colored hues
Displayed on Nature’s breast
The seasons turn
Accrue and soon
That quiet simmering
Sound of time
Tolls loudly upon your door
You gather your Life’s riches
In the pocket of your soul
And walk quietly
Hand in hand with time
Through that once closed door
Upon heaven’s corridor

Loves memory

When my steps
No longer leave an imprint
And the sound of my voice
No longer is heard
When the spirit of
My smile, my song
No longer fills a space
Will the softness of our hands
Clinging gently as we walk
Will the stars of night
Still glitter and sparkle
In each others eyes
Will the running stream
Still share its wisdom
As it flows from its beginning
To its destiny
undaunted by large stones
and the fallen trees
As we sit together watching
Love links our silence
When my absence comes
Or yours or both
Will Love remember us?

Shackled

She would express almost daily
how sad, how painful life is.
She would leave me with guilt
because I couldn’t nor did I have
the where-with-all to diminish her sadness
nor lessen her pain, a feeling of helplessness
My day would be encompassed
with the thoughts of …what made her days so sad?
Was it because she was all alone, without a partner?
Because our father and all subsequent male friends
would leave her stranded alone to face life?
…what caused her so much pain?
was it something physical from aging?
Was it her struggles with surviving life’s toils,
struggles and strife, alone?
These questions and daunting perpetuation of feelings
and thoughts shackle me till this day.
Is this the bond, the memories she wanted to leave me with?
Do mothers do this with their children, unknowingly,
as a way of bonding, self perpetuation?
Do they not realize that these memories
will be ‘piggy backed’ with their children’s
own ’life’ experiences, toils, tribulations?
Fortunately, I choose to remember
many fun and loving moments.
Shackled, I am, with love for her.

Freedom of Worship

What is in one’s heart
And in one’s mind
What resounds in one’s spirit
In a quiet space
Alone where no one else can hear
Where no one else can see him
Kneeling kissing the sacred earth

What is most sacred in one’s inherent,
some say intrinsic, makeup
Cannot be extricated through
attempted denying of space or time
by the flow of ignorance
or through obstructionist
attempts of elimination
through misrepresentation
to the ignorant and dissemination
of bias as an obstruction

spiritual or religious belief
cannot be obstructed
through mundane attempts

this attempt at denying one
of an individual to worship
to communicate with their personal
Deity has been, historically, the cause
for violent reaction and wars.
Violent attempts of denying
yields violent reaction
For the ‘greater spiritual cause’,
there is no minimization
in exercising and ascending to
extreme levels of exhortation or protestation.

The liberty to express and exercise one’s
spiritual or religious beliefs in this country
is founded in a written Constitution
that provides the freedom to express
inherent liberties of speech and worship

Youthful Indiscretion

Against my finger tips
yours feel cool and moist
so gentle, titillating
My breath escapes
and my heart beat ‘pitter patters’
ever so quickly
so pure when my first touch
of a girls hand to mine
before I became nine
as it was unplanned,
unexpected and so breathtaking

As my birthdays accrued
and my shyness waned
I would intentionally position myself
in places and spaces
where the occasion would arise
and a girls hand was next to mine
a feigned accident as I would
gently touch her hand when by her side
and with great risk
would brush her skirt

As time gathered in years
although in those ominous halls
of my high school years
the girls partitioned in one half
and the boys in the other
time couldn’t arrive soon enough
for lunch in the cafeteria where
space was shared with those gentle creatures
soft cool moist hands, pretty hair and faces

Years have passed quickly and my shyness
has been replaced by reasons to kiss,
with my lover my friend
holding hands and ascending to
the greatest sharing in the absence of clothes
embracing, bodies moist, soft breast pressed against my chest,
mouths wide open giving chase to each others tongues
and ever so gently entwine in rhythm
remembering with every movement
those youthful indiscretions in the touching of hands
my heart remembering that first ‘pitter patter’

why the silence

I don’t know what I’ve done
Or what I haven’t
But when the day is done
Before my tears run dry
I must ask why,
Won’t you tell me

What have I done
or not done
to have turned your voice quiet
to maybe something I did
or something I’ve said

Solitude and isolation
is a choice sometimes I make
But when the silence comes
from something unbeknownst
the solitude is lonely
and the isolation is cold

Speak to me
let me know
if there is something
I can do or say
or something I shouldn’t
don’t leave me in the grey

If now I sing a song
I can hear my voice
but once upon a time
it would be your voice and mine
singing the same song

My nylon six string
sits inside its black case
leaning up against my
two congas both gather
dust from time past

Life is too short
Family and friends too few
Whisper to me the words of a song
So we can once again sing
In harmony

I see me

I see aged couples walking slow
I think I walk too fast
I hear them whispering
I think I speak too loud
I see them, at each other, smiling
I think I don’t smile enough
I see them holding hands
I wonder, where’s my lovers hand
I see them sitting next to each other in silence
I wonder how did their silence become golden
I see his head is lowered and tears are flowing
I wonder if his lament is because of time past
When I stand and walk away
and turn to gather one last look
I notice they’re no longer there
I ask myself were they ever
Or was I observing, me

Illusory Little Things

Illusory is the conclusion I’ve arrived
In the many years of my life
My dreams, my youth filled naiveté,
arises as an illusion

The faces that would look at me
I misinterpreted, thinking truth
was in the eyes that stared at me
and selfless giving was in their hearts

Without direction and oversight
I thought life would come to me
with open arms and gifts a plenty
with joy and ’happiness’.

My illusion of Life
has caused these wishes and desires
to be elusive
extending a cold hand
rather than a warm embrace

Some moments did cause me to smile
receiving gifts
But when all around me there was little
compared to those with much.

My youthful misdirection and misunderstanding
disallowed, in retrospect, an appreciation
that ’little’ is ‘much’ when compared
to those with less

I’ve arrived now
In a place of contentment
No illusion
I now understand
The ’little’ things

Be Here now

If I remember first thing in the morning
And open my eye lids slowly,
Will my day slow?

If I quietly and gently pull back the covers
And slowly roll my legs and hips off the bed
Then place my feet onto the cool wood floor
And sit there for a while contemplating
The beginning of my day
Will it slow?

If instead of walking, I crawl on all fours
Knees and hands to the floor
As if this were the way I’ve always ambulated
Would my day slow?

If I looked and walked backwards
Not looking forward
But always where I had been
Would time move slower?

Maybe if I just become cognizant of the present
Not look forward or backward
Trying to gather lucidity of the ‘now’
The present, ‘Be here now, Remember’
Time stands still

This Day

This morning has arrived with a grayish hue
A quiet coolness has awaken and greeted the day
Although it’s but a small non-pretentious fountain
that I bought and now sits
just outside of my back yard patio within view
the sound of water spurting and falling
from it’s cap onto the first tier
then onto the second where the sound
grows more audibly, with this ambiance
the separateness of my being seems to
assimilate and integrate into this wondrous
call of Nature’s morning

If all could be so calm and so alluring
with every morning that I rise
From now until life beckons me
to rise and walk through life’s portal
and once again smile upon those
who no longer walk on this earth,
my Mother and my brother, whose love
transcends this mundane path
they sit here with me
on my patio

Thank you to whom ever
I should thank for this day.

A Moment of Smiles

Time for me to cease from being disgruntled
It's a waste of time being disappointed
on all those who frown instead of smile
Also, being disenchanted of world issues
that are beyond my control
Today I must smile and try to persuade others
to release, for but a moment, their personal angst
to wipe those tears and force a smile
To, but for a moment, distract
one from their reality
that will surely be there afterward
In the ‘bigger picture’, in the realm of the Universe
if the forecast or prediction of the
Mayan or Aztec calendars come to fruition
then what is all this worrying for
and why not choose to smile
For soon pain and sorrow will no longer be
nor will war or religion be the catalyst
that ends or purports to sustain life as we know it
in this mundane existence
We should choose from this moment on
to listen to the music we love
to smile upon those we love
to embrace what we love
Smile and Love.

Dream in Tears

Once again and for a few nights
in the last few weeks
my dream takes me to a place
and time into a space where
the faces that surround me
are those of my siblings.
Some no longer reside
in this mundane existence
The face of my ‘Mama’
envelops my every turn
and every vocal exchange.
She’s transitioned from this world this phase,
now, over three years prior to these dreams.
The space this dream fills and where I find myself
dwelling, sadly and tragically, no longer stands.
A house that has long been demolished
along with my early childhood soulful memories
replaced by a school and church parking lot.
Ironically the space now belongs
to the church and school where we,
all the faces in my dream, were educated and inculcated
from the earliest years of when we all ran, played
and went to church, where all these faces in my dream
last shared the same space.

Every time I've awaken, abruptly, with tears
streaming down my face
in an anguished sadness for how we all
no longer speak and those still ‘living’
have become estranged from a once loving
time and space.

Silence Keeps

He walks along the river banks
not even the geese or the birds
playing along the tree line of
the running waters along the bend
nor the catfish or the carp that usually scatter
when strange feet interrupt
their abode, their domicile,
concern themselves little
with his quiet steps, his gentle caring gait
which has been born of solitude.
He has learned through all the paths
he’s walked in his life and his coexistence
with Man and nature, his voice, his words
have been rarely heard and
so he speaks little if only in
a whisper and those who wish
to listen ,will. He has learned
that if he walks quietly
his ears will also hear
sounds that others cannot
and his eyes will witness visions,
scents and odors of Nature’s breath
are keenly captured and all this
is harnessed as his spirit grows
hand in hand along this River’s bend
his heart is heard amidst Nature’s song
as his silence keeps.

Selfless, Giving Hero's

My eyes, closed for sleep tonight, short lived
I tossed and turned with overwhelming sadness
thinking of the tragedy
where life is so wantonly discarded
separated from their loved ones
and from those they selflessly gave
without fear of their own life
helping to nourish the young
In a country whose needs are many
that exists far, far and foreign from their own
treating the ill, the injured feeding their poor
yet viciously they’re assassinated
extricated from the needy and other
Humans, a country that had benefited
from their presence
no threat to their religion,
to their ideology or nationalism
what a tragic waste
War or military conflicts are not
the only place where soldiering
is found or Hero's evince
These unselfish, selfless, giving humans are my hero’s

My Space

If I gathered all the things I cherish
That which would be my treasure
 would be only those things that
made my heart and mind what
they are now

My memories, my reveries, my dreams
The moments that touched me
That touched my hand,
That touched my head
That touched my heart

Objects and possessions would not
take space in my trove
Easily, they've accumulated
having momentary memories
some more significant than others
now they gather dust

In reflection, moments of sadness
seem to have lasted longer
than those of fondness
those moments of joy and Love
have left greater imprint though
but that’s by choice

Forward as I walk
my eyes are focused
so that they can see
not distracted by memories
My arms and heart
reach out to that which
now comes before me

Love and music fill
my backpack

Gentle the Sun

The sun was gentle today
The heat was comfortable
Clouds they soared slowly
Carefree and quietly

My friends seemed joyful
And playful bringing their friends
The feed I placed on their perches
Were consumed hardily

One whose wing had been injured
hobbled on the ground to the seed
Dispersed from the enthusiasts above
Eating without attention
of its injury from the others
I wish I could fix its wing

I can only observe knowing I cannot fix everything
My sorrow and anguish is acceptable
because there’s pain and suffering all around
but it must not come from angst
Because I can’t correct and fix ‘it’.

The warmth of It’s golden face now
disappearing upon the horizon bed
As gently and quietly as it played
Throughout the day it now gives way
with glowing inspiration that it’s time to rest
They, my friends, also cast their winged silhouettes
onto the canvas of a diminishing orange glow
Except for one, away, away they fly
for tomorrow is another day

Arizona, America?

We cast a shadow in the dark
the sun no longer wants to shine upon us
We as guardians of this world
purportedly with intelligence
and ‘humanity’ yet we treat each other
without empathy, without kindness
A country claiming to be inherent in
Liberty, freedom, fairness and equality
I guess these wonderful characteristics applies
only to the ‘ruling party’and if you look like us,
speak our language, act like us, think like us,
don’t ask anything of us, stay in your own land
then we’ll let you visit our country.

Should these words be inscribed at the base
of Lady Liberty in lieu of:
"Give me your tired, your poor,
your huddled masses yearning to
breathe free, the wretched refuse
of your teaming shore.
Send these, the homeless,
Tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp
beside the golden door."
E. Lazarus

I was born in Mexico brought here
by a woman, mother, that was given a passage
to residency and citizenship at no small
expense of trials and tribulations
Assailed by hateful, hurtful slings of arrows
we were a little darker in pigment, spoke a different language.
There was ‘kindness’ by some in spite of the campaign
at that time to ‘return the wetbacks’(circa 1957).
All is made easier when we dehumanize
those which we wish to discard or eliminate
through pejorative and dehumanizing names of race,
nationality and even society's, aged and infirmed.
I guess it’s called ’America’.

Parar, oler las rosas

Mine eyes still pleasure in young spring flowers
La musica que toca de joventud
My feet still dance in pace
The heart still patters with lustful desire
My hands can still gently caress
Why is life portrayed as only belonging
to those whose face is without aging folds

When the scent of estrogen abounds
within the world of mine surrounds
those shallow youth filled thoughts
still stimulate my male desires
but with the knowledge of age accrues
Que mas profundo la vida es

Now I awaken ‘ parar, a las rosas oler’
I listen to the pebbles crunching underneath my feet
as I walk along life’s path
still pleasure in those things of life
that traditionally one is told to surrender
yet still living, now vicariously,
through some of my youthful past

Robbi

The nascence of the morning with the sounds of
an aviary choir would dictate that I stand before
my sliding glass patio door to observe my feathered friend
whose wings of café brown with a chest of rusty orange hue
would splash about as his chest would expand with pride
and he would spread to preen then ruffle
while perched on the edge of the lower tier of the fountain
resting from his refreshing morning dip
he’d routinely take in this fountain
I had logistically placed it for my enjoyment
to hear the sound of water falling and the view
of the sparkle from the falling streams reflecting the
teasing rays of the morning Sun and at night
the glistening smile of the Moon
Yet, my friend, Robbie, would in the mornings
seem to boast that this fountain was built for him
Others would swoop near and perch on the patio fence
but would only bob their heads back and forth sideways watching
as he, unabashed, would flaunt his proud bathing techniques
Profoundly sadden, I found him this morning
laying at the foot of ‘his’ fountain without breath and song
No longer will the sparkle of the falling stream of water
be interrupted by the playful splash of his proud expanding chest
but I am glad to have shared his mornings and his fountain

"tan duro, la vida"

Visited my brother today
Little have I slept tonight
thinking of his swollen eye lids
giving away the pain, the sorrow
for now they see life’s waning days

He sleeps even less than myself
His eyes remain open when others sleep
Recently his eyes didn’t wake
and his wife, with tearful eyes
did violently, his body shake

Sometimes his body forgets to awaken
It grapples every day with infirmed pain
His digestive track no longer in his control
medicinals prescribed are experimental
his liver, kidneys and white blood cells
have forgotten to function in balance

His eyes now stare back at me
Much the same that Mother’s did
When for many days and years
She would speak the words
“ tan duro, la vida “
distractions of youth did not allow
my ears to hear and understand

Now that my own body has taken life’s blows
with prosthetic hips and unkempt broken bones
my ears manicured from hair now grown
Staring into his eyes if I dare
Mother’s words I now compare
diurnal tug at life’s hairline strings
Upon my now also swollen eyes
Reflecting my little sleep

Painted Coat

Every moment every day, I paint myself with a different color coat so when one washes off while walking through the storms of life a different coat evinces from underneath and awaits a redress to the color scheme of my portrait on the canvas of life.

Sometimes I cover myself in a color to mesh with the day, the night.
The contrast of color I choose on a day when it’s grey allows me to play in the rain without being seen. It allows me to escape into the quiet while all around me still exists as I can see them while they cannot see me. Of my choice and depending where and with whom I’m around determines what color coat of paint I wear.

If I’m amidst Natures wondrous wares, the majestic stone mountains who’s aged caverns are filled with running rivers and streams seemingly the fallen sweat from the escarpments that rise so high they pierce the cotton swollen eyes of the skies which then cause their tears to fall and replenish the Sun dried tributaries and like a Bird of paradise, I dance and frolic within the Earth’s arboreal hair line left unscathed by man‘s hand.

Like deer in the forest and the diminutive terrestrials that scatter when strange feet walk onto their abode and birds shriek loudly flapping their wings wildly, feathers floating behind in air as they make their escape, I too with my multi-colored painted coats separate my self from the undesirable intrusion of sometimes Man’s nefarious intent.

From moment to moment and day to day, I can remove them and leave them behind without regret. I know when my Life ends into that transition of a new beginning it will come with greater ease as I discard what once I hoard of mundane worth removing the shelter of my coats.

Stop and Smell the Lilies

Walked past this lily that caught my eye
Tall light green stalk
bright sunrise yellow pedals sprawled wide
like arms reaching for the sky
it was screaming at me
‘look at me’ with my freckles
So I stopped stood in front of it
bent forward as if I was going to consume it’s scent
but I only wanted to get a closer look
Bristly fibered fingers rise from the center
wearing green and brown tiny stamen caps
They proudly stand soldierly in display
without emotion they stand erect
waiting for their diurnal command
from the next wind that blows
causing their caps to fall off slowly down
onto the ground, brown black soil below it’s rooted feet
There they rest in silence until the following
annual seasonal ascent
when once again we’ll meet

I’m glad I stopped to ‘smell the lilies’

pass it on

As my eyes are resting closed
that incandescent lamp that hangs
from the darken sky of night
tugs like the strings of a puppeteer
with high tide that ebbs onto the shore
and it’s vanity reflects upon the seas

But as I sleep the tug of life’s angst
and gravity also tugs upon my being
for the strings of time never sleep
upon my night time dreams
and day time reveries
lines and folds on my face will show
that were not there the day before

a harkened spirit arises with the sun
and with the sounds of avian play
I inhale the breath of a new day
and I choose to share a smile
with those who care

I do not have the strings
like the moon upon the seas
nor the sun’s fingers that grow the trees
but a kind word or a smile from me
will move someone’s heart or soul
to share with someone else
and pass it on and on and on …

Apology

my apologies to the people of Vietnam
I was told that ‘freedom’ and ‘democracy’
was in jeopardy. I didn’t know at the time
that ‘freedom’ and ‘democracy’
could be relative terms and conditions
my ignorance and weakened youthful state
allowed my being drafted into ‘the killing fields’
Asian faces of families and babies
on sleepless nights still gather in my mind
my protest too late as the light of Truth evinced

my apologies to the Iraq people
I was told that you had the means
to destroy the world and now
I’m being told your holding hands with
the Afghanistan’s Taliban ready to destroy
‘Our world’ and you are in ’cahoots’ with
the Palestinians ready to destroy ‘the promise land’
sorry for imposing ‘our world’ of ‘right’
and the morals of our chosen religion

sorry to the children lost to ‘Katrina’
and how we sat and watched and watched
as the television made the real, surreal
and that we didn’t come to your rescue
maybe the different color skin faces holding
those signs of ‘Help‘ atop your rooftops
made it seem you were in a different land
and now you Haitian people whose livelihoods
we and WTO politically destroyed because you wouldn’t
accept our ‘democracy’ our ‘oligarchic capitalism’
and now Mother Nature has finished the job
shaking your homes into the ground
fortuitously our new leader and his wife
has recognized this history and have
tried to make this right

sorry Nashville but your on your own to try
and salvage your music, your instruments, your history
as we asked the same of New Orleans
for our human resources have been depleted
all our volunteers are busy trying to wash
the oil off our feathered friends
and doing CPR on the sea faring inhabitants
direly consuming that ‘black gold’ released in the Gulf
while our government holds hands with oil wealthy friends
and our politicians chant the anthem ‘…drill baby drill’

Religion of Love

Can the conspiracy of Love
Lift one from the base of momentary despair?

Can it’s periphery
Evoke a change in direction of vision?

Does it’s core
Have the strength to pull one out of a depth of the abyss?

Is the light of it’s aura
Sufficient to illuminate the darkness of doubt and disbelief?

Is Love God?

Man's Whim

the sun is hovering full today
it’s been hiding by clouds filled with rain
giving credence that sadness and melancholy
seems to come more readily
when days are covered in grey.

self indulgent sadness abounds
when grey surrounds ironically
into sheltered isolation we run
away from what descends upon us
seemingly the antithesis of our Being

as the sun screams in full rapture
a sense of void still fills my soul
from the cries of pain coming from the Gulf
from Palestine, from anguished mothers
whose hearts are lost in Afghanistan

a carelessness, a selfishness, insensitivity,
apathy, a pomposity of our worth
over other life forms, our universal shortsightedness
and when I sit and ponder this
the sun still shines behind grey covered days
and the plants still grow
all other living creatures still play
sing their praises to the day
and live life uncaring of Man’s whim

Forgotten Face

The hallowed grounds of family
are born of common blood
We’ve shared the early days where fights
were common to get attention
when too many brothers and sisters
filled the rooms too small

We shared common tears for those we knew
as uncles, aunts and mother’s friends
faces we’d so often see
would no longer be, too young to understand
confused by the thing called ’death’.

As time now replaces the rooms too small
when brothers and sisters that once shared that space
and now they’ve all grown and gone away
Mother now sits alone in that space
now large when once too small
and that once shared place has been forgotten
when for mother’s attention we'd begin our day’s race

We gather no longer and rarely communicate
as if our past and our blood has been lost
no longer the presence of that embrace
from our days of that once filled space
With our own mundane taxing ways
as our own kids now awaken for school
we prepare ourselves for our workday race

We banter now as adults do
no longer the petty fights about socks or shoes
but about the serious emotional dread
of what has been dishonestly disseminated about me
more importantly about mother’s health infirmed in bed

Now when our fights are through
no longer do we come together
how as children we once did
forgetting about whose sock or whose shoe
we no longer forget or forgive
our adult pride disallows this
and we don't call let alone embrace
forgotten is that hallowed ground of ‘family’
lost is that shared space and it’s common face

moment alone

When all seemingly is asleep
And night has replaced the day
When sounds of crickets, cicadas and bull frogs
Fill the darken air
Replacing the avian sounds
As the sun descends
I sit alone wondering
do they whom I walked with today
Shared my words and smiles
feel the presence of the void
In my absence at the end of the day

Do the oceans cease to roar
Amidst the howling winds
That cause rolling waves
To run ashore
And the sea dwellers
Descend to the black and cold
While I sit here all alone

These tears they fall down
Without a sound
For no one hears them
They’ve crested dry upon my cheeks
As my eyes have now closed
I’ve cried myself to sleep
In my reveries and dreams
No longer am I alone

Will you share my day

Every morning that I wake
I reflect upon the dreams
that were just present in my head
I reflect upon what I was
the day before
What significance was my existence
Who did I encounter
and how did I touch them
I sat out on my patio
sharing the moment with
the water fountain that trickles down
as the sound of water falling
enhances my cognizance and consciousness

My day will once again begin
and who shall I walk with and talk to
Will my words beckon
someone else to share my thoughts
Will their eyes look upon what mine see
Will their eyes see the same colors the same aesthetics
Will the waft of smells I capture
as I walk the day
be the same for someone else
Will they share the sense of joy
and will their eyes also see
the poignancy of someone else’s day

When I hold my lover’s hand
will she feel my warmth
and hear my heart palpitate
As we stroll together through the day
observing the wind sway the maples and the oaks
listen to the mellifluous sounds
of the songs sung by our avian friends
And when we stop to touch each other’s lips
will she inhale the breath of my spirit
and for the rest of the day
will she ‘walk in my shoes’
and make the existence of my day, full

Thought of the Day

When we walk by people and smile
Are they affected even if they don’t see your smile?
Your intentions were ‘good’
Yet they didn’t capture your intent.
Did their spirit capture it, though?

Its like when walking in a trail
Where arboreal and nature’s botanical gardens exist
And many other animal beings reside,
If the breeze that’s caused from your stride moves a leaf
Or peddle of a wild flower,
If a perched winged feathered friend
calls out a warning of your approach
Has not your presence affected?

If in fact your presence affects
Then your choice is one of
How shall I affect;

With a smile or
a presence of a frown?

With one of caring and sharing
Or one of disparaging ?

With a helping reach
Or an empty hand?

Will your walk be strident
Or will you stop to talk?

The effects of your choice
In return, yourself, affect.

My Day

I tumble about every day
You’d think that at my age
there should be more clarity
Days would be unscathed by forlorn
yet as the days experience unfolds
reality sets in with human angst
Ennui is my personal battle
and I try so hard
sometimes with unappreciated pretense
to make someone, during the day, smile or laugh
Amidst this tedium, I welcome the happy wagging
of tails from my two mini-poodles
as they peer up at me with their soulful eyes
awaiting the reciprocity
of my required incessant petting
and sincere love
This makes my day
and now we await
to enter into this moment of joy
my wife, my lover, my friend, their mother

My Theme

It is hard to let go of the things from youth
and when one does due to aging restrictions
the unappreciated moments of the time
the fond memories, linger

My dreams and reveries flow unrestricted of those things
The memories of when I ran faster than I really did
Had Herculean strength beyond my capabilities
Climbed with youthful ease escarpments above my reach

With much pleasure I do remember
when my voice could ring like morning birds who sing
with vocals of angelic themes
inspired from a domicile of surrounding music
sung by Mother’s early morning waking songs

This exercise of vocals has not waned
In her passing the morning’s waking still remain
I can hear her languish in that Spanish refrain
with the passion of a Latina Mother’s heart
that also taught me how to Love

Ah, ‘si‘, and of that thing called ’love’
She taught me how to share
with my mind, my spirit, my heart
not just with my eyes or hands
those things restricted, she’d say,
the ways and limitations of Man’s

I leave behind those youthful fares
the sometimes unappreciated wares
a history that has made me who I am
retaining the things that do not age
of which I can perpetuate,
the loving and the care

Words; no Apologies

Sometimes I write without editing my words
I gather them unsolicited and spontaneously,
they come together with the whimsy of a child’s
format and expression, simple and not rhyming
neither in meter or timing
but I have found that sometimes the innocence
of this method is purer and truer
My thoughts are expressed
like a daisy or dandelion that has interrupted
one’s manicured and pristine yard
Like a neighbor’s dog that barks late at night
or a tiny twig that finds a home between
the naked toes when wearing sandals in a trail
or a pebble finds its way
as cool sand sifts on naked feet
while strolling in a warm day
on an ocean beach

I wish these words to express with pureness
like when the patter or beat of my heart
first felt an indulging desire for another,
a lust of a young boy becoming a man
when first noticing a woman’s curves
The wondrous flow of her hair
her eyes, her nose upon an effeminate face,
the titillating flair of her luscious lips and smile
down to her soft exposed shoulders that compose
the setting for her lovely bosoms or breasts,
a daunting yet quietus desire of every man

I wish these words to express a spontaneity
without apologies for not abiding
or encumbered by imposing editing
to a set of rules and ‘bylaws’ on writ
an innocent surprise like the expressed widened eyes
of a child’s first vision
to the miracle of a ’Mariposa’

Smell don't Pluck

I walk amidst the dandelions
the lavender the roses and the mint
smelling their wondrous fragrance
observing the pureness of their
purples, reds, whites and yellows
without separating them from their stems

Must one pluck the flower from it’s root
and selfishly not allow others
to also observe its beauty from where it stands
amidst and from Mother Nature’s hands
to be free to grow and play in the breeze
and show of it’s colorful display
upon the back ground of a verdant dress
where upon the bumble bee can nest
and pollinates another batch
for others to walk amidst
and also share its beauty
its arrayed caress

Is not Love much like this botanical display
it can be appreciated as a soulful heart
that pervades through dusks and dawns
enraptured by the gleeful eyes
and also shared through tears forlorn
it cannot be plucked and horded
never depleted or stolen from its nest
it is shared amidst the hearts
there is love enough for all

Slowing Time

How do I slow time down?
I know; minimize looking forward
Appreciate the moment
Try to refrain the time spent
on nostalgia or reminiscing
Memories are enjoyable if they
spontaneously come to mind
but not allowing the past to
swallow you up or wallow in it
Appreciate the friends and family
that surround
Accept that they and everything
are transitory by ‘life’s law’
Be able to release that which is near
Take deep breaths,
Listen to sounds of nature
Enjoy the sights of verdant scopes and blue shores
Azure skies with cumulus figurines
Sounds of children playing
A loved one’s warm hand embrace
Music, music, and more music
Read the writ of others’ sights, sounds and heart
Have the ‘pen’ at ready
capturing the moment

Cyber Humanity

Music of Mozart, Chopin, Liszt, Segovia, all flow through me as I journey in my mind while my body is sedentary. I travel in the space of others as I read their minds and hearts through their pen in the medium that now makes us all accessible and vulnerable.

The cyber ‘blogs’ that provide a conduit to each others personal space that before could not be experienced allow sharing of heart felt thoughts and the simple daily mundane that is our lives. This cyber community provides us an opportunity to share a human condition as never before spending time with each other, strangers otherwise. We can sit in each others home and pet your dog or see how your closet holds the choices of clothes, their colors, their style indigenous in the far away land of where one lives. The setting of your kitchen table, the food you consume, the literature you read, the music that you choose to listen. The faces that share your bed and sit next to you and embrace you warmly when all else exists outside your domicile domain as lights are dimmed and your head rests on your pillow for the nights refrain.

I sit here in comfort and peace in the pleasure of leisure that is made more poignant or significant when viewing the photo shots, stills, that bring into my world a child’s face, unwashed because there is no access to the luxury of a washroom let alone the luxury of clean water. At this moment I sit listening to the timber of guitar strings being precisely trilled and fretted by a genius in his craft. I'm viewing a ‘youtube’ video of the devastation to our gulf and wild life as crude oil spills, the result of an explosion to a man made drill well. Then there’s the video showing a flooded Nashville, Tennessee that has left many families homeless and the loss of life. Most personal to me are the video’s and stories I’m seeing and reading concerning the inhumane treatment of Mexican people in the state of Arizona by a stoke of a pen. Whether walking or riding in a car, one is stopped and asked for ‘papers’. Anecdotally, imagine a mother, who has her papers, is walking or driving her kids to get ice-cream, taking them to school or the grocery store, she forgets to bring her papers and is stopped by police. She is hand cuffed in front of her children and taken to a holding station, jail or otherwise. She must convince her incarcerators who are of the mindset that all who look like her, dark skin latina, are without rights and are held for hours until they can retain an attorney or get a relative or friend to go to their home and get their papers. The community she now resides in has been inculcated with the ‘mass hysteria’ that anyone with black hair and tan dark skin is the focus of blame identifying that all ‘crimes’ being committed against the ’white skin’ people who also believe that the land in which they reside is theirs by right of their own legislated and implemented laws. The brown skin people who had resided there many years prior to the ’white skin’ people forcing them out of this land is now an environment where ‘the Mexicans’ are ‘illegal’ in their own land. It saddens me because underlying and surreptitious in this mindset is the nefarious and insidious bellowing of prejudice and bigotry.

The irony of this access is that although we are now in each others lives, a distance is created in a vicarious existence from actual human contact and all the nuances of real human empathy.

Rain

It falls from way up high
If you look straight up while it’s falling
it looks like translucent streaks of meteorites
angrily attacking the earth of where you stand
When it hits your face
it refreshingly stings but only for a micro second
then it splatters into a wet cool
It runs down your cheek and neck
Your ears fill with small puddles
Your hair flattens but glistens in a sheen
You can feel trickles run down your bare arms
Your t-shirt becomes heavy wet
Then your pants are weighted
and you can feel your socks and shoes
fill with a 'squishy' feel
This is a welcome rain

At times when you see it coming
you run from it as if the drops are
slings of demon arrows
If you don’t hide from them or
take shelter from their pummel
they will destroy the vanity
that you’ve cosmetically created
and this persona will be destroyed
Like the mythical figure that turned around
to look and consequently turned into salt
This rain becomes an unwelcome nemesis

Gray days sometimes last forever
The constant little pings that strike
the window panes as your saddened eyes
stare out and although those drops that fall from above
never touch your face they magically appear
Trickling down your cheeks
They seem to escape in a ductile purge
that evokes a sniffling response
and a deep pensiveness emoting
a nostalgia with a focus upon grief
from loves lost and loves unrequited
This is a rain both unwelcome and yet welcome

Birthday Dance

Today, April 25, I choose to dance
my hips may no longer move freely
as my real ones once could
but my heart, my spirit still wish to dance

There’s music all around
if not, then why do birds sing
with the soft and rhythmic chords
played by the breeze and wind

The trees they also sway
the flowers and wild growth play
and if I look upon the seas
they ripple and they wrinkle
bringing upon the shore
a crescendo bass, a roar

If my legs hold out
I will once again dance
upon the trails that beckon my approach
with every step I take
upon pines and maple leaves
fallen from the forest trees

The sounds of broken twigs
are followed by scurrying sounds
and the rustling abounds
of tiny ground forest dwellers,
and their friends perched on limbs
the kindred songs of pine warblers

These dance steps that I now partake
come from my heart, my soul
in celebration along with a birthday cake
With love of life on this day
my Mother gave me birth,
Ironically, on this same day of the year
three years ago, it seems so near,
she left onto that other journey,
one we must all travel through ’happenstance’,
reminding me, that whilst I’m here,
and while I can, yes, I must dance!

Morning

My feathery friends in the morning wake
Share playful songs of praise
attesting to the suns brilliant rays
Arising to await the joy
Of another day

When I walk into your space
that gentle look upon your face
your soft blue eyes stare into mine
And with a warm caress
our arms gather each other close
In a love filled embrace
Causing our two hearts
in synchrony, to race

This gives worth
To my day

Filling the Void

Alone; I used to be saddened by the concept.
I used to see it in my mother’s eyes,
in her tears when she wouldn’t know I’d see her crying.
I would think about her life and how our father left her
abandoned us, me, never to see him or hear his voice.
Mother gave us a picture of him one Christmas
when I was already thirty three.
She tried to share her life with other men
but we were of a different culture and too many of us.
I don’t think they truly cared for her or us
so they, too, abandoned us and I ‘felt’ her being alone.
When I could not have new shirts, pants
or shoes but only ‘used‘ and ‘hand-me-downs
I wouldn’t talk in school and walk home alone.
Later, too soon, I realized an emptiness filled our home
when once we had shared space, laughing and fighting,
singing and crying, now all have gone their own way.
Life has elucidated so, that ‘friends‘ are like leaves in trees,
they come and they go. Should I take this personally?
My lovely wife sometimes loves me, I know my ‘kids’,
Jules and Jaz, our two miniature poodles, do.
I now read prolifically, quite often living vicariously
in the written words of others.
Traveling the world, it would be fun, not just to visit
but to live as ‘Romans do“ and somewhere doing something
selflessly. A replacement to an emptiness, to the feeling of being alone.
Alone, we are all alone, it is ’the reality’!
I am no longer saddened by it,
but accept and understand how to fill the void.

Possum

It seemed to be hobbling slowly, as if inebriated, across my neighbors front lawn. Not knowing what type of wild life it was, I carefully walked toward it as it persist to stumble, aimlessly, without fear of my approach. Then it gingerly sat its haunch on the ground starring at me with its narrow snout, Grayish was its hair with a long leathery tail and leathery looking black ears. Sitting there it just stared at me as I approached closer. A blank stare almost of wonderment as it, with a preceding head wobble, fell side ways onto the grass. Laying there, all of a sudden it raised its upper torso and turned its head once more to look at me. It was a look of bewilderment staring at me almost in a query asking ‘why?’. It then slowly rested its head onto the grass and somehow I knew it was its last life effort. When it looked at me I felt sad and at the same time guilty that I couldn’t do anything to help not knowing what its situation was and also being inexperienced at rescuing this type of wild life. As it lay their for a moment, I now approached closer to see if there were chest or stomach movement, indications of breathing. I notice the belly moving about and at first I thought it was still breathing. At closer observation, I noticed a tiny little clawed foot and a tiny long prehensile looking tail, pink color like a new born baby’s skin, attempting to shimmy out of its pouch. This is when I deduced it was a possum marsupial. A mom that had just taken its last breath because it just lay there without chest breathing movement and now its eyes were wide open and glassed over.

Earlier, I had called animal control when first I saw it gingerly ambling across the front lawn of my next door neighbors house. They had not arrived yet and I felt helpless and surprisingly saddened to where I felt a tear trickling from my eyes and tickling down my cheek. It was that last struggling look toward me that had been impressed upon my human empathetic memory. When, finally, the wild life officer pulled up and observed the now stiff body laying down I pointed out the movement in mamas pouch and explained to him the movement of her stumbling about that I had observed prior to her expiring. He said it sounded like it had been poisoned. As he picked her up from the tail, a now stiff body, he proceeded to say, seeming sympathetic, that some wild life whose carcasses had been found recently showed indications of poisoning with anti-freeze. He stated that if this was one of those indications, even though they would try to keep it alive, the little one in the pouch would probably not survive.

As he pulled away I recalled that wide eyed life ending stare from ‘mom’, taking her last breath, was more a look at me as a human species rather than as an individuals inability to help another living being. I, unabashedly, sat down in my front lawn and soulfully cried. This, a dark cloud on an otherwise beautiful sunny warm Spring day.

Spring Dance

Warm, your breadth arrives
of lavender lilac and white wisteria
it awakens all from a wintry sleep
Your welcoming presence evokes
a dress of colorful freshness

sounds of feathered flocks
cast shadows in the sky
and terrestrials rustle and scamper about
filling the air with the sounds of flirtatious whistles
and teasing chirps and caws

The mirrored ponds long hard and still,
now wave and dance in step
with the gentle swirling breeze
causing its inhabitants
to peek out above and observe
the dance of Spring

'just think'n'

On this canvas where I am but a small spatter
where a paint brush is spontaneously flung and
I hang on with dear life onto the fibers till I dry in time
and that brush then paints with different strokes and colors
around me and I become integral to the scene
captured by the creators eye and in his
imaginative vision I exist

Simple

Simple is the man who sits outside to sell his wares.
Throughout the day he sits in rain and cold
with a back that aches, legs and fingers cramp,
complaints are few for his eyes have seen what wars can do
and this, simply, he does in order to eat and share
with those for whom he cares.

His wife who bears their children
and makes the wares he sells,
cooks the food they buy
and warms the home they all sleep in,
she truly is the ‘telltale heart’.

The arduous daily tasks are made simple
with smiles and embraces attempting to hide
the struggle and strife of Life’s woes
and man’s soulful lamentations
with its constant struggle of understanding
the creation of our Universe whether of chaos and spontaneity
or intervention from Divinity
and Man’s proclivity of a destructive affinity.

Simplicity is that the sky hovers high,
the wind blows and moves the trees, the flowers and the seas,
birds ride the waves of the wind
and sea ferrying creatures ride the ocean tides,
the stars poke the night with tiny beacons of light
until the moon harkens upon the darken sky.

As time travels and it gathers with delight
all that has been sleeping in the night,
the Sun raises it’s head
and its magnificent arms of light stretch out,
it awakens the simple man.

Life, So

Fleeting is Life, so

Memories grow

Friends have become careless shadows

Taste buds taste less without salt and jalapenos

Folds on skin show greater prominence
Like the wrinkles of the sea have splashed upon my face

My eyes gather fog but not of Nature's natural veil
can barely see that light house standing all alone on a promontory
of broken rocks into the sea

Pace of step has slowed with aches and pain
like that aged cherry crab tree that sits alone
in the middle of my front yard with baron limbs
from it’s wintry sleep
stretching out contorted.

Desire for youthful things that I must let go, grow

Lament ascends, tears no longer flow but are captured by my swollen lids underneath my eyes

Pleasures are smaller, understanding more often,
sympathy and empathy runs rampant and free
replacing disdain and judgment
Hope and wish usurp angst

Minutes last significantly longer
Days and weeks become extraordinarily shorter
Awakening to morning sunrises are astoundingly more breathtaking,
refreshing, heaven sent, thankfully

frequency of conversations with God have spawned spontaneously
replacing the once rationalized, seeds of doubt

Blood 'Bro'

It has been said that when the mouth speaks
the ears are at rest and cannot listen
but in the same, silence is deafening
when there are words that should be spoken

Silence sometimes is a defense
when emotions have been assailed
by the sometimes daggers of words
that may have been carelessly thrust
into the shelter of a heart

This will always be the case
when hearts have shared a common place
when they have seen and toiled
through Life’s disdainful mire

But in the same, when they have shared
both tears of sad and joy
have unselfishly shared a piece of bread
and when a needed warmth of hand
in times of destitute and fear,
without hesitation, given of one’s time selflessly

This, all, should be lifelong
even when outside distractions pose challenges
in attempts to interfere with Love of family
and the bonds of kinship, of blood

‘Do not disdain portrayals of love nor feign affection
but receive with open arms and heart
Life’s every emanation
For loves they falter and tend to fade away
and hearts they get scorned and cry from day to day
Do not fold within like a flower at the end of it’s season
but always leave a little room to start again.’

Pedals in the Snow

Pedals of a flower nearing the end of its season
are released and drop as offerings
no longer needed for their aesthetics
though not left unnoticed,
for the soil is thankful
the earth shall give birth anew.

This is not unlike the sacrifice
when youth is no longer the face,
the color of thy hair shall shade of gray
and strength of legs now give way,
they no longer run like wind and jump so high
these youthful things are given up as offerings
and in their place is left a space
for gentle memories of seasons past

Change of seasons come and pass
as sun to rain, the night to day
like colors of the fall and Winters snow
one departs when the other calls
for the other to come forth and play

At Days End

When my day has come to its nocturnal transition,
I am reflective upon time spent
as to whether my presence has influenced
thought or laughter, compassion or empathy at minimum.

Did I assuage a down swirl of sadness
or mitigate for someone the slight of loneliness?

Did my words or deeds somehow illumine
what might have otherwise remained in the darkness
ill fated intentions and has otherwise caused into action
a worthy selfless deed?

Soon my words will be followed by action
when my pain has waned and once again
I can amble about as if my prosthetic hips were my own.
It must follow quickly, though, for I fear
My eyes are witnessing spotted shadows
that may soon fully block the light of day
and my sight must come from my ears
and gentle touch of hands.

I have not much to give in Material things
but will share with whomever wishes to accept
an open hand of care, coming from a never ending
storage of Love, my Heart.

Sunny Shadow

Gray is the day, once again,
ironically my thoughts are clearer,
my understanding more lucid.

My eyes capture the brightness,
the light that hides behind
that veil with the aid
of the reflections arising
from the tiny mirrors
of the mornings dew

After all, gray is the color of the shadows
that help us appreciate the sun.
I am grateful for
this shadowed day.

Wish and Envy

My night time reveries called dreams are cut short.
My eyes open wide abruptly escaping the pleasantries
of my thoughts and memories
for I wish these, again, to be realities.

Like the first time I walked amidst the trails
between those alpine covered mountains
that pierce through the hanging curtains of the skies
and that feeling comes o’er me of gasping air,
with pleased and tear filled, grateful eyes.

Like music when it filled our youthful ears
and all of life before us,
of friends together as we played
in muddy fields or in dance halls
when we would jump about in fearless fray
then hug each other, all, at the end of the day.

Like quiet walks when first we met,
holding hands feeling each others wet perspiration
that comes from the warmth of our desires.
Like all lovers must feel on their initial strolls
down pathways by the rivers bend,
we stop and face each other, place hands on each others waist,
staring in each others eyes without words being spoken,
our expressive swollen lips gently touch
and tongues searching like keys inserted into doors
awaiting entryways, openings, into lust filled spaces.

These moments now just memories
filling my dreams and daytime reveries
with envy and desires that they would be realities
once again and that my eyes would remain closed
enjoying the comfort of this restful sleep
that usurps the pangs of loneliness.

Free

‘Nature’: The everlasting things are these;
The ageless skies and wrinkled seas,
The silvery beacons of the night,
The fickle moon of transient light.
Unresting winds that seldom sleep
Rocks that external silence keep.
Earth’s mighty sons, the mountains, stand
Unmindful of Time’s withering hand.
Indifferent to the worlds brief woes,
The sun, aloof, forever glows.
Though mortals yield to Death’s decrees,
God’s everlasting things are these.

E.G. Beaudry

‘Love’: That gasp or gulp of air that gathers in the chest
and marries with a smile,
it dances with a palpitating heart,
feels the warmth of an embrace,
human or otherwise,
and in it’s absence nurtures
it’s memory by the trickle of that
teardrop that slowly gathered in
the corner of one’s eye,
blinks and it's released
yet another will soon gather, in memory.

M.L. Arellano

Physical Therapy

Doing my inclined leg presses on the ‘total gym’, the name given to the inclinable bench, I was concentrating on the necessary focal point of this perfunctory exercise, my newly replaced prosthetic hips. It was my last day of physical therapy after my second total hip replacement and twenty four weeks of physical therapy, twice a week twelve weeks for each hip after each surgery. High angst and many frustrating days getting both surgeries done within an eight month period (“ wah, wah, wah!”). Next to me was another empty, yet not for long, total gym. Feebly yet determined, this small of stature, maybe being that she walked with her shoulders curved pronouncedly forward, came to sit on the ’total gym’ exercise bench next to me. After being assisted on to the table at an incline, she began doing the knee bends. My curiosity of course observed her but only through my discrete periphery. She labored with every knee bend some painful distress as it showed in her cringing of the eyelids, tilting of the head as she rhythmically exhaled with every bend and lift of her legs. As I noticed her facial expression, while exhaling, she would struggle with taught lips and her tongue curling in between the upper and lower false teeth to bring them back in. At that moment it reminded me of my Mother when she would do the same every time we would laugh deeply about the silliest things.
This lady next to me looked to be around the octogenarian age group. I thought to myself as to why at that age would she be getting such a drastic surgical procedure. My curiosity got the best of me so I asked her “….what did you have done“? She very cautiously and without turning her head to look at me said “ I had a total right knee replacement”. Without me having to as a follow on question she continued “ My husband has been pressing me to get it done because of the pain I’ve been complaining about”. “ We finally decided to get it done which was just three weeks ago”. She said that with resembling quiet pride after I had complimented her on how well, seemingly, her progress was coming along. She then proceeded to tell me about how her husband has also been trying to get her to buy a new car because her fifteen year old Buick was beginning to show disrepair and he was concerned of her safety. She went on to say, “ I finally got a new, used, Impala, a person that we know who is a car salesman just dropped it off at my back garage”. I asked her well how do you like it? “oh, its ok, I liked my Buick better”. “What does your husband think about it” I asked her? She softly and with a noticeable quiver in her chin said “… He never saw it, He died six weeks ago”. She paused. “ We were married for fifty five years”. I calmly without attending to too much dramatics said “ I’m very sorry”. She didn’t even look my way but kept looking forward, exhaling finally her timer went off for her to go on to her next exercise. Her physical therapist came to assist her off the ’total gym’ and she just looked forward with an octogenarian pride as she was assisted to her next exercise. I could hear her tell her therapist “…phew, that was all I could take of that exercise”.

The Link

There’s a simple link that connects
A desire to live and appreciation of it.
If the strength of its content ceases to hold
the weight and to absorb the tension,
the value of life no longer has that silent glitter
like the stars that hold the night, or
the day no longer grapples with outstretched arms of Sun.
That link must always hold a sense of longing
even amidst the grey and cold
of seasons changing too fast
for even the spirit and heart
to grab and to hold .

We so clumsily handle the link provided
because we rely on understanding
rather than just appreciating.
When we look out upon the ocean waves
we don't attempt to guess how high
or when the next wave will come in
but we watch while they dance and jump
always trying to touch the sky.
We look up into the starry night
and question not what holds them up
but thankful for their sensorial delight.

Some things in life we will never understand;
Like the history of bloodshed man has imposed upon its kind;
Unresolved religious and spiritual fantasies
we wish may have answers to that hunger within,
of the pain, of the tears, of our joys, of our fears
whether this short Life sojourn shall have
meaning in the end.

This link, the breath, the strength of its fiber,
the reason to live, its content is called by the name, Love.

Relationships

Relationships like Life are so fragile. When Life is lived with “verve”; when all the senses are keen and all the challenges in Life are exercised with the passion of a ‘snorting hoof kicking bull’; when their’s conflicts or setbacks, they are felt as if the bull has charged and gored. When one lives passionately all is felt in the same. Like the hurricane winds that blow and the grasses are forced to lay down and then the wind changes direction the grasses do also and with the same force. In this realm of passionate existence when family conflicts arise they are like mountainous obstacles even the small disagreements. Sometimes the passions of conflict revel in their own mire and they sink into its odorous abyss. Relationships with friends many times evaporate if these impassioned conflicts arise. Family members cannot dissipate in the like because they will always be of common genes and blood but the damage of the heart can be so deep that cries of ‘disownment’ can be loudly heard.

Conflicts of political ideologies, religious convictions amongst acquaintances and friends become a bifurcating force that may never be ameliorated. Among family, seemingly,insuperable conflicts separates and creates distance but can never or should ever be a “disowning” lever to be applied. Only death can physically abort this relationship and even then the soul never departs from its mundane or spiritual connection.

The passions of the heart and its emotional character sometimes dramatizes one living a life with verve. The cerebral interpretations of the ‘passionate man’ in many cases have much disconnection and are misunderstood. Those that seldom see or share the tears of the heart, also, seldom feel the warm breath of life and never inhale its exuberance. Their eyes open but never witness the ’sol’ of the soul.

The irony of the ‘Relationship’ between ‘Life and the ’passionate man’ and ‘Life’ and the ‘cerebral man‘; is that when ’Death arrives the ’passionate man’ with great resistance wishes not to shake it’s hand but when the dispassionate or ‘cerebral man’ attends to ’Deaths’ presence, he shakes its hand and does not care to understand.

Sun Shines for Someone

The sun shines today evoking my spirit to once again dance.
The winter and cold this year has been bold
the weather has challenged the souls of man
caused them to question their faith,
dried up the caverns where tears were stored
human hearts truly felt from Divinity, they’d been scorned.

Amidst this dark cloud left from the wrath of natures hand
the humans resilient spirit sang songs in the streets
in the face of the storm with hands around the world
coming forth with a gentle hand of shelter, food and warmth.

The suns wondrous fingers pierce through my window pane
reawaken is my spirit of song lost in the midst of that storm
but depressed is the soul of those still without homes
awaiting relief from the pain and the scorn.

Be mindful, those who read these words
whose hearts they touch, whose thoughts incite;
There are those of us who live amongst the tree tops,
the sun touches and nutrients befall
and those who live in the shadows cast
who can see the sun above
but to share in its radiance, they’ve little hope.

I ask that you not wait for an extended hand
but from within of thy inherent kindness
share thy wealth not just from thy pot of gold
but of thy health, provide the strength and compassion
to rebuild their land