Welcome, New Year

The fresh Spring gave pleasure
of new birth to my eyes,
my sense of smell delighted
in the aroma of Nature’s breath

the summer sun caramelized me,
the wind and ocean tide
blew my hair, the cool sea brine water
cleansed the sand away,
I stood naked in relative significance
not unlike the ocean waves splashing
against the cliffs applauding the seagull’s
riding the wind

The fall dressed me in Autumn reds,
while robins, wrens made their beds
knowing a cool breeze from the north
would soon coat with white the homes,
accost our finger tips our toes
with bites of frost and numbness,
resent the abandonment of the warm

This conical of vision
and small web of existence
is my denizen, built and moldedpro
every year by all that shares
my abode, melded into my
realm of wonton change
volitional prescribed proscription
not unlike anyone else’s
of common cognition

A year is but a window into Life
composed into a time piece
by our forefathers to reflect upon
their mundane accomplishments,
attempting to cheat the darkness
with light wanting to manage
the seasons and sleep

I smile when spring appears
I am that summer sun,
the changing colors of the fall,
together melded in this conical vision
through all my aging years

Let’s feed our hungry
give to the poor,
speak of world wide calming,
start a new calendar
by our commitment to ending ‘war’.

Pondering

Pondering in the early dawn
looking out the window
overlooks a birdbath
where a crimson red cardinal perches
also a large blue and white blue jay
both have crowns on their heads
wonder if I have one

A grey cool mist has settled
tiptoeing on the grass
grasping the trees like a veil
strange that their’s no pristine
cover of white upon this landscape
on Christmas Day

A log is crackling with
blue yellow red flames
bursting of freedom
in my fireplace
soothed by soft vocals from
songstresses coming out of a music box

If this be the last Christmas
last Hanukkah, last Holiday,
called for by philosopher kings
and ancient calendar makers
then let their be calm and peace,
sated bellies, warm embraces,
Love

Two Hearts in Delight

Can I reach into your heart
for just a moment and feel
it’s palpitations

wander into your soul
and feel the spirit of
your giving not as
nebulous as it’s portrayed

Can I touch the softness
of your skin pressed against
my cheek and as my lips
warmly challenge yours

then whisper those little
words that become
truly so large in the imprint
they leave behind

If you let me
I’ll brush your hair back
taking pleasure in your eyes
as they peer deep into mine
noticing Love
emote from my heart

Walk with me by my side
from the dawn of sunlight
till crimson dusk of day
let those that might see us
share in the delight
of Love at play

And the moon gives
the night a romantic insight
and the stars begin to dance
providing you and I
gentle memories of
two hearts in flight

The Quiet of Life

Sometimes I take your heart to task
your souls aghast
your mind to the undesirable past

Life is not, all
chocolate filled cherries
some will have their pits

We all want that golden sun
to awaken our morning eyes
with the sound of an aviary
when we rise

But once we open our eyes
we must face the storms
that sometimes fill the Sky’s

We choose to read
the sweet poetic words
and listen only to music’s
mellifluous sounds

when words read not to our choosing
and a note is dissonant or flat
we close our eyes
cover our ears

John Lennon’s ‘…Imagine, there’s no Heaven,
there’s no Hell…’, then;
roaring ocean waves would not be feared
but be viewed like the harrowing of soil
needed for new growth in Spring

We should embrace the storm
for then will come the calm,
when there's pain and angst
then comes appreciation of
it's cessation, then,
quiet and health

Do not shush me,
turn your eyes
or cover your ears,
share me with others,
I am Life

Welcome Home

If I say to you, 'thank you'
do you hear me through your pain
your flashbacks still haunt you
beyond the patriotic refrain

My return back in the seventies
not a voice or hand extended
lungs still filled with agent orange
and the napalm smell offended

inculcated surreptitious motivations
of sacrifices upholding liberties
Communism, arms of mass destruction
fear replaces truth's entreaties

trust is garnered by a leader
from sons, daughters, husbands, wives
to dispense an ideology of democracy
interfering in a nation's sovereignty,
asking for the sacrifice of lives

we bring them home from hell
a feigned handshake and nod
give them alcohol and a pain pill
without insurance or a job

we bring them back to families
whose children now have grown
sitting at their dining table
surrounded by little faces now unknown

we've now brought them back
another war wrapped in a lie
how many more Vietnams and Iraqs
so much more 'life' must die

the world view of America
is hypocracy of Christianity
conjuring reasons for making war
and our politicians saying to our soldiers,
an unrepentant, 'Welcome Home'

Brrrr

Even though my ears are being warmed
by my folded arms up covering them
the edges and the lobes are bitter numb,
forearms have forgotten feeling,
fingers immobile frozen stiff,
underneath me pebbles and stones
feel like jagged boulders
pressed against my side and back
From below, my belt loops feel
like fence links with my
pants stiff of piss and shit
like medieval jousting wear
warmed only when relieving myself
down to my socks rolled over
the tops of my shoes frozen
by sweat and yesterday's relief
over the laces crusting them
permanently tied till Spring
I reminisce of the secure warmth
as my buddy and I waded in the Mekong 'bush'
before the ugly 'swish and plup' sound
from a AK-47 found him, not me
These days are freezing cold even as
shards of warm sun pierce down
giving an occasional ray of hope
The black of night comes colder still
with that insidious veil of fear
of not seeing another sunrise
not seeing my buddy or those
who once shared my love
Will they know how cold
my last minutes were,
when my last breath hovers
as frosted vapors carrying my soul,
rising from this 'cold' Earth?

Where I've Been

walked in Life’s flower garden
stepped carefully
but not quietly
left footprints where I’d been
knowing that time,
the sun, the moon, the wind
would corrode the imprints
I had left behind
others would walk
leaving their foot prints
atop mine
and through all this
before time forgets my
being there and other
footsteps cover mine
I hope someone
will look down
in this flower bed
asking of my steppings:
whence he’s come
and to where’s he gone

Smile, At Least

Today I gave
not money
But a heartfelt thought
a smile

Hope you accept my gift
I have no money but
I do have a large trunk
of gifts in my heart

I will say
only nice things
about you
my brother, my sister

When you rise today
be not afraid of
what I’ve said
I will pass along
only good things

I must ask
of you
the same

Make this
a true holiday
and pass it forward

Innocence Lost

Come back to me
a memory where there was
the pureness of gaiety

smiling while running
traversing the fields
the empty lots

scrapes on my arm
my knees, hands
thanks for t-shirts

'Scar', my first American book
first drawing, 'the Virgin Mary'
my first love poem

warm shy gentleness
of a girls hand in mine
first cheek kiss

campfire, 'Sleepy Hollow'
showing off, guitar prowess
infatuation, my teacher, older woman

Beatle’s haircut, singer in a band
mixer with girls
Ahhh! Kiss on lips

sports, football quarterback
dating, sex (ooohhh)
cars

Vietnam War draft, Yuk!!!
fear, fear, carnage and Death
naivete, innocence lost

snob

entering into the realm of creative expression
is like entering a forest of wild flowers and fauna
the sentient artist steps carefully and observes
non-intrusively supplanting oneself in the wonderment

expressing through melody and instrument
or through word with rhyme
a canvas of colors
portrayed in a moment in time

the artist is the conduit
to the aesthetics of life
providing the human spirit
with momentary pleasures
interrupting mundane strife

but like other coteries
developed in societies
members become elitists
thinking themselves ’better’
creating their own pieties

skill-sets formed from academia
regurgitating strict paradigm
disavowing nontraditional line
of those choosing an unwillingness to rhyme
restrict creativity and new flowers blooming
in the forests of our children’s time

do not shun them
or ignore them
listen to their music
listen to the words
for all have something to say
keep eyes and ears open
all people are artists
and everyone must have their day

Ride a Nebulus Sky

gossamer wings ride the quiet wind
amidst the nebulae sky
hovers unheard unseen
the wind blows hard
it flounders
but stays adrift

all else below
seems anchored and stable
yet immobile, inflexible
doesn’t move in the wind
its vision limited
knows not what lies beyond

rules regulate
the physical limits
staying within the lines
a smile from the heart
breaks down borders

Life’s winds gust
press against my frail wings
gently I ride it’s angered might
I fear not it’s approach
I do fear being anchored

I smile while I ride the wind

Oh, Before I Forget

Suns, rainy days

Snows

Daisies, purple passions

Walks holding hands

Joy, tears, fears, hugs

Friends come and go

Oh, before I forget

Large mountains never ending skies

fingers in streams running cold

Tapestry of marigolds

Blue, gold, red and purple colors

Donkey-ear deer

Bald Eagles soar

Twelve thousand feet

Near the sky

Friends come and go

Oh, before I forget

Waves over starboard

Over stern

Tall masts tickling cotton feet

hanging from the sky

Crimson cheeks of morning skies

Seagull salient cries

Your head resting

Counting my heartbeats

Friends come and go

Oh, before I forget

tortillas rolled with sweat

Waft; frijoles, cilantro, onions, cumin

Mamasita then quietly leaves

Incessant tears, deep heart pain

Hugging, holding frequents

We've years with each other

Aging, time, not a friend

Friends come and go

Oh, before I forget

I love you

Did I forget something?

Oh, before I forget

I Love You

Wandering, my Heart

Today, right now, at this moment
I’m wandering in the wanderings
of my heart

The journeys I’ve never taken
the steps I’ve never walked
but those I’ve always
wanted to

Listening to the sultry vocals
and piano prowess of Diana Krall
how the wind swirls
around the hills in Rio
where Jesus with open arms
watches over it’s rivers
and valley’s and ocean side

My wanderings take me
into a reverie
of the warm moist touch
her hand in mine
feeling the pulse of our hearts
beating in rhyme

Into the arms of Mother’s bosom
where not often enough
did she hold me
before she wandered onto
Heaven’s path

The ghost like fingers of the Sun
reach through my window pane
gently touch the nape of my neck
waking me from my wanderings

Nature’s soft awakening reminds me
of how life still abounds
dressed in flora and fauna
awaiting my embrace and gathering
of my future wanderings

But for this moment
I’ve escaped the
tears and pangs of
my Life’s disdains

Sound of Paper Lunch Bags

The many voices peacefully gather
utilizing a means provided, freedom
to assemble by the long talked about
understood rights and liberties
freedom to speak about parity, equity
hope, dreams and aspirations
promised by the authors of
our forefathers and those empowered
Used to watch these gatherings
on television that seemed to come from lands
far away which caused introspection
wondering how sad how unenviable

Today received a single paper slip, a notice
I can now watch more TV at home
‘temporarily’ not needed at work
soon my TV no longer works, either
Can’t afford to repair or a new one
My car is not running
no money for gasoline anyway
Unemployment check is used to feed
my children and warm the house
I now wave, sadly,in the am at my children
in the school bus that has replaced
our bonding ride to school,
miss my kids bantering, sounds of lunch bags
in the back seat of our car
Warm soup and bread for dinner
can’t afford paper for the resume
On the TV at the corner coffee shop
'...Wall Street companies make record profits'
'...Congress can’t tax these companies
they’re the job creators'
Why don’t they give me a job
If we tax these Wall Street companies
they might not donate to Congressmen
Oh, those are the 'created' jobs they’re talking about
Have to run home, soup on the stove,
school bus coming, hope I don’t get sick
no work insurance

Tomorrow I’ll walk down another block in town
I’ll find a job

I Treasure You Still

When you take time to look at me
You don’t hear me speak
But you look at me anyway
What do you see?


Am I still a soft and gentle memory
Full of your life in me
Will you touch me, feel me
Have your way with me


Still think of me with pleasure
Not with judgmental eyes or measure
Can you care for me again
The way you once did


Am I still your Knight in shining armor
Or am I smudged, my sword dull
Is my white stallion no longer impressive to you
Will you ride with me again?


If you take time again to look at me
Peer into my eyes and see the reflection of what I see
You will notice a shiny golden fleece
That has never dulled in measure
Since when first I saw you, my Treasure

Nocturne

When you wake up in the morning
will you gently touch my hand
so my eyes open and share
the days beginnings
as the crimson morning sunlight
reflects from your hair

Like the warmth we shared
last night when your face
pressed against mine
and our eyes closed together
wandering into Love’s abyss
Oh yes, and then there was that
sensual lust filled kiss

I wish it to go on
beyond the crumbled beddings
and the pillow on the floor
that still hold the words
we whispered in each other's ears
and our warm breath hovered
while our lips gently touched
our tongues wrestling
to dominate the other's

The world outside this window
knew not of what we
spoke last night
nor did it hear
our bodies grunts and groans
intertwining into each other's loins
dismissing for some moments
all the goings of worldly woes

The crescent moon cast
shadows of our conjoined
bodies on the wall
a seductive temptress view
curtains left un-drawn
vapors rise from two bodies
in a dance askew

And as we pay required attention
to the day, we anxiously await
the lust of tangled beddings,
the warmth of moisture
between our legs and
a new Moon smiling
upon our shadows
once again

Days of Yore

The contemplative mind
hovers silently
on an Autumn day

observes the verdant dress
turn to gold and red
fall away

Reminds one of
the cycle of life
adrift from
day to day

Tears fall
from the heart
quietly of
yesterday

Music assuages
the pain
rides away

and the faces
no longer present
ride this wave

soon I shall
join them
the red and gold
shall no longer
portray days of yore

This is for 'U'

Unapologetically,
I embrace my sadness
my tears fall
with violent splatter
near my feet
No one hears them
No one feels their pain

Uniquely,
my human make up
unwittingly assailed
with passioned emotions
from sad and distraught
graduating to glee and elation
are disguised in uniqueness,
seemingly, from other
variant Life forms

Undoubtedly,
cerebral inheritance
vacillates in appreciation
by it’s limited ability
anguishing by the indiscernible
esoteric knowledge
distant and ungraspable
by human understanding
of our genesis:
a conceived Deity as our maker
or are we a byproduct of ‘meme’ (R.Dawkins)
via higher intelligence

Unresolved,
are mundane human conditions
arising from ethnic, race and cultural prejudices,
uncompromizing ideologies, religiosity,
for the equitable distribution
of earthly riches
and to this
I lament
my tear drops go unheard

Angela

Angel in Spanish
you cast upon us
so many smiles
even if, but for a little while
you stole away
the mundane

This day will be yours
as a celebration
of what you left with us
a memory
the Angel who brought
this world a smile

You comforted me
when all the while
your gleaning smile
while repairing mine
did not speak
of your own trials

Selflessness is an
angelic trait
and I’m sure the reason
why your friend,
your Mom
named you Angela

Gracias for my Smile
and when I do
it will be for you
A welcoming key
you’ve left with us
that opens the gate
where clouds form
the floor boards and tile

The door bell sounds
of heavenly rings
and in the closet rung
now hang your wings

Silence is Golden

She quietly sits staring
sometimes at the bruises
on her arms her legs
wondering how they got there
She doesn’t recall her husband,
son, her daughter lifting her
from the floor.

He now has time to
reminisce and hash around all
the sermons all the words written
from sixty years of ministry
Lies down ten hours at a time
with tubes and needles
feeding him nutrition
and cleansed blood

They come together
for short moments in the day
husband and wife, life partners
instinctively embrace
sit on their irreplaceable sofa
on that one spot
molded through time
and sit without speaking
just stare forward
Her tiny arms and feeble chest
wraps tightly around his
his arm blankets around
her shoulders

When once his words were his sustenance
her violin titillating
ears in concert halls
and churches
Now words no longer spoken
fingers no longer stretch strings
once awakening angels
They now sit
in silence

Unscented Flower

I show my face
hoping you notice
but your world is surrounded
by things other
than me

Like a middle child
when adversity appears
or a swale between
high waves
that parts them
we are left unseen

Silence is heard
as quiet resounds
a single flower
born unscented,
simple words
without pretension

Will you see me

Autumn's Clarity

The Autumn’s crispness
highlights colors
dawns and dusks
with yellow and
rusty auburn leaves

the homeless man
sits in this one street
all year around
his attire doesn’t change
with the change of season

He wears the same three layers
t-shirt, shirt, Vietnam War Army green peacoat
jump boots have not seen
a spit shine for a while
his blanket over his shoulders
dirty, holey and frayed

Wonder'n what he’s thinking
Where his memories take him
does he look forward
to a new day
finding small moments of joy
or at least of contentment
in some way

What lost or forgotten corner
lie his childhood pictures now
possibly sixteen millimeter film clip
of him being held by a mother
when once he enjoyed her caresses
someone’s embrace
being comforted while tiny childhood
tears trickle down little cheeks
his hotdog has jumped off
the paper plate
he sits unconsolable at a
picnic table in a park
his mother assures him
all will be ok

The coolness
and bright Autumn colors
will soon be covered by frost
become unforgivingly cold
the rendered clarity
will be darkened in gray
our eyes will seek shelter
in a haven of warmth
while his peacoat
and blanket,with his memories
once again left alone
in the cool of Autumn
in this street corner
his home

Another lap

The season's cool
discreetly tiptoes in
The morning’s dew
perches a little longer
glistening, mirroring
with prism intensity
the burning yellow-orange
reflecting a glitter grander
than the Summer's sweat

This cool titillates
the nostrils with a waft
of awakening freshness
to the day
A virgin nascence envelops
all that lives

The Earth
is slowly undressing
from dark of night attire
It faces naked
toward the sun
uninhibited unabashed
taking its diurnal jaunt
begins another orbital lap


I ride along
while in its wake
the wind folds my skin
knowing fair well
some will remain
ebb'd into wrinkles
much like inner rings
in trunks of trees,
noting another lap
has been run
another season
has come

Footprints Lost

Wondering what has become of me
when there was a lust for love,
that passion for the verve,
running carefree as
fresh sprinkles of wet cool
spackled my face,
bare feet in the grass,
my vocal chords swelling
from singing out loud
my favorite songs
not caring if I awaken
the sleeping
All was the character
of hope and wishes
thinking smiles would
be mirrored by strangers
and good deeds were
a common thread
amongst all.
My vision,
considered naiveté
not condemned
of being ignorance
and my love ones
Mother, brothers
were accessible
at my beckon call
not yet swallowed by
the earth or their ashes
blowing away in the wind.
Life’s storms have
covered my footprints

I Hear a Roar

Might I be alone
walking and talking
while life’s storm rolls
following me from behind
like a roaring train
coming as I walk
on it’s tracks

Waking in the warmth
of my bed with my wife’s
embrace, my two little
‘kids’ lying at my feet
coffee percolating sound
letting me waft
the beginning of
my day

Belied by nightmarish dreams
of the unfortunate
who’ve recently felt the wrath
of ‘mother nature’s’ hand
now waking in a
foreign space
wrapped around by arms
of angry, saddening
disgrace

tracing the steps
of those disheartened souls
whose every waking day
decry those of us
with so much
who don’t hear
their cries
their children’s
starvation woes

seeing a woman
standing in a street corner
with a cardboard sign
pressed against her chest
indiscernible letters written
with her children's crayons
a man stands next to her
with a plastic bag
in each hand
filled with empty cans
cars speed by

The roaring sound
that rolls behind
is of steps and grunts
coming from our ‘maker’
chasing to catch
this uncaring world
of his own creation
and shake it
from it’s core

Tickling Grassblades

Watching the twinkling
the hanging lights
of the night sky
the blades of grass
tickle the nape of my neck
I lay
wondering about
when the glitter
of these lights
shall cease in teasing
the reflecting
sparkle in
the many eyes
that have looked
up seeing and gathering
their direction, their history
their future

Is there an End,
a Forever.
A Reason for it’s Beginning?

Without a Key

Her voice enters
quietly
into rarely
traveled chambers
of my heart
unknown
echoes
heard with
heartfelt
passion


she smiles
and
my eyes gather
tears, I
release them
washing away
those dire
thoughts
in the absence
of this
smile

A joy
gathers, battling
breaths deep
inside
She’s entered
my abode
without a
key
lies back
makes
herself a home
where few
have
ever been
allowed

I hope
she’ll want
to stay

Dessert Anyone?

Universe with
your pleasured consumption
of infinity
of all the breaths
that I have taken
all the words
that I have spoken
both written
and in song
the volume of Love
I have given,
will I be
a portion
of your meal
possibly a nibble
of your dessert
or will I be
discarded with
the crumbs?

Or am I a tiny
speck of sand
like our Earth
is to the Milky Way
as it is
then to you
sieved
through as in
a medieval
glass time piece
then turned over
to be re-sieved
time and time again
while you
savor the sweetness
of infinity?

spring water

Time passes
a barnacle
in the mind

a heart
without eyes
has no sense
of time

The wind
the rain
a mirror’s reflection
on a face

years of playing
in summer winds
and winter storms

a heart still sings
youth filled
tunes
the legs
the feet
no longer
move in tempo

reminiscing upon
memories
that fill the glass
with spring water
of youth

Nutty Friend

She lets me feed her
from my hand
scurries down
to the homemade
wooden perch I’ve
logistically hung on
the tree.

Multiple hanging birdfeeders
all around
thistle bags hang
on hooks of black cast iron poles
stuck in the ground
a created aviary

Josette, my nutty friend
climbs down
amidst the feathered clan
on the platform of the perch
sitting on her haunches
nibbles on the corn and black oilseed
I’ve placed there for her pleasure

She sits up
taking pleasure in the seed
proudly displays
like brass buttons
her little teats
as her tail
waggles in the air
letting me know
of her contentment
and her joy

light at night

The night, ah yes , the night
I have not seen it lately
for my eyes have been closed

I have heard it, though
what life bares it’s soul
and sings in the night

It wanders about
like I do
in the light

I recall once
not too long ago
looking up
and their were holes
in the sky
one big one
for sure
in the dark
in the night
Boy, was it bright

'M' is for

My eyes closed last night
but still could see
shadows cast
from the day before

Misty light cast upon
the swollen cheeks
distended bellies
tears crust on little faces

My body lays upon
a warm mattress
my belly is full
and sate

My pains and aches
incomparable
to those tiny swollen feet
and the rash
urine soaked shorts

Mom has passed
giving up her food to them
but soon they will
once again hold her hand
smile down upon
an uncaring world

Maybe the tears
that fill my eyes
will blur
the shadows cast
and I shall sleep

Exhaled

Swollen her eyes lids
would then unfurl
releasing saline residue
of memories once forgotten

She shares her story
his wanton treachery
behind closed doors
covered bruises
from him begotten

Someone who closely I knew
sharing boyhood dreams
pangs of hunger
fatherless
unwanted lonely nights
of acculturating plight

Attentive are my ears
as she speaks of the years
nine children born
little time shared
spent by his hand
changing diapers in the night

Commiserating
of positives from their past
her husband, my brother
alone and homeless
in the lonely LA streets
he passed

We wandered into caverns
where minds wish not to go
hearts disdain to travel
Catharsis tamed the moment
we exhaled those darken
shadows cast

Wisdom Reflected

Four days this last week
I saw the world through the eyes
of ninety year old souls
capturing some of their
inner wisdom and their life’s tolls

Papa, a Minister, came with a portable kidney
dialysis set up in our spare bedroom
He's hooked-up nightly by seven
for a ten hour stint till the next morn
refreshed with verve without forlorn

His partner, lover and wife of sixty five years
a teacher of music, a first seat violinist
mother of three daughters and one son,
tennis player when her legs were young
led a choir of church hand bells ethereally rung

When first I met them twenty six years prior
He’d be on his Sunday pulpit proselytizing ‘good’
She’d fill every crevice in the vestibule
with sinuous violin minuets
her finger tips touching every human pore

Now she barely ambles but conjures strength
when incontinence assails her pride
Scurries, crouched, with her walker
resembling a diminutive Mother Teresa’s stature

They shared their ageless wisdom
reminding us of selflessness
we peered into their eyes, their souls
while caring for their whithering incarnate shells
seeing of what is soon to be ourselves

The Likes of Me

What wind does there yonder blow
it crashes upon my face
surrounds me like a whirl wind
warm or cool, wet and cold


It molds me like the rocks upon the shore
years of blowing back and forth
giving rides to winged friends
and anything it grasps
when hard it blows


It circles me with life’s adornments
sometimes they glitter or they glow
and some may fall and break
when the wind howls
and intensity grows

Not unlike the stones of ages
it forms the structure of my being
shapes the high or low brow
the cheek bones on my face

So when I look into a mirror
or others peer into my eyes
they see what wind around me swirls
that encapsulates my world

A Balance

Awoke this morning with the vocals of Eva Cassidy
and Israel Kamakawiwo's singing their renditions
of ‘Somewhere over the rainbow’
Simple and mellifluous she spreads honey on an
already sweet dream filled song whereas he
plays it with his ukulele in a happy upbeat

Yesterday, filled my listening pleasures with
Yo Yo Ma’s emotional integration with his cello
interpreting Beethoven and Mozart through his fingers
of their linear manifestation of human genius

Sate my palette with a coating of Shelley, Tennyson
Shakespeare; all this to spoil my sensorial
with choice pleasures buffering
the inundation of pain filled realities
of treacherous Weather and Wars

Tomorrow I shall greet my wife’s elderly parents
visiting and bringing more than ninety years
of these days of choices and well cognizant of their
awaiting to embrace their transitional destiny
where all the music, the poetry of Human history
now reside in that restful abode

The Rapture is Come

The Rapture did come for some
once existing full with life
in a harrowing wind blown moment
it’s breath of inherent Being is ripped out
by Nature’s vengeful angered hand

In Hell's abode the devil exhales
and the dark of darkness replaces all light
the quiet and calm of the day
is swallowed by a deadly roar
of destructive winds forcing life's flight

Screams resounding with cries of sorrow
filling the darkness and left unheard
cuddled embraces fill the feigned security of corners
where once Felix and Fido’s bowls were left
now lifeless souls of dead huddled carcasses rest

As the wrath of Earthly destruction rolls away
left behind are chards of
denuded Oaks standing still
barren of leaves and limbs
casting eerie tombstone shadows upon piled rubble

Unlike, as captured in pictorial annals
of a Vietnamese child naked, burned skin
scaling and pealing off from napalm 
her smoldering village lays waste behind her
giving rise to the distil morals of war,

had this death and destruction
been from man made war
the battles would be fought and
victory or defeat would be hailed
but this being Nature’s blight
unsettled questions assail the night

Left is unresolved pain and sorrow
questioning the existence of our Faith
Why must all this suffering be
and where is that intervening
caring hand of our Deity?

Release

Floundering about of what to speak
what words with which to paint the picture

of those that draw the memories
or those of the empirical present

a process of emotional acceptance of
how life exists beyond the self

trying to intertwine one’s soul
with the universe

accepting that in order for this to happen
one must release the individual self

and if this be the choice entwined in empathy for all
then let me be part of this universal oneness

is this called Love

You Are The World

When one feels their world is
lonesome uncaring and small
look out your window
walk out the door
expand your world
answer the call

It is said
it all begins from within
where comfort and joy abound
from a larger world
you allow to surround

Your eyes will grow wide
lungs will expand
mind heart and soul
sated from demand

The more you will have
the more you will give
an unending overflow
enough to share like a sieve

The emptiness fills
the void disappears
when you become part of the world
it dissipates life’s fears

Holding Love's Hand

Love is a curious thing
We try to share it
with those for whom we care,
those who we choose and want in our lives
They then walk away onto their own horizons
taking with them this Love
We wonder if we can Love again
How much more Love is left inside
can we Love in the same way again
It’s taken me many years to realize Love
the nuances of it’s manifestations
the feelings and understandings
the emotional stakes
I ask myself... Do I Love well and
is Love reciprocated proportionate
to how one Love’s
It’s curious how Love can
be shared even with the abstract of Faith
Is Love ‘caring’, magnified
When I walk onto my horizon
will Love hold my hand
and not let go

Life Goes On

Restless, rambling thoughts and memories
of how the years have crept up on me
Mother and brothers speak to me
from that other world, oh the absence,
the void, Life goes on

Sadness abounds in natures devastations
Human suffering, the pain of unexpected loss
recovery mode for those who are
the survivors, Life goes on

Children playing in the streets
young lovers walking hand in hand
trees are full with leaves
a waft of a lilac bush, begonias, Spring
Life goes on

Chards of sun rays break through
grey wind blown stratus clouds
light droplets spill over a rainbow
sprinkle upon pedals making them sparkle
Life goes on

A robin holds a tiny twig in its beak
closely watches my approach toward her tree,
bright red cardinal perches on the feeder,
a redwing black bird eats seeds on the ground
it tilts it’s head chattering at me
Life goes on

On my driveway with a cup of coffee
breathe deep fresh air into my lungs,
kiss my wife standing next to me,
our quadripedal ‘kids’, Jules and Jaz
chase the ducks and squirrels
Life goes on

The Beach

I stand here with sand between my toes
The wind blows hard. The skin on the cheeks
of my face flap like little flags on a pole
The tides rush in ominously roaring all the way
toward me teasing me to jump in and play
A cacophony of loud splashing sounds against the rocks
standing left of me all stone faced. Stand like gentry there
for many years prior to any man before me stood here.
The roaring sound of waves and whirling of the ocean wind
recreating the beach head where I now stand incites a query,
’ when my spirit does leave this incarnate shell,
 will it ride the waves of yonder sea
ride onto this shore and tease another's soul
that long from now shall be standing where I stand here,
observe the horizon and the long kissings of the
azure sky with the sea’?

to quote P.B.Shelley:

"The fountains mingle with the rivers
the rivers with the oceans
the winds of heaven mix forever
with a sweet emotion
Nothing in this world is single
all things by a law divine
into one another's being mingle
why not I with thine?

See the mountains kiss high heaven
and the waves clasp one another
no sister flower would be forgiven
it it disdained it's brother.
And the sunlight grasps the earth
and the moon beams kiss the sea
what is all this kissings worth
if thou kiss not me?"

Love is Sufficient

May I dwell upon my milestone
just for a little while
never have I wailed or whined
about that midlife crisis
but now quietly I've collected
the years and for less of these, I pine


Grateful for the morning sunrises I’ve seen
the shared changes the seasons bring
the healthy play filled youthful days
of wanderings in my teenage years
with childhood antics, the inordinate ways


Fortunate I am to have walked along side
so many wonderful human spirits
some having exited onto another world
others have wandered into their own mundane lives
so much wealthier I am for having shared
with them common space and time

My life's greatest accomplishment
is having Loved and being loved
by my family and friends
sharing the warmth of their hugs and kisses
never forgetting those smiles on them faces


My later years witnessing life's vicissitudes
of harrowing ugliness, the sorrows and pains
I’m sure not unlike many of you
who have witnessed much of the same


If there exists that omniscient omnipotent spirit
the one written about in the books of Divinity
I hope my well-being for others will be recognized
But if not, to have lived and to have loved
will have filled my life more than sufficiently

A Moment

The conversation
Soft and selfless words exchanged
Alone we stand
in surround sound of chirps and birds of song
A teasing breeze
Verdant landscape in our periphery
The salient feeling within

The smile
and the warmth of her breath
a synchronous touch of hands
and simultaneous desire to embrace
The caress of her breast upon my chest
we look into each other’s eyes
capturing for memory’s sake

April 60th

Today is April my birthday month
I welcome the sixtieth April of my life
melancholy sits upon my shoulders on this ride
three years prior on my birthday my Mother passed

Ascribed upon my day of celebration
is a significance to making memories
only few will remember my words
but we'll have shared the warmth
of an embrace

Time seemingly dispels our existence
without emotion, without care
like budding twigs and hatching roe
that are swished away on an undertow
and the river's bank then takes new form
as if that life it washed was never born

Will the universe remember
this tiny speck called the Human Race
for all it's found accomplishments and tolls
where Love resided once but in a forlorn face

Feliz comple anos, a mi

Native Value

My Native American Children
I hear your screams
these words I speak to you
that you may find a balance
in your sense of Value and for Hope

When you awaken in the morning
ingest the air knowing
that breathe comes from
Mother Earth’s breast to share

You must open up your eyes
your ears, your sense of feel
in that which you touch
and smell, see and hear
it today, for it has value

Go out and run outside bare feet
and capture in this freedom jaunt
the sight of Mother Nature's dress
and know every step you take is yours,
no one can take this away

For those born without legs
without sight, cannot hear or speak
the one who runs will
share their eyes, their ears, their feet

This gives true value to life
and provides the hope that’s lost
in the empty caverns of the heart
and to the desired comfort of the soul

Disdain those things that others have
for they have placed false value
on hoarded objects they must own
in order to feel their own worth

Do not be captured by their desires
for unbeknownst to them these very objects
take away their personal freedom
owning parts of their soul

Giving not taking,
sharing not hoarding
fills the heart and soul
with a feeling of Life's value
that sense of Hope

I am a person born of Indian maiz
in a land older than yours
where many mornings I have walked
upon this Earth, taken many jaunts
given thought aplenty of where
my soul deserves to reside
whether in this mundane existence
or cutting it short by my own hand
I have found, though, in this clouded
sense of Hope, a prevailing Love

“Be Here Now, Remember”

A Short Reprieve

Should I feel a modicum of guilt
if I choose to delight myself
with the sounds of chosen music
and the loveliness of words
captured between papyrus leaf

while my neighbor scrounges for food
and a warm cove that once was
her domicile disrupted with the spontaneity
of nature’s eruptive fragility
distroying her diurnal comfort

my heart palpitates with sympathy
my eyes swollen with tears
sincere with empathy
charitable donations placed
given within my means

my soul requests a small reprieve
from the visuals and sounds
of the cries from Sendai
a short escape into the warmth
of a compartmentalized space

If I would be there
I'd help pick up the debris
from your streets, distribute
warm blankets and water
but it’s beyond my means

so, if you please,
with mitigated guilt
I shall hug my wife my kids
tell them how much
I appreciate this moment
unlike the wrath placed before you

Tanx so berri mush!

Ms. Lolamouse nominated me for the Versatile Blogger Award and I would like to thank her.

The following are seven things about me:

1) I'm Mexican American

2) Multi-lingual (means I speak with a four prong tongue)

3) I always wanted to be taller

4) I would like to stay younger for longer

5) Wish my mother could have had a loving partner for life

6) Love Chocolate

7) I like yoga except for that one position where one releases gas

I will be nominating someone as soon as I give this a little more thought.

Cheers!

Today I think of all those floating souls
whose feet would carefully step
each morning upon those Asian stones
not knowing of the wake roaring upon their shore
to swallow them taking them away
from their morning walks

Lifelong fishing craft now slurry through
inland fisheries wiping them away
downriggers hitch on planks separated
from other fisherman’s crafts
catching now upon strewn debris
floating down the once Sunday morning
market filled streets

They are spiritual and resilient souls
whose markets will soon once again
align the streets with fresh fish,
fresh greens, vegetables and
the netted pockets of rice

Sendai, your souls will meet with those
who now float above the mudslides of Chile
those of northeastern Australia and New Zealand
the still wailing cries of those from Haiti

We’ll praise and celebrate your lives
Raise our glasses filled with Sake
Chilean Pisco, Australia’s Coopers
Haiti’s Curacao
Here, Here, to the spirits long remembered!

PS: Dai-ichi please keep your mouth shut
       otherwise we'll fill it with the sand left
       from Chernobyl

A Little Bit of Care

Don’t know if when I reach out
and say I understand,
does this help mitigate the burden
the onus of the lonliness

Maybe I don’t give you money
or take away your pain
or keep you from aging
but I can look into your eyes
and say I understand

I can ask “are you ok?”
hold your hand and help
you walk across the street
take you to your doctor’s appointment

I can bring you food
cook for you
make sure you don’t spill it
help you wash up
then caringly help you
under the covers of your bed

I can stroke your forehead
speak softly till you
unknowingly travel into that
soft and gentle space
that when awake you cannot take

This I can do for you
It’s not much
but for a moment
in this harsh and cruel life
it allows you some comfort

And you lie down to sleep
knowing in the last waking moments
that someone cared,
someone understood.

Under My Bonsai

I sit alone
on my living room floor
a cold pervades
not ambient
embraced by absence
a chill a void
abandonment
is my canvas
the color on the brush
matters not
nor the brush stroke
whether in water or oil
in the warmth of blues
the freshness of the whites
the yellows
the passion of the reds
the purples
the darkness of the black
the olives
can’t find the paint
that places smiles on faces
unfeigned glee in eyes
kindness in the heart
caring of open palms
I sit
with my Bonsai
surrounded by a
a spider plant
succulents
a tall corn plant
a sprawling fern
purple variegates
my two small gentle souls
curled on my lap
providing calm
and warmth
supplanting an uncaring
human kind

Feet Raised

The path I walk
my footsteps now are soft
when once they’d stomp
wanting all to here me come
they now step gently
Quietly

They used to run
the legs were strong
in naked feet
unnerved by jagged stones

Faster and faster
they’d run past
much of what now
I wish I’d stopped to see

Slowly they now stroll
callused, some broken toes
carrying weight
that once was light like snow

They used to play and jump
sharing life’s playground
with friends and sibling’s feet
now on this path
they walk alone

When once these feet
sped for miles
now only walk short trails
then rest with bottoms
raised so the pain might wane
sitting, sadly only watching now,
my lifelong bane

To be or Not, to be

Begin this beginning wondering
are the souls hovering o’er their incarnate shells
lying in the streets of Bahrain
in the dessert of Libya
or sidewalks of Iran
make the cause worth the loss

As I watch from the comfort of my home
seeing of how the strong arm of autocracy
is squelched by the gathering of voices
of those oppressed

The strength of this revolution
comes from the strife and scars
of faces gathered who’ve made a choice
to fight with life for human dignity
so that their children will live
in self rule and liberty

We see the violence and lives lost
People in these countries fighting for a cause
Dictators suppressing the fight
through sectarian genocide

In my own back yard I feel a strife,
a strain upon my person.
My face is brown, my hair is black
when I now walk outside my door
I concern myself, always looking back

I’ve lived a citizen of this country
now for many years
placing my life in jeopardy in 1969
still I must walk amidst the question,
because my hair is black, my face brown
‘where are my papers?’, I’m now, forever bound

The oligarchic elite wish to keep the power
They hoard the money and jobs
Pass legislation maintaining privileges
for those whose face is white, the right

Right wing politicians legislate perfidy
Surreptitious and insidiously
they suppress today’s undesirable ethnicity
Their identity is masked as liberators
stealing the name from America’s history
‘ Tea Party’, of those that truly were

Unlike history, though, they believe in segregation,
excluding some religions, ideologies, race,
because of this there will always be interrogation
for those that look like me and you

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
the sun is slightly piercing the cumulus
touching with shadows cast on a single soul
she sits alone on a bench underneath
and amidst a conifer, maple and oak

A salient 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 resting her head on his shoulder
A sense of exasperation abounds the two of them
yet with a soft and gentle gasp of fulfillment
to their lifelong shared moments in time

A child sits next to mom on a thick patch of green grass
interspersed with golden strands and daisy caps
blowing gently in the breeze as
she turns to look at me with those large hazel blues
with a curious smile that only pure innocence could demand

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

A Moment of Human Selflessness

His eyes always looking at me
through that curly gray hair
following me throughout the room
his body unflinching only his eyebrows raise
Sometimes with four paws in the air
lying on his back with his head
tilted over the side of the couch
His eyes just stare at me
not that steely eye look of ‘who do you think you are’
that humans do when they leer
but a look that peers at depths
that makes a human want to know
‘What do you see in us and why do you
give us that unconditional love that is selfishly unrequited?‘
He lies there waiting for me to succumb to his heartened eyes
that plead for human contact and a soft whisker whisper
‘ I love you buddy ’.

Her, my ‘beotch’, a mini curly black as jade haired poodle
same as her aforementioned adopted brother
will also chase me down with those big
predominately white iris’s and small black pupils,
eerie sometimes when she follows my movement
one hundred and eighty degrees back and forth
without any movement of her head or brows.
Her constant stare is one of curiosity and caution
calculating when she must jump and scamper about
much like the independence and vitality of her feline genus family
She does not have that same philosophical imparting look
as her brother asking why we humans are the way we are
but in a carefree manner wants us to chase her
and pay attention to her whimsy and her needs,
at her convenience of course

"Why"

When the one who has taken your heart
leaves your side and goes afar
your chest is empty yet the vacuum
makes way for a darkness to reside

One can try to fill that emptiness
surrounded by other voices
walk in crowded spaces
yet darkness houses the noises

No one else understands
the heartfelt words shared
whose hearts blood flows
sharing a common artery

No longer do I hear the symphony of vocals
whose playground is the sky
nor feel the warming breezes
on our dampen palms
skimming through the leaves of trees
as we’d stroll with fingers intertwined

I walk alone in this surreal emptiness
in a diurnal reverie where I now reside
the songbirds music is replaced
by the mystical tune and vocals
of Annie Lennox singing ’Why’.

Never Old

So many seasons have come and gone
Tiny saplings have grown to touch the sky
The little chicks now soar
The children who I’d see playing on my street
Now have children of their own

I saw a friend of mine the other day
hair was long his skin now aged with spots
His once tall muscularity has gone away
and speaks of the forlorn life he’s got

They say that music has no age
so I’m always listening to one song
always hesitant to turn the page
the singer, though, is now gone

My peers all seem to hoard the years
hair gathers white now without the winter snow
Their stories are sad and filled with tears
seems that life has made them pay a toll

My brothers, sister all have grown
cast into the role of marriage and parent
We’ve traversed a bicultural throng
some wisdom found, our love’s inherent

I look again upon that tree whose leaves
now tickle and tease the clouds
and of my peers I look into their eyes
yet do not see the same aging of time in me.

Land of Pyramids and Kings

Poetry resides of the poignancy
on the faces scarred and scared,
Soiled faces of desert air
where they lay at night upon the
earthen terrace of their homeland

Damped in red
on the scarves wrapped
around their heads
arms and legs
in slings

Battled scars for freedom sake
a sight not gone unseen
Known to those
in our own land
in the fifties, sixties
a march with Dr King

So in our hearts
some with similar scars
we cheer those fighting
for their dream
the liberties and freedoms,
the sharing of the wealth,
not so much for the few
but for the many
and their children's health

‘You may say that I’m a dreamer
but I’m not the only one
I hope someday you’ll join us
in sharing all the wealth
Imagine all the people
where all shall live as one’

"Egypt is Free"
Congratulations
Celebrate!
Remember the faces
of those who gave their
lives for this.

Life's Pallet

Birth avails upon us but a short moment
upon our time allotted to harvest the fruits
of Life with means provided.
These being, our make up
consisting of nominal capacity,
inherited or genetically predisposed,
and inserted into this world to apply.

Those of us fortunate enough to realize
this which has been provided
will ascend to heights of creative utility,
sharing with this world
the unique individual wealth of talent,
integral in the tapestry of Life

In this pallet of existence
the many colors of Life
can be appreciated in total sensorium
then unselfishly and selflessly
can breath life into this awareness of beauty
onto and through our progeny

If it be our choice:
Allow chaos’s destructive characteristic
to be the nature of things
without the caring, impunity of insensitivity
Or, choose the alternative characteristic
which can be born of destruction, that being;
a rebirth of our creation of the Arts, harmony,
Love, possibly, Peace

The Visit

She quietly comports herself
doesn’t know that I feel her soul
I peer into her eyes
a sadden pain has welled
knowing that soon she’ll
travel many miles
to visit Mom and Dad
Maybe the last embraces
before they’re God calls upon them
to share what they've done here, now, for ninety years
Mom bowed mellifluous sounds on her violin
and taught young students for many years
He, a minister, who’s gentle hands and words
lay upon so many allaying their burdens
My wife’s gentle heart, a gift from mom,
attends to these moments of life left
with soft nurturing verve
in lieu of the pangs that feed pain and loss
As I hug her tight, my friend, my lover, my wife,
I softly whisper in her ear…
‘I Love everything about you
especially the wisdom and gentleness
that comes from your Mom and Dad’
I think she knows that I am there for her
to share life and to give it up
when we must.

Chugging Along

How does one transition
from where they’ve been
to where they’ll go
after this short stay

Seeing other’s depart
after temporarily visiting
we watch their backs
as they fade away into life’s nebulae

Reflecting on words that have been shared
the laughter and the tears
Too little time, too few the years
with those for whom we’ve cared

Here comes my train,
a  transient, I hitch up on it
and wave at my life
as we ride by

The tracks they rumble
and rattle me to the bone
I watch through the portals
of this compartmentalized abode

Witness the leaves blowing off their trees
birds flying seemingly to hover still
Mountains cover the sky behind them
while fields of gold dance in the wind

I witness the vast rolling hills
Aqua marine streams tipping white caps
kids on the embankments playing, skipping stones
All, unaware of my train passing

It runs too fast even when it chugs
I got coal dust on my face
trying to stoke the burning embers
so that the flames burn hot
and the train, ‘don’t stop’

What lies beyond
when these tracks run out
Will there be another train line 
or another means of transportation?

What is Providence

Will we be saved
Will someone come down from Heaven’s sake
Tell us how we’ve had our chance
and all our time in history here
we’ve only made life disappear

The gift we were given
we devalued
Showed no real effort
toward correcting our hate
We gathered opposing voices
making them our enemies
We learned to kill
from a book we interpret literally
in Adam and Eve
and Cain and Abel
accepting these words as Providence

We’ve not learned to Love
and have made the choice to kill
We’ve not learned
that the world is not all about 'me'
but about escaping the self
onto the understanding
that we are but a part of all
and when we destroy any part of life
we are killing ourselves.

Is there any entity somewhere
that witnesses the jeopardy of our demise
and has the power to intervene,
saving us from ourselves,
enlightening us to what is wise

Intimate Cycle

Can Love survive
Can Love sustain
Without intimacy
Is it all
It’s ‘cracked’ up to be?

If memories still, freshly, exist
of the spontaneous kiss
the stray and erotic touch
the seductive, ‘Hello”

Now we fall asleep
in separate rooms
the space between us
is no longer an obstacle
like it was when youthful intimacy
consumed our loins

The queries now persist;
‘Have my looks faded,
my attractiveness lost‘?
‘ Do you still love me?’
‘ Of course I do,
Don’t be silly’
‘Was it something I said
or was it something I did?’

A daunting winter is measured
The haunting of intimacy, desire, lost
One by the abundance of snow gathered
The other by the chill of the ice formed

Nature we Love
for the seasonal changes
and cycle it tolls
Agape, the third book
in the trilogy of life
abandons personal intimacy,
will our Love die by this
or like Nature,
will it re-grow?

Chair on my Patio

Used to think life as a constant
but now days go by so quickly
moments pass by at an instant
sometimes I forget to breathe

A chair sits on life’s patio
I sit and watch the passers by
Some will stop for a short stay
share their tunes as if on a radio

There are those whose hand I hold
their fingers intertwine into mine
cause a rythm change in my heart beat
and the promise of forever, I am told

Reality comes along sits next to me
shares some anecdotal fun
some of joys and pleasures
like the rise of a morning sun
letting the starry night go free

Yet, come a stormy day
leaving destruction in it’s way
Helping pick up after it,
is life’s mandate, is it’s writ

And as I witness life, now, many years
many more behind than those before me
putting ‘life’ in a perspective
enjoy the laughter and deal with the tears

If there’d be wisdom
Reality has shared,
In life, the only constant
is ‘change’ with whom it’s paired

Fireflies and Memories

Gathered some thoughts today
Memories of good things
some not so much
Cupped my hands to hold them
Some sieved between my fingers
but captured some from falling through
They felt warm in my palms
and when I raised my hands
to see what I had captured
Opened my cupped palms carefully
like fireflies, they were glowing
The faces the places, glowing and fading,
glowing and fading then began flying about
I gently clenched my hands together
not wanting to let any more fly away
Alas, I open my clutching hands
releasing them from my grasp
giving them their freedom,
allowing me mine.
Fly away, for once again,
I shall gather you another day

Being Human

The day arrives
I hold it’s hand
we lumber about
together on a pathway
where others also dawdle
They pass by not seeing us
as they tend to their cyber-link toy
in their hand unaware of life
abounding about them

I stop to observe and enjoy
the daily playful display
of chipping sparrows,
cardinals and blue jays
flying from tree to tree
Squirrels and their chipmunk cousins
scurrying about playing tag
They notice me and stop and sit
upright on their haunches
watching me watch them
The crimson of cardinals
the blue of the jays
the brown and black of the sparrows
are a colorful attire perched
on white capped otherwise baron limbs
of undressed trees on this wintry day

I turn around to go back inside the warmth of my abode
Awaiting me is my favorite reclining chair
and my entertainment implement of choice
where I can exist vicariously
in the likes of Keats, Shelley,
Poe and Emily, Pat Conroy or Sam Harris,
Amy Chua and Sherry Turkle
The crackle of logs burning
wildly waving it's orange and yellow flames
warming the side of my face
as Chopin tickles those ivory's in my ears

On my lap the gentle chest compressions
of my small canine children
sharing my warmth of space
whilst the heart beat of my partner
sits next to me drifting into her world of erudition
sated by the whimsy of fiction
We appreciate our human presence
the life that warms our laps
and not an email, text or twitter
or a cybernating avatar

Released

Love’s abused
     hearts forlorn
          the human spirit
a distant cry


     my words
en writ
         decried
  but still
               I sing

        I hug
my muse
               release
I fly

Untie Me

Used to be tied in a knot
Have recently been untied
My ears are now clear
My eyelids open
My chest can inhale deeply

I don’t know if I like being untied
Free, dangling
Where anyone can tie me
Into the knot they wish

Now I can be tethered
Anchored under water
Tied to a kite, soaring
Hold turkey legs together
Hug a roast
Thrown into a heated oven

They use me to tie wrists
I travel around the world on packages
Best of all, though,
Some use me to steady
sweet smelling flowers in their gardens,
Roses to the trestle

I’m used in parables
'Thread of Life'
Morphed into metaphysical theories
(the string theory)
Used as metaphors
‘held together by a thread’

I guess I don’t mind
being used to tie things together
Don’t know if I like being in a knot
But I also don’t like being
‘left dangling not knowing,
hanging by a thread’ .

I’m all knotted up

Gabby's Chant

A chant like a song
A refrain for equity, for parity
ascends from her voice

She sings the words
from her heart, her soul
‘this nation embraces all of us
in the words of our Constitution’

A crack rings out
The song is quieted
Screams resound
She falls and
a child of 9/11/01
lay beside her
on a carpet of red
now breathless

The chant has stopped
muffled by an angry hand
holding a weapon
given to him by the very ‘rights’
of the verses being sung

Her chant; ‘Our Constitution provides
us all the …freedom of speech;
peaceable assembly and the right
to petition the Government for
the redress of grievances‘.

Bullets will not quiet voices, convictions
we've tried this with 'wars'
The taste of liberty, freedom
remains in memory, in songs
chants by those with the courage
to sing on Mall corners

Tuesday's with My Brother

A dreaded phone call
his voice reverberates of sadness
yet the words expressed
give no hint of repression

Learned from his partner in life
posting in a social site
that his eyes had rolled back
barely a hint of the breath of life

Once again he had entered
into that eternal sleep
Without her calling his name
or the medic's external stimuli
he would have left us

Ten years and more
he’s walked with stolen keys
toward the gates of that journey
into that unknown abyss

His lover, his wife,
was able to once again
speak life into him
calling his name

Soon, I must accept,
‘Tuesday’s with Morrie’
will be the script
my brother and I
will be, tearfully, sharing

Purpose?

Should our pace of steps
in our walk of life
quicken ?

Does my ancestry’s Aztec/Mayan calendar
call for me to witness keener,
to breathe in deeper,
the waft of life?

Will all that has been taught
in my life and academic years
of erudition and inculcated knowledge
expire into irrelevance?

Will the Human experience
become an unconnected microcosm,
a point in ‘time’ (Man’s mundane observation),
insignificant yet integral in the ‘chaos’ of the universe?

Will there be a 'purpose' in our being
or just another word in Man’s vocabulary?
Will the chronology of historical Human experience
dissipate into a timeless space,
into the void of light?

Will Man’s pursuit of Love, Hope
based on an omniscient, omnipotent, deity
all have been for naught?

If there'd be anything of this Human experience
that, at minimum, casts a shadow
upon the expanse and reality of the Universe
let it be the different dynamics
man has pressed into history;
the heart’s and mind’s smatterings
of music, the arts, kindness and Love.