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