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?