she knows the ceilidh

for a dear friend

our breath of dragons
puffs and disappears in the freezing
cold air bustling down
old cobblestone buildings
and bright grey skies
all laughs and smiling

old life somehow snuck into the new
but i still like you
confident through
twists and turns in rain
as the crowd dances
say you’ll call
trying not to fall
in puddles trembling fiddles

of cognitive models
born to think and save
bad decisions
broken shoes
brazen creature unwearied by time
let’s not lose each other

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this is autumn in the park

wind flips maple and birch leaves
new pancakes cooked by the sun and creeping free
saxophone and birds call and plead
for the warmth to stay just a little longer
shivers and cigaretes lit by the cold hands of lovers
lamposts, tree trunks divide up the sky
while the people in twos and threes are moving lines
of color and shape against this pale bright
chartreuse and gold, burnt orange flight

suddenly a group of young men rush by
carrying packs on their backs- christmas come early
running who knows where to sell their wares
upon the tourist passing
this autumn in the park
branches lose their trappings
this autumn in the park
children’s fingers grasping
this autumn in the park
mother nature’s jewels all laughing

i can’t write: excercise #3

In which, I complete writing exercises for ‘fun’…

Write a poem incorporating words from a list of things in a certain familiar area, but change the symbolism. I chose the living room.

how is that not — turning out a
lamp flickering in a not quite warm enough room
media blitz on gunfire shouts
treated him like a king
given a tv remote to detonate
but killed him
can’t breathe under the white blankets and cushions of the couch
elephantine enveloping enormity of flashing lights
commentators argue over
use and force
forced to use the death
to see the death as system

there is sun streaming through the windows
morning after
cyclical rebirth
the power chords unable to charge the phone

sitting reading an old john grisham book
justice never coming—
 a moral issue?

how is that not a moral issue?

 

passing time

old relics of the past
otro tiempo, otro país
architechtural marvel tourists pass
i am one of them
sitting under the bird calls and leafy palms
all the idioms and tongues gathered
praising the human ability
que egypto está en madrid
bikes pedal by the fountain
fleeting as all things are
fleeing as all things are
from time

 

This particular poem is in reference to the Temple of Debod, an Egyptian temple in Madrid. You can learn more here.

a toast

never were together
just brief glimpses of deisre fufilled
maybe this way it’s better
i can’t be hurt if we weren’t real right?

years of longing
what do i have to show?
a half bandaged heart and nothing
only those whispered kisses
and “i don’t want to hurt you”

well here i am the fool
and you the good one
here i am thinking how cruel
when i pulled the butter knife on myself

maybe i’ll make some toast
maybe i’ll make a toast
to questions unaswered
and answers unasked for
and people you just can’t get over

but the butter’s not room temperature yet
and the champagne hasn’t been poured
so i keep quiet and get old

the first day it rained

the first day it rained i didn’t even realize
until i felt the faint mist turn into a drizzle
the weather was finally fall, and then my eyes
blinked, a droplet ran down my dusted cheek, the breeze
picked up, and i shivered. he wasn’t
lying when he said there isn’t
any transition from summer, no compromise
there is just this freeze

yesterday it was sunny and warm
and today not having an umbrella might do you harm

the first day it rained i didn’t even realize
until i felt the faint mist turn into a drizzle

the first day it rained i almost started crying
because i remembered that it had been raining at home for weeks

lovebirds / tortolitos

en el metro
the man next to me kisses his wife
he must be in his seventies
she wears pearls and a brightly colored scarf
two colorful “agapornis lilianae”

me voy a salir en chueca
hay los arcoiris en las paredes
dos chicos se besan mientras
me estoy bajando del tren

his fingers tangled in the other’s hair

–1975
generalissimo francisco
franco is still dead–

until then
public displays of affection were illegal

every kiss on the metro is democracy
cada beso es la revolución

birds in the air
libertad