Category: Poems

En nuestro rincón del paraiso caminábamos por bosques y quebradas y llegábamos una y otra vez a la Torre Eiffel caribeña.

No había camino al que no me siguieras, cruzando por los aires y el mar.

Cuando te sentías sola, explorábamos los encantos del Oeste, sus aguas, el Santuario y conquistábamos los cerros de la Cordillera entre la neblina de la lejanía rural.

Y tarde en la noche escuchabas mis tribulaciones sentado en la encimera de la cocina.

Tú con tu chocolatito nocturno de costumbre.

Siempre ando no muy lejos de ti y de nuestro rinconcito del paraiso;

Todavía caminamos en este mundo donde me enseñaste el Credo y el Rosario,

Donde nos transportabas en tu Nativa verde con Laura Pausini a todo volumen.

Nunca la soledad te encontrará porque juntos Dios nos puso a caminar,

mamá…

When you were alive, you’d sit on the balcony smoking a cigarette looking at the mountains, and the trees, and the stars.

Sometimes it was three in the morning, and I’d come look at you through the window or the open door,

You couldn’t sleep and I could only imagine what your thoughts were.

Now you walk in places I can only imagine, but soon I’ll be like you, and we can talk about the times we both walked the

Earth.

Loose like a goose, enjoying what you do, let not greed cloud your mind or judgement.

Provide for yourself and your family, serve your community by providing the best extension of yourself.

Think twice and thrice, don’t forget what really matters. Stay small and connected.

Read the pages of your life; do not create distance between yourself and your empire.

Succeed, sustain, hold on, leave a legacy behind — it’s all a short trip.

En los caminos los amigos te vuelven a encontrar, muchos luchan, Resistencia Civil Pacífica, contra el enemigo de la sensatez.

¿Carencia de conocimiento, corrupción moral, mediocridad y dejadez? ¿O vivimos en una fase caótica de una nación en desarrollo?

Boyle nos dejó palabras por leer, pero por ahora la batalla se lidia en el Oeste. Hermano contra hermano; el Estado provoca un enfrentamiento innecesario contra el Pueblo y el Paraiso por una muralla de concreto.

El balance del poder está cambiando y los lobos se aferran a su banquete…

In the South the sunset sits behind the clouds. We ride with the wind on our way to the place we call home.

Roads unknown we travailed looking for adventure,

I slipped and fell onlookers by, no shame, no pain,

and we walked on through treacherous rocks down through the ravine,

and out of it. Exhausted we were fed close to Hollywood; treated well

for a change by friendly men and women.

Down those streets we walked, lost from one another, then reunited

by the one-legged pigeon and the lone white dog as the worship was

about to begin in the land of thermal waters that we vowed to visit again

in the parking lot by the Burger King. There we did these things —just the two of us.

Her and I.

Home calls to me once more, she calls me to bathe in her pristine rivers,

to bask in the sun, to marvel at her views, walk her roads.

On a steel bluebird I will arrive, and heat will greet me,

and she will say:

“You are home now, boy, the place where you belong.

These mountains are your fortress, the land of your people.

The soil runs deep, it is in your blood. I am your mother and you are my son.

This is your home, and you will never leave it for long.”

And I’ll say like the Talking Heads:

“I guess that this must be the place, this is where I’ll be.

Home is where I want to be.”

Prodigy and Havoc at it again.

Hell on Earth this time.

These kids are teaching me something. Something the ancients new about long ago.

I don’t want to be hard on them, but they need a guide, or they’ll be lost in the Chaos.

They need no further examples of mediocrity, only a balanced education by people who stopped and started giving a damn

for the future Generations, for the future of the Children of Men.

A lesson today can save them a lifetime of pain, and some positive encouragement goes a long way.

“Don’t stare down at that screen. Look both ways, look around you. Good job, give me five.”

“So, tío, about those marshmallows…?”

I wrote so many in college, but what were they all for? Oh, that’s right, for a grade.

At least that’s what they taught me in high school.

It occurred to nobody to mention it was an exercise in critical thinking –wisdom building.

Smart enough to realize, but too young to be Captain of my own ship to navigate the seas of knowledge all by myself in the Valley between Caribbean mountains.

They shut down the schools for months to deal with the mess they built or manufactured for Greed’s sake at our young souls’ expense.

And now two years from a decade ago, the big storm devastated the land, smashing the crops that remained, and home is still a mess.

They just keep talking nonsense on the news, following in the footsteps of the errors of the past with not enough opposition.

But that is about to change.

Things might somewhat change for the better in the external, but seemingly the internal will always be haunted despite knowledge that should appease it.

Whether you think or not, the horrors are there.

It is their home, and like the Madrileños from Olivo street, refuse eviction.

A Baptist man stops me at a flea market as I think of the horrors and asks me: “What would you say if at Heavens gates you were asked ‘why should we let you in?'” I say to him, “I tried to be a good guy.”

But he says all I have to do is leave it in God’s hands,

And so I try.

 

It is ironic how so many of us became so glued and addicted to our own creations.

To solve some problems, we created so many more, and

Will our shortsightedness lead to our premature doom or will we listen to the wise sometime?

You can go a whole life, and whole generations with you, not knowing so many important things, but

How far away are we from the statement: “Huh, you don’t like real girls” in a casual conversation?