Category: Poems

Wild, wild waters splashing by the cave. My dog quickly finds out there’s a difference between water and sea water. I haven’t eaten a thing, save for a couple of garlic, plantain chips. I engage in a sort of spiritual journey while fasting.

A couple close by continue snapping pictures of each other. A swallow flies by, out and then back into the cave. The waves make a ruckus, in and out.

Was the musclebound man with the arm tattoo waiting for me to go first? Were we both afraid of the waves and the rocky path next to the mountain face?

I don’t know… perhaps. His girl was good looking and I’m lucky to have a good-looking girl myself.

My leg goes through the sand. Never have I experienced this in the snow, but now I can say, I have in sand.

She gets a quesadilla, and I get a pizza. The fast is about to end.

This writing life seems like a pretty good life for now. Will that change? Will my life become the work?

One bite of her quesadilla and I know I don’t like it.

One of those hybrids emits a terrible sound close by. An artificial sound no car should make.

I’m thinking about my audience again, and how I have to center myself to run the right business for me.

But for now, say what they say, Snoring sure has some beautiful sunsets.

1B2A3C for the whirlwind, for the pain. Reduced to a user, no matter, if it kills the pain.

How, however, do you kill pain you are born with? A pain that can only be alleviated but not cured.

Do you Tame?

Do you tame yourself or succumb to madness?

Follow and watch 1B2A3C for now…

I’d forgotten what having friends feels like. Bonding, and all that, making it through life together.

How important

friends in

the

Flesh.

Friends around

throughout life.

Moments to share… realizing Rocky is dancing by the museum,

posing, and imagining victory

Envisioning

success.

A gap forward, from unfortunate to Fortunate.

A mindset for success and giving it All.

Have I found Reason or are these merely the musings of a mad man?

These holes in the ground remind me of when you used to tell me that if I dug a tunnel in the side yard, that I could make it to China.

Funny, old man, you really got me that time.

That thought is interspersed with not wanting to live through the tragedy of losing my mother.

I saw and felt your pain, old man. I really did, and I fear my turn.

Under Columbus´s boat, where the sea crashes against sharp volcanic rocks with thunderous roars, I look at the people below, and behind me the dark waves seem movie-like.

Gray, tumultuous clouds linger overhead, and the wind is cool, and comfortable.

Another short moment in my life soon to be gone forever; to be replaced by other short moments, until another young man stands in my place with his own pen and notebook, and replaces me by writing his own version, his own accounts.

And I will no longer be.

Until then, I am…

If all we are, are words in old journal entries, photographs in old dusty photo albums…

If all we are, are memories that reside in our friends’ and family’s minds…

If all we are, are people who try to make it, but nothing seems to go our way now or in the past or in the future…

If all we are… If all wea are…

is Dust Caught in Time’s unrelenting March Towards the End…

What can we do, but preserve the memory of us and those who came before us until the End?

It’s too late, death has its teeth sunk deep into me. I did not choose madness, but in true cliché fashion, it chose me — some unknown mountain dweller from a long-ago abandoned place no one cares about.

Such is Nature, such is the way, the circumstances of certain individuals. Afflicted by unseen ailments. I, like many, have exhausted all of my strength. There’s nothing left at my relatively young age. Funny, though, I feel old and these poems, if one can call them so, are filled with nostalgia.

And so, I pray like the 13 before me:

Lo, there do I see my Father.

Lo, there do I see my mother,

and my sisters, and my brothers.

Lo there do I see the line of my people, back to the beginning!

Lo, they do call to me. They bid me take my place among them. In the halls of Valhalla! Where the brave may live forever!

Have we lived multiple lives now? Is each stage in Life simply the Death of another one?

It seems so, when I was a child, I lived a life widely different than now. My thoughts, my motivations were different. There were other people in that chapter.

Chapter?

It was a whole story, all of its own. But that story ended, so did the child.

And so did the adolescent, the teenager, and the young adult. Stories finished, characters dead.

I keep seeing death, and a lot of change. I slowly watch myself die, all my former selves are gone, but not entirely. I sometimes feel them inside me, they sometimes come out.

Surreal…

It is happy sometimes, sometimes sad. The visits remind me that those times and those stories were real. That they weren’t made up and that this whole thing isn’t a dream.

Or is it?

Alas, the times, those times are gone and those those characters are still dead and gone.

Dead and Gone or far out of reach. Will they welcome me when the Final Death comes for me? Or will I find them first, tuned into their frequency?

I don’t know… things click one moment, and they fall apart the next.

This old black guitar stares at me and takes me back to a place, to people that are no more.

I look away, I don’t want to look at it anymore.

It reminds me… and it reminds me of the passage of time.

Otra vez la vi, la chica de los dibujos en la iglesia. Puede que tenga unos 13 a 15 años, pero ¿quién sabe? La gente me dice que parezco que tengo menos edad.

Su familia estaba allí, abuelo, abuela y su mamá. Edades, generaciones distintas.

De momento cerraba la libreta y atendía lo que decía el diácono, pero evidentemente su mente andaba por otros lugares. Tiene pelo marrón oscuro y lleva anteojos.

Así era yo, la mente en las nubes y así sigo siendo. Al menos la chica nutre una destreza hermosa: el dibujo a mano, lápiz y libreta.

El diácono hubiese sido sacerdote, predica muy bien, con intelecto, como un hombre que ha leído y entendido mucho. Me recuerda a mi padrino de confirmación, nombrado como el Salvador.

El mensaje era uno de esperanza, de lo poco Dios lo multiplica; de Generosidad y de abrir el corazón.

La chica sonríe poco, inhibida, ¿tímida?

El señor que llevo viendo por años, al quien nunca le recuerdo el nombre, la saludó y le echó la bendición.

La repostería, unos dulces para la tía. La primera vez en la iglesia solo ella y yo. Un joven, cuyos padres perdieron su hogar, que llevaban construyendo desde jóvenes por un Siniestro, me cuenta acerca de la Tragedia.

Nos marchamos y me senté a leer.

Just for a little while, I want to spend some time with my sister and my nieces. To look and see them in a new place.

To live some new moments that will soon pass, washed away by time unforgiving. But we’re all just passing through on our way to somewhere or nowhere…

Here, just for a little while.

Unable to relive the old chapters of our stories, I seek to enjoy what unfolds in the present and look forward to a better future.

Even just for a little while…

Death stands by the corner of my bedroom door. I don’t know the place nor the hour, so let us live here

Just for a little while…