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WB05I ask you, my love, to die
for you that never lived
are the only wire
who still keeps me tied
to this world of lies.
And crumbs of moon
in a dream I had tonight
were rolling upwards
in the sky.
WB04A breeze from the West
seemed to pacify
the waves of her hair...
and I wished I could exist
not over the penultimate moment
before she disappeared...
from this despicable crumb of pain.
Then, like an answer, came the rain.
WB03The place where love plays
Is the place where the child pays
with his naivety
to follow the trace
of a different purity
who yearn to gather
what was divided
once in the distance...
in another space.
WB02The words I never told you
retained in silence for shame or modesty
lie rotting in a corner of my soul
a place I didn't know I had before
the room where I kept caged a gentle prodigy:
the love only my heart knew.
the Tin WhistleThe tin whistle of the child
forsaken under the porch
when Lord Winter wears his mantel
day and night still plays its song.
It is not the season's wind
to pass through, or fingers of snow
to cover, randomly, making notes
its small shiny rounded holes.
It's the way the flute pays tribute
to its owner who went lost
for his body, like a whistle,
lies now empty and alone.
The Difference Between You and IThe thorns sink in as the road darkens ahead and I dream that one day we can sleep in peaceful beds
as the air thickens with night's reign as fear spreads.
When will yesterday be a forgotten sentence?
We seek calm yet we must meet war head on without undue pretense.
To put the animal out of it's misery, to call upon those who seek to civilize,
I yet walk with my dreary head held high,
I float away while the greedy drown in their vicious lies.
Some may have sympathized for my plight
but the awakened souls know who has always won the fight,
now we are millions spanning all races
putting those who put skin or body ahead through their paces,
my name helped inspire a mounting torch,
your dying legacies of hatred are already among the forgotten faces.
Rave New WorldRave New World
From Huxley's novel, "Brave New World"
In the style of Tagorean* verse
I often wonder what world this is, that I have come to. The third world, maybe? All the
Vestiges of underdevelopment, vividly lying before our eyes. And what a sight to see.
Garbage and leftover food on the streets, much of it at the bases of waste baskets.
There are coffee shops and cafes here and there, but some are in the strangest places__
Auto repairs, petrol pumps, taxi stands...
Every where where the simpler commoner soul can reach, but sadly,
It lies out of reach of us high-borns.
I sit in one for only a second or two, and they wander in [mayhap from a gutter
At the crossroad?] and rave. Over all and sundry, but nothing worth a penny.
What world is this, at last. I think I know it now.
It is a Rave new world.
WaterWhen the universe began, I threw some water
Just splashed it about in the air
And it rolled itself into droplets
Don't you worry, my friend
The law of continuous entropy
Was upheld when it began
I threw the water out into space
Polarity forced it into beadlets
But instead of looking, I counted the molecules
I searched through it all
Piece by piece I dissected it
Splayed out in the air, the universe was perfect.
Unlike you and I
Who refuse to believe it began
When I threw water
Well it did, I said
And you know what
I like that water
Sustains our precious life
Builds membranes, delicately balancing pH
On an imaginary scale
Water that is split into pieces
Every time a plant needs sugar
And made the forest from the dirt
We live on a droplet of water
But yet we refuse to believe
That I threw all this water
All this water
It was only a cup or so
Last night I threw it out into space
Cuando esto sucedioEl gran dinosaurio escupió un grito de dolor.
Cuando esto sucedió, la Tierra escupió fuego.
Cuando esto sucedió, el gran dinosaurio se volvió roca.
Cuando esto sucedió, el mar rompió la roca.
Cuando esto sucedió, las corrientes marinas y el viento arrastraron arena.
Cuando esto sucedió, se formaron playas y montañas.
Cuando esto sucedió, los humanos habitaron en ellas.
Cuando esto sucedió, las fábricas comenzaron a funcionar.
Cuando esto sucedió, el humo invadió el aire.
Cuando esto sucedió, los humanos temieron habitar cerca dellas.
Cuando esto sucedió, el plástico comenzó a agotarse.
Cuando esto sucedió, el petróleo contamino el mar.
Cuando esto sucedió, la roca ardió en las chimeneas.
Cuando esto sucedió, la Tierra escupió agua.
Cuando esto sucedió, los edificios se volvieron roca.
Cuando esto sucedi
is when one group of people
and another group of people
are told that it is necessary to kill each other
and that it is justifiable to do so,
in the name of a quarrel
between two transcendent beings
whose causes are universally more important
than the millions of lives against them.
These millions of lives
are against them by default, of course,
because their own transcendent leader
is in a quarrel with the other.
So they slaughter each other
in the name of all that is righteous,
until their great gods have had their fill
and reach an agreement,
and the world is right again.
A million deaths is not a tragedy;
It is a million tragedies happening all at once.
GandhiThis is not
A get up and go poem.
I've heard news enough -
The statistics, the suicides.
I've been walking to the steady tempo
Of bombs ticking in planes, in cars, in
The mouths of strangers. And no, I can't
Bring myself to look the homeless in the eye,
Can't think too hard too often about disaster victims;
Such empathy would implode in my chest, deflate me
Until the husk of my body curled around itself.
Gandhi said: be the change
That you wish to see in the world.
Those words tumbleweeded in my rib cage a while;
Be the change, change, change those empty
Beautiful words. I thought:
You see, these dry bones
Are my precious own, trying their hardest to live.
This is not
A get up and go poem.
But it could be.
It is not I who is entitled
It is you, who sit in a chair
Elected by boards of corporate officials
It is you,
Who think you're entitled to my life
My 9 to 5, my life
Stealing hours from my family, my kids, and my wife
It is you who're entitled
Who think my life is worth a wage
When it is priceless
I reserve the right to my self determination
To remove unnecessary hierarchy
Over myself and others
Who deem it so
No, it is you who is entitled
This Machine Kills FascistsHave you ever seen the movie
About the signing of the peace treaty?
So thank you, Mr. Reyes
For reminding us why in war
Drums and fifes always came before
Guns and knives
Because hearts and minds mattered in the days
Before drone strikes.
Because even weapons would rather not kill people.
Even guns would rather be guitars.
So gracias, Senor Reyes, for liberating the oppressors.
My friend is a French and Indian war re-enactor.
A few times a summer,
He and his friends dress up in period clothing,
Ride around on horses
And shoot muskets at each other.
Let’s be peace re-enactors,
And let’s make it authentic.
Let’s make music and remember
There will always be at least this one thing
We do better than machines.
Remember why every bomb whistles on its way to the ground.
Let’s remember that a song is a start,
That a call to arms is cool,
But a farewell to them is the real revolution.
Remember that all poems are petitions.
This one will not end the politicians
Stuck The car sputtered and shook as it came to an almost silent stop. The engine had gone silent as the horn beeped loudly through the dark night. The orange gas light blinked mockingly at the woman behind the wheel. It was making fun of her; she knew it was making fun of her. Grabbing the black cellular phone on the passenger seat, she looked at it with full intention of calling somebody to come help her.
“Oh, what the hell?!”
The “no service” sign was mocking her at the same exact time. The horn beeped loudly as she slammed her head against it once again. The day was out to get her in general. She had arrived at all her classes late, and her son was sick with the flu. The babysitter was able to watch him as she went to her late night classes. Giving a heavy sigh, she lifted her head off the wheel to look out the window. Drops of water pooled on the windshield as rain started to fall in a pitter-patter pattern. She didn’t quite understand the message th
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