May they rest in peace,
Innocent victims of hate,
Bless their families.

Gone--not forgotten,
Echoes still reverberate,
Of their too-short lives.

Let's stay vigilant,
Reject those that would excuse,
Monstrous, insane acts.

Let us embrace all,
From all races/religions,
Who show compassion.

For all who were killed,
From all races/religions,
On this fateful day.

Hate the evil men,
Not their innocent neighbors,
Who were victims too.

We are born dying,
But can plant seeds that may bear,
Fruit once we are gone.

The holidays approach with quiet grace,
Floating above the merchandising din,
Their spirit fills our hearts, their proper place,
Displacing hate, greed, envy, and all sin.

Whether you worship Jesus, as I do,
Allah, YHWH, or other Deity,
That teaches justice, honor, all things true,
We are family joined in piety.

Those who would divide us worship no god,
They worship power, seek not grace or truth,
They sow the seeds of hate on fertile sod,
The minds of fools and our innocent youth.

I bid you peace in all your holidays,
May God’s light burn true paths through evil’s haze.

Such artificial nonsense rhyme,
That can turn art into slime,
And make your thoughts not worth a dime,
And words a total waste of time.

Throw away the limiting forms,
Burn all the idiotic norms,
Old-fashioned rules apply to fools,
No one but me plays with my tools!

The new trinity is Me, Myself and I!
I set the rules for every game,
And follow none, just the same,
Anarchy rules all, and that's no lie!

Iambic pentameter? Pyrrhic substitutions?
Who the hell cares about those illusions!
Counting syllables and each line?
Grand, old, pompous idiocy most sublime!

Write a sonnet? I'd rather wear a pink bonnet!
But if I do 15 lines it will be
Why, 'cause I say so, doggone it!
And no idiot ABAB CDCD EFEF GG

I am GOD and rule it blasphemy,
To follow both hard and easy rules,
That can make heads hurt, you'll agree,
Or burn in eternal hell as reactionary fools.

There is more art in a cow's mighty ****,
Than in Milton, Shakespeare, Wordsworth and Pope,
If you can't beat them, marginalize them from the start,
Drag them through the mire to raise me up, that is my hope.

From now on all couplets shall triplets be, thus do I decree,
Come to me on bended knee and I will set you free,
Everyone's a poet, welcome to the new reality.

In troubled times I've called your name,
My love, and clung to it as does a child,
To the belief in Santa,
Or the sightless, to the hope of light;

It is for me,
The visionary dream,
That drives perseverance,
And decries despair;

It is the hope of wretched souls,
In purgatory awaiting,
The seemingly forgotten promise,
Of their eventual release.

When my stale words confuse, confine,
Confound my mind, and images converge
Into the swirling blur of madness,
I call your name.

Then hopelessness recedes,
As does an incorporeal nightmare,
Slowly fading, leaving behind only sweat-soaked sheets,
Yielding to the purifying rays of the dawn’s rising sun.

A simple word, your name, but to me, a powerful amulet,
Which pierces the darkness and melts away,
The deformed forms that haunt and taunt my darkest days,
And fills them with all on earth that heals and renews.

A simple word which simply is my all, a synonym for sincere,
Unpretentious love that seldom asks yet freely gives,
That does not question, but simply knows,
That does not quickly burn, but always, and forever, warms.

Through you my love,
I know there is a heaven.

En tiempos difíciles, he llamado tu nombre,
Mi amor, y me aferro a él como lo hace un niño,
A la creencia en Papá Noel,
O los ciegos, a la esperanza de la luz;

Es para mi,
El sueño visionario,
Que impulsa la perseverancia,
Y condena la desesperación;

Es la esperanza de las almas desdichadas,
En el purgatorio en espera,
A la promesa aparentemente olvidada,
De su eventual liberación.

Cuando mis palabras pasadas confunden, confinen,
Obstinan mi mente, y las imágenes convergen,
En el borroso remolino de la locura,
Digo tu nombre.

Entonces la desesperación retrocede,
Como una pesadilla incorpórea,
Desvaneciéndose lentamente, dejando solo sábanas empapadas de sudor,
Rindiéndose a los purificadores rayos del sol naciente del amanecer.

Una palabra simple, tu nombre, pero para mí, un amuleto poderoso,
Que traspasa la oscuridad y derrite,
Las formas deformadas que atormentan y provocan mis días más oscuros,
Y los llena con todo en la tierra que sana y renueva.

Una palabra simple que simplemente es mi todo, un sinónimo de sincero,
Amor sin pretensiones que rara vez pide y entrega libremente.
Un amor que no cuestiona, sino que simplemente sabe,
Que no se quema rápidamente, pero siempre, y para siempre, da calor.

Thank you, oh sweet Lord,
For your selfless sacrifice,
To expiate sin.

Unworthy we are,
Yet you love us still, each one,
Died that we may live.

You are risen, Lord,
That our souls might rise as well,
Beyond death's dark veil.

Thank you, oh sweet Lord,
For your selfless sacrifice,
To expiate sin.

Unworthy we are,
Yet you love us still, each one,
Died that we may live.

You are risen, Lord,
That our souls might rise as well,
Beyond death's dark veil.

When you find true love,
Seize it, no matter the source,
For love conquers all.

If you find true love,
Grab it with both of your hands,
Never let it go.

It comes only once,
And that if you are lucky,
Never to return.

Do not question it,
Or **** it to dissect it,
Take it as it comes.

Whether in fair form,
Or worn and riddled with scars,
It will bring you bliss.

Look not with your eyes,
They will always deceive you,
See it with your heart.

Its beauty won't fade,
It will be forever new,
As long as you live.

However it comes,
No matter how strange its form,
Give it half a chance.

It will change your world,
Fill all the empty places,
In your dormant soul.

And it will ripple,
Throughout the known universe,
To outlast the stars.

Is life worth the pain?
It all depends on the day.
Wish it were not so.

Yo también he conocido la angustia,
Aunque pocos que me conocen lo saben,
He anhelado que terminara.

He oído la dulce llamada,
Susurrado en mi oído a veces,
De acabar con todo.

Pero siempre pasó,
Demasiados sueños incumplidos,
Que no podía dejar morir.

Aunque no soy una chica joven,
Todavía puedo relacionarme con un dolor,
Demasiado difícil de soportar.

Traen lágrimas de sangre,
Palabras de jóvenes colegas con el dolor,
Que ellos luchan por soportar.

Haciéndose daño,
Para escapar del dolor mayor,
En sus preciosas vidas.

Les ruego a cada uno, por favor,
bajen el cuchillo, la jeringa, la pipa,
No hay respuestas en ellos.

La respuesta está en ti,
En esa chispa oculta enterrada,
Debajo de todo el dolor.

¡Increíble tú!
Única, en el multiverso,
Ninguna otra como tú.

Nadie con tus habilidades,
Ninguna otra voz como la tuya,
Para cantarnos tu verdad.

Potencial ilimitado,
Todavía una pequeña semilla preciosa,
Esperando a echar raíces.

El estiércol fétido de la vida,
Con lágrimas de alegría y tristeza,
Te ayudarán a florecer.
  
La chispa en tu corazón,
Estallará en llamas con el tiempo,
A través de tu poesía.

Purificando todo,
Los espectros y sombras oscuras,
Que ahora atormentan tus noches.

Mira en el espejo,
Más allá de las cicatrices y las huellas de lágrimas,
Al resplandor de esa brasa.

Debes saber que florecerás,
Y tus poderosas ramas darán,
El fruto más dulce.

Es difícil volar
Cuando las alas de uno están empapadas en lágrimas,
Pero esto también pasará.

We must **** evil,
Not with the sword but the pen,
Truth it can't abide.

It's Poetry Month,
If poets wail in the woods,
Do they make a sound?

If what we write goes unread,
Why on earth do we persist?
It is madness, I insist,
No one can cure 'till we're dead.

Will we be silent, or discouraged? No!
Let our voices resonate with our truth,
Be it sweet as a ripe pomegranate,
Or sour as cheap wine left too long uncorked.

We sing as best we can in harmony,
Or screech like rusty nails caressing slate,
E pluribus unum - one family,
Embracing every country, every state.

Our voiced won't be silenced, nor our song,
For we were born to sing right notes and wrong.

In hour fifty-five,
"Houston, we have a problem",
200K miles.

No rescue to come,
So easy to accept fate,
Say their last good-byes.

But not for these men,
Surrender not an option,
Theirs is the right stuff.

Just work the problem,
MacGyver a solution,
Use what is at hand.

Squares fit into rounds?
No problems for NASA's best,
Duct tape and a sock.

Make spare scrubbers work,
Remove CO2 before,
Death comes to all three.

The workaround works,
Freezing heroes fly back home,
Glorious splash down.

Ingenuity,
And the hearts of true heroes,
Disasters avert.

He sembrado palabras en tierra fértil,
Los regué con sudor y lágrimas,
Fertilizados con sueños muertos,
Y crecieron, florecieron y prosperaron.

Una rica cosecha tengo ahora,
Cestas repletas de hojas muertas y prensadas,
Encuadernadas en coloridas cubiertas,
Que otros puedan repasar a voluntad.

Me brindan recompensas y algo de alegría,
Me sobrevivirán, aunque no mucho,
Y ayudaran a otros a aprender,
Y quizás a mejorar sus vidas.

Ojalá hubiera sembrado menos palabras,
Cosechado menos fanegas de hojas,
Y elegido sembrar otras semillas,
Que habrían florecido en almas.

En un instante intercambiaría
Celemines de bonitas hojas muertas,
Por una hija mía,
Amada mediante toda mi vida.

Lo hecho no se puede deshacer,
Aunque senderos no tomados me llamen todavía,
Al menos sé que cuándo me vaya,
Las hojas muertas nunca llorarán.

When assessing fault,
Find your eyes in a mirror,
Then say who's to blame.

Los recuerdos asaltan mi mente,
Y me hacen beber un trago de oscuridad muy propio,
Los rincones de mi mente una vez llenos están vacíos ahora,
Y aunque acompañado, estoy solo.

He dado todo lo que tenía para perseguir un sueño,
Que me atormentó durante demasiado tiempo,
Fragmentos de la realidad ahora cortan los estribillos vacíos de lo que pudo haber sido,
De verdades destrozadas y sueños que han salido mal.

Busco con el hambre de un alma moribunda,
Y soy recompensado por mi insensatez,
Con un vacío sin fin donde el único significado que puedo percibir,
Es la sombra proyectada por mi mente moribunda.

¿Qué hay de Don Quijote y su fiel Sancho Panza,
Cuando los dragones comienzan a tomar su verdadera forma y aparecen molinos de viento? Lucha para aferrarse al sueño y al no poder no hacerlo,
Muere por el peso aplastante de su realidad.

Cuando me despierte, voy a enrojecer profusamente,
Y deshacerme de mi lanza deshilachada,
Para tomar mi lugar legítimo,
Junto a los grandes idiotas de nuestro tiempo.

Sin embargo, todavía duermo, aunque conozco la inquietud de la vigilia incipiente,
Me aferro al sueño, conociéndolo un sueño,
Porque en su dulce promesa se encuentra la única verdad que puedo aceptar,
Mi única esperanza, el ensueño evanescente de una mente inmadura.

¿Por qué me han dejado, dulces viejos sueños de mi juventud?
Me esforcé tanto por mantenerlos en mi corazón,
¿Dónde han huido, la fe, honestidad y verdad?
¿O eran sólo visiones desde el principio?

¿Escucho música en lo más profundo de mi alma?
¿O burlantes ecos de un tiempo pasado?
Las ascuas aún resplandecen, aunque estoy envejeciendo,
Pero se oscurecen y se enfrían, al igual que mi rima.

Cada momento que pasa desgasta mi esperanza,
Al igual que las arenas en el viento la piedra del desierto,
Sinfonías que se desvanecen a una sola nota,
Dejándome vacío, amargado y solo.

No me apena mi vida; Tengo más sentido común,
Lamento una pérdida mucho mayor, mi inocencia.

I’ve sown words on fertile ground,
Watered them with sweat and tears,
Fertilized them with dead dreams,
And they grew, flowered and thrived.

A rich harvest have I now,
Bushels full of dead, pressed leaves,
Bound in colorful covers,
That others may thumb at will.

They bring rewards and some joy,
Will survive me, if not long,
And help others still to learn,
And I hope help improve lives.

Wish though I’d sown fewer words,
Reaped fewer bushels of leaves,
Chosen to sow other seeds,
That would have bloomed into souls.

In a heartbeat I’d exchange,
Bushels of pretty dead leaves,
For a daughter of my own,
To have loved through all my years.

Choices cannot be undone,
Roads not taken beckon still,
At least I know when I’m gone,
Dead leaves will never cry tears.

Goddess of wisdom, justice, inspiration, law,
Warrior goddess that is nobly so much more,
Than in what ages past held the known world in awe,
As the patron goddess of all heroic lore.

You sprang from Zeus’s head in armor, fully formed,
Grew to be among the gods his favorite child,
A warrior who as patron the arts transformed,
Fiercest defender of truth, enemy of guile.

You live today in every woman’s heart who knows,
The road to freedom is not paved with words of air,
In the fertile ashes of battles freedom grows,
Those battles fought and won by women everywhere.

You, paragon among all heroes from the start,
Live on triumphantly in every woman’s heart.

Pink blossoms raise hearts,
After long winter's slumber,
Bird songs herald dawn.

I do not care what others think,
I care somewhat what others say,
I care the most for what they do.

Thoughts in themselves won't hurt or ****,
Words do not heal or peace achieve,
Actions alone can change the world.

Fear not the man who likes you not,
Raise not a hand to answer words,
Fear those who smile with knives in hand.

Don't waste your time on pleasant dreams,
Don't write to those whose eyes are closed,
Actions, not thoughts or words, bear fruit.

Bad ideas don't die,
They thrive like mold in darkness,
Uproot them with light.

Beauty withers not,
Winter turns to verdant spring,
In hearts filled with love.

El cursor parpadea en vano,
En espera de inspiración,
Riendo desde lejos.

Few words are needed,
To convey honest meaning,
That comes from the heart.

Broken hearts still beat
In the lengthening shadows
Of past once-bright suns

Cambia la vida de una persona,
Para mejor a través de tus esfuerzos,
Y cambias el mundo.

Can't choose whom you love,
But can choose whom you marry,
Make sure you choose well.

Work is a true joy,
When it involves your passion,
Choose careers wisely.

Of your time on earth,
Much will be spent preparing,
For work and working.

Make your life's work count,
By choosing meaningful work,
Leave something behind.

Don't dwell on the past,
No force on earth can change it,
Work to shape today.

Celebrate Christmas
Not with presents under trees
But with grateful hearts

The birth of Jesus
The path to eternal life
This is our true gift

Gift most dearly bought
His life to redeem our sins
Let us not forget

[To hear my reading of this poem, you can visit https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=757IZDfihJU&t=9s]

Flowers bloom next to rusting Pepsi cans,
Watered by the spit of ******* dealers,
And the ***** and vaginal fluid,
Of hot lovers groping under blankets,
Under stars faintly glowing through acrid smog.

After dark haven for muggers, rapists, other fiends,
Whose breath profanes the very species
They so poorly represent,
Degenerating Platonic men and women,
Into dead, plucked chickens.

Abomination. Horrid not in itself, but for the use it’s put to:
A bone thrown to dogs who’ve never tasted steak,
And are only too pleased to feast,
Upon the remnants of fetid meat,
Clinging to well-gnawed bones.

Central Park, the bone we are to chew,
While smiling complacently at skyscrapers,
Daily rising where flowers might have grown,
Our humanity sinking in proportion,
To the heights they reach.

If I seem narrow minded and unkind,
Or blind to the brighter side of Central Park,
It is because I’ve stood on ****** ground,
In summer, winter, fall and early spring,
And cannot bring myself to love a *****.

Flowers bloom next to rusting Pepsi cans,
Watered by the spit of ******* dealers,
And the ***** and vaginal fluid,
Of hot lovers groping under blankets,
Under stars dimly blinking through thick smog.

Nightly haven for muggers, rapists, fiends,
Whose every breath profanes the species they,
So poorly represent, turning Plato’s,
Featherless bipeds, to dead plucked chickens,
Soul-less, pointless wastes of protoplasm.

Abomination-- not in itself but,
For the use it’s put to: a bone for dogs,
Who’ve never tasted steak, and are gleeful,
To feast upon the scraps of fetid meat,
Clinging to well-gnawed bones that they are fed.

Central Park, the bone we are to chew while,
Smiling complacently at skyscrapers,
Daily rising where wild flowers might have grown,
Our humanity proportionally,
Shrinking inversely to their daily rise.

If I seem narrow minded and unkind,
Or blind to the beauty of Central Park,
It is because I’ve stood on ****** ground,
In summer, fall, winter and early spring,
And cannot bring myself to love a *****.

Change one person's life,
For the better through your works,
And you change the world.

If you have betrayed,
The one you pledged your life to,
Why would I trust you?

"The revolution is not an apple that falls when it is ripe. You have to make it fall." --Che Guevara

Shake the tree as hard as need be,
To make the apple fall,
Be it green, or red or yellow,
Be it ripe or still too green,
Succulent or rotten to the core,
Shake the tree and make it fall.

If shaking the tree does not suffice,
Plant a worm most carefully,
Let it eat the apple's heart,
Break its spirit as it feeds,
Sap its strength most thoroughly,
then just wait until it falls.

But if that tactic also fails, don't lose heart,
Rip out the tree's protective bark,
Salt its roots,
Strike it with chains,
Until no beauty remains,
And await the apple's fall.

And should the ****** tree still stand,
And the apple cling to life,
Take an axe,
Sharpen it well,
Chop at the tree, bring it down,
Force the apple to the ground.

And should the apple still cling,
To a branch devoid of life,
Douse the shattered, useless tree
With gasoline, light a match,
And burn apple, branch and tree,
All to gloriously fine ash.

Do this always in my name,
For "If you tremble with indignation at every injustice,
Then you are a comrade of mine."
Wear my face with pride over your heart,
Shake raised fists in indignation, scatter the ashes to the wind,
What does it matter that ashes can't be eaten, so long as we win!

Children are watching,
Learning from your every deed,
Careful what you teach.

Evil seduces,
Good uplifts you to fly free,
Will you soar or fall?

Not about the tree,
Not about Santa or elves,
It's about His gift.

Christmas has now passed,
Yet its spirit lingers on,
In receptive hearts.