You emerge from the summer’s heat
sun kissed–
the short warm nights
and the long hours of daylight
have given you ample time
to spread your toes and your thoughts over the grass
Soon, it will be solstice
And the sun will command the skies

i like poetry like all the people here
i like reading like most do

i see art as visual music
i see words holding hands and dancing to the rhythm of music

i know what i like
i know nothing is mine

I live on this rocking boat that
                            sways forth
and sways back

loosens me up as if  teaching me
how to dance
                          one step forward
two steps back

i look at myself in the mirror
and wonder how many lifetimes i have lived
not because I feel old, but because i feel
timeless
every living things feels
  timeless to me
    and everything is living
living timelessly within a very timed material form

to the years that have emboldened you
and the soft cotton of shirts that have held
your chest and the loud beating heart of a child
who tenderly became this man

to the embroidered years
with harsh winters and humid summers  
through all four seasons and all four decades of your life
there has been wind to cool and there has been light to warm
More often than not, I see the trickle of silence play guard
but sometimes it shatters with a big smile

"I like it when you smile" is as much as I can write to you
when truly, I would like to tell you "I like it when you smile because I slide into it, like a cozy sweater and I smile,too"

so to the years, to the stomping ground that brought you up, to the many lips you've graced and/or  left un-kissed, to the bad shady stuff that no one in this life escapes, to the very good breaks and very profound moments of rebirth, to all that could fit and has fit into your making I thank them –be who are, live a life unique to you because these years have made you, you in all the right ways.

One more rotations around the sun, is most certainly a "win". Cheers to the years!

Gratitude
a big shower
of appreciation
of the ever constant  
opening and reopening
to the precious
happenings
of this formless intuition
running from the tips of toes
beyond the crown
and into a field of unity

my chest is like the ocean
the things that are right for me
float up like small plastic ***** to the surface
but
i feel
confused
when you float up
from the depths
you make me hesitant
of ever trusting my gut again
“can i get a new gut?” i think to myself
this one is acting up
because the buoyancy of your  name
wakes me at odd hours of the night

Do I take a step towards love
or go the other way
And take a step towards fear

I always pick love because it’s not a sentiment, it is the highest wave.

I always pick love even if they laugh at me for dreaming or scold me
Who is to know how life is to be lived

I wonder why you quit
like if you don’t deserve a win

Weave again,
I am worth the re-weaving of a life
as many beginnings as I need I will hand myself

Weaver of my own fate; friend to my own mind; I encourage dreams
and I feed in me light

“One day at time”
I say to myself
when my eyes redden
and my body feels exhausted
and the bathroom mirror is too close
and reveals me
to myself

Let him grow like a flower
among the grass where he was planted

Swaying among the greenery
swaying among the people

observe quietly
listen –all things speak with silence

dare to love the whole scenery
while closing your eyes and picturing abundance

infinite and creative
close your eyes and know all possibilities are open
waiting like a bud to manifest their bulbs into this expansion
so there is no need to go plucking flowers

May they be a soothing balm
the days that are to come

May they be
moving, regenerative  
and wildly bold
the hours that lie ahead

May they be bright
and always on your side
the thoughts that ring out of your mind

this I wish for you
in the weeks, months
that are to come

pela noção de que todas as vidas são criadas iguais
                                             Abro a boca,
                                           movo as mãos
                                e canto na direção do futuro
                                   porque na minha mente
                                           a visão é clara

We ruptured hastily from la tela collectiva the same way a drop of blood emerges from a small puncture wound –round, wholly, and bright-hued.
Yes, we bursted slowly bajo el sol que todo alumbra hacia la sanidad needing no reassurance to which direction to take to. (We know, nosotros sentimos el flujo y el ritmo de esta vida)

A laid back lady with flower vases, poetry books, long scarfs draped over cushions and a decent stereo system to crank up when the going gets tough or the going gets real good.

behind the big wave
is grace

May it take you
and fly you close to every dream
that still wishes to flutter
in the nook
neath the left side of your ribs

This must be how we grow.
All the pain was like bark being pushed out while this tree was growing.
I could not help but to ask myself
“Is this how a tree feels when it is growing a new ring?”

I choose the calmness of now
the slow step
and the possibility of a depth unknown

It does not have to fit anyone's vision
except my own
if it hurts and it does not bring joy
then there is no point
running the same race
to keep winding up at the same starting point  

I choose the softness of now
the full heart
and a life unconventional

It does not have to be stamped
and approved
if it harms, holds back
and does not nourish
the risk is run of it never allowing the true self to shine

I choose the fullness of my spirit
the risk of ridicule for the joy of authenticity  
and I pray this body be an expression of the infinite without continual limiting

This must be how we grow. 
I have always loved trees. So, I can’t help but to think to myself
“This is how a tree must feel
when its trunk grows a new ring.”

I reached a point where I felt “I can’t”
but you know
I found that “I can’t” isn’t a wall.
There is a space after “I can’t”.

I don’t know how to describe it
but all of a sudden I just couldn’t cry anymore
and I wasn’t overwhelmed with anger anymore.
I just felt like I was done.
I was done mopping, burning up, and feeling bad.
So,I just started doing.

I sit in this quiet room surrounded by more silence waiting for the still voice inside of me to speak to me, but it is silent.

I try to talk to it; i say “I gave it all I had. Now I am tired and in need of a shoulder to lean on.”

Every time the wind moves a cloud
may the sunshine peak
if only for a little while
to warm his skin
and clear away any thoughts
that may linger to fester the peace inside

1.
the dogs bark louder
the people pace more
the wind gets wilder

on the third day of curfews
the coping gets hard
the drive seems longer
the outside looks more distant than before we were blanketed by illness

but perhaps sickness has always been there
deadlier, reoccurring, cruel if you weren't born with fair skin
on the North American continent won over through war,
pillaging, enslavement, indoctrination, and more ...
where today you can only breathe heavy air
the hefty sorrow reigns as we try to cradle
the wings of its opposite with bruised
calloused hands

2.
–something good must come of this
something good,
there has been too much suffering
we pray for "something good"
something good must emerge of this

Something good please come of this
our whole bodies feel the weight of a breath cut short
as we should –separation does not exist

something good must come of this because we are all in this together
and it is time we push
add our part
to the great vision of an equitable world

3.
The heavy air makes it hard for your sisters and brothers to breathe
toxic sites scattered through the county  
cardiovascular disease, asthma, and low birth weight babies
being placed into the arms of your kin
the environment reflects the same sickness
steals the same breaths

We twist
and turn
in this tornado
bodies fly

We watch them
as they ascend
and we ask
why
must they all
look the same

“We know”
people gathered
at the squares say

“We demand change”
read the picket signs

Some are scared of words
as one rightly should.

Some are uncomfortable with facts
as if one of these facts will finally tear through the rope of privilege that fabricates a false outer sense of self-esteem.

Because the thing about privilege is that if you lose it
you might see that there isn’t anything special about you. However, you will see there is nothing special about anyone and if you claim anyone is special then everyone is special.

I think of you and the thread of life that runs through your mind, body and soul.

You have always been strong; you have always had everything you have needed roaming inside you.

Whatever you need, call it forth and it will come
be it patience
be it understanding
be it hope

There is a curfew in my city.
From 8:00 pm to 5:30 am.
All must remain inside

Still, there is daylight
Still, there are protestors
Still, there is prejudice

Still, there is sorrow

There is a history of enslavement in the forming of my country.
From the 1600s to now.
All people who weren’t deemed “human” went from chains to prisons,
to being killed on routine traffic stops.

Still, there is daylight
Still, there are sirens
Still, there is inequity

Still, some ask why?

There are stories whose depths I do not know.

Narratives whose wounds I can only touch with the tips of my fingers
if allowed to.

Journeys that involve blood
and sorrow
the two of which have not been drawn out of own skin
but out of someone else.

They said it is precious
and that one should take care of it.

So, when like a bird it fluttered over my open palms–I tried my best to hold it
to see its wings unfurl and it’s feathers widen.

I observed even the shadow it cast. It gave shade; it gave warmth.

Flash bang grenades
rubber bullets
Riot guns with metal pellets

the tear gas isn't necessary to make anyone cry

We must never forget our light
that which burns bright
Always present
and unrivaled
by the outside

There a is wound...

–and the salt over it  
and four hundred years suspended over us
and tired hands that keep laying brick for tomorrow

and hymnals passed down to give strength
and blood flowing as naturally from the bodies of men as it does from the bodies of women  
and silence that is wise telling us this is wrong –one man's knee over another man's neck
and justice screaming from the window at its home
that its real name is "love"–

and we must heal it.

I whisper to the wind and I murmur to the sun
“keep him well”
cool him during the heavy heat
warm him when the days are cold

(May we all be well as this earth turns)

When I push it aside
it pushes me back harder

So I let it sit next to me
all that love with all that sorrow

Maybe the two can call it a truce
inside my body

they might be able to hold hands and start to cradle each other

I took my devotion and like a disciplined scribe worked hard to bind you a book of letter, so presentable and worthy of being gifted to you.

Dedication became routine; everyday I closed my eyes and released a prayer in your direction. I prayed a whole temple and in it I sat.

Now, I’m scared to walk into the temple or open the book. I fear the walls will crumble on me and the words I will no longer be able to decipher

So I haven’t walked into it, instead I sit outside its steps and I can’t feel; I can’t feel a thing.

Be gentle with all the things you love.
Each one is precious and delicate and can’t be handled harshly.

Be merciful to all the things you love. Each one travels their own dark skies and holds in them fear. Feed in them love

Don’t you know I love you
When I am lying down
I peel my heart with my hands like an orange

At the center is all the sweetness
all the love grown through a life time

You added to the freshness and the fruitfulness of my center

When I press it, in search of answers; it just oozes despite it all

I hold my knees and rest my head upon them
Then I begin to shift my weight back and forth
to slowly loosen my skin

Maybe if I take it off, this weight, these perception –I can come to clarity.

I to see clearly what you are here to teach me.

I do not want to chase a life that is not mine.
I want to flow like water down a mountain.
Stretch myself
unite myself
with more streams and rivers traversing  
their way down to the ocean.

I do not want a life that is not mine.
Mine is good enough;
grace is my guide.
I close my eyes and it leads me
through the pointy rocks of dogma
and through the curving shape of time.

What is for me
will flow to me like water;
this is the nature of things.

Someday I will reach the sea
like everyone else,
but I want to do it in good company

(I want to do it as water.)

por lo menos e de seguir este sueño
hasta donde llege
no importa si involucre canas o bastón

yo iré, como si se esconde cerca
tras la flor, al otro lado del barranco
o al cruzar el oceano

iré con la fuerza y inercia
que me brinda la vida

desde lo profundo
la calma llena todo mi ser

hoy solo es una dia dificil
pero quizas mañana sera mejor

el hoy se asoma y lo tengo que atender

estoy con la almohada en la boca
con el sentimento que escurre
parezco fuente que fluye

You have run an emotional marathon; it is normal to be tired–your mind and your body need rest. Let this moment be– no predicaments of ecstasy or doom. You are tired and it has been hard; sleep, time will bring clarity. Repose will renew.

let sleep embellish your dreams
and replenish your strength

let it bring back joy
even if it lays only a sliver
of it over your pillow

from this night on
let deep slumber's gift
add up until your heart is filled
with the warmth of infinite possibilities

Dear love,

I am hoping you bloomed in spring
and that this summer has given those around you
the sweetest fruit picked from your orchard

See I dream
and still long to love you;
fear is drowned out by the promise of fall that offers trees new cover

I know the road is long
you could liken me to slug
this year has made me a snail,
but be sure I am slugging your way.

I think about the sun, the moon, the stars.
I think about the our cities, and our roads.
I think about the our bodies and our hands.
I think about the ideas, and the beliefs inside.
–And I know that I rather be a maverick than a conformist.

I think about discoveries of other galaxies and dark matter.
I think about ways to structure civilization and ways we can travel.
I think about our consciousness and the extension of our limbs.
I think of the awakening and the discovery of inward connection.
–And I feel that I rather be authentic than inauthentic.

One well-written poem or thousands throughout a lifetime
could still not be worth as much as simply sitting next to you in silence; practicing love is more important than professing it.
I feel this to be true. So where does that leave me; hours away –away from your quietude. I know that only you know.