They said you get what you deserve
and I got you
something far, far better

so good for me
that it makes me thankful that all the rest left me alone
so you could find me

so that we could dance late at night to a guitar man playing Sultans of Swing on the side walk with a baby blue guitar and a small amp

You swung me out of your arms and back into them and I twirled you

Ten rivers lift
and become clouds
over the ocean of my heart
Light, I am light enough to float

Liszt and the leaves sooth me
and I sway over the pavement looking up at their foliage

if there is an answer it is there
in their rustling, in their meeting of the wind and in the simplicity of the mystery

Cheer up baby blue bird.
It ain’t so bad,
Half the time life digs
Circles,
Why you think you keep winding up home

Baby blue bird, wings ain’t that bad if you know you got em’

My baby blue bird, if you ain’t the kind to fly,
And you think
they **** clipped those wings
Walk and chirp baby
walk and chirp

You’ll wind up were you gotta be
That’s prophecy

Where ever the water leads, I go … trickle trickle, trickle no longer ice
no longer thick and sturdy
and willing to carry anything
light and fluid I rest
to nourish what’s around wherever I go

I see the outline of the milk gallon carried - domestic errands-
in her left hand that holds a black plastic bag. Her body is over tilting
like the stem of a flower to the right side to compensate for the weight carried, for the age and the toll of years on her body where canyons are scattered and her short black hair has thinned as does everyone’s time on earth

I feel the weight too, as the ripples of a pebble
tossed in a pond within my heart,
and I wish to carry her bag but I am turned down

The collar of her shirt red rose petals tilting outwards still fragrant and beautiful to watch slowly descend the haebangchon hills

Do not disappear again

above us all the stars remain luminous
bellied laughs, and curtain smiles that open to the gleaming sun
shining between your two front teeth

Do not disappear again

above us all there lines tied to kites
like on the day I went to a old place in south of Seoul
next to Hwaseong fortress
there the kids flew kites and I tied a small white paper along with others as a prayer

Do not disappear again

Above us all there should be a mirror reflecting our own beauty, old pictures taken years before make us sigh
we didn’t know we were so lovely so tender and filled with life. Why not take a photograph, today or all days when we still are radiant. Why not realize that our worldly anchor of change and age do not subtract the charm our new age.

Do not disappear, again  take another picture with me

We are still beautiful, tender, and filled with life.

I wish i could find the perfect song,
a mix of warm hand with a soft
voice to say "thank you"

I needed the melodies, to lighten my load

We all falter and that is okay
and i understand sometimes it’s just a matter of whose turn is it now

Love involves due overs
it is expansive and forgiving enough

but when we falter we must offer someone else the dignity of acknowledging the suffering we have intentionally or unconsciously caused them by saying  “I am sorry I hurt you”

there is no fault in faltering
instead in never saying I am sorry
never offering sorrow the dignity of its name–of naming it

“Hey Lucas, they say it seems like you and I are crazy” he said this to an empty room

“Oh boy, what a great illusion that there is separation”
answered
what is suppose to be the nothingness

Lorca viene por la puerta y le pido
que se queda
qué hay ciertas cosas que en la noche se pueden discutir
cómo el resplandor de la luna
y la partida de amores que llenaron la copa
O cómo cada copla puede ser escrita bajo
los escombros de la noche
bajo los luceros que conjuran el nacer de la mañana

I, too am a happy temporary
stem with hands and legs
close to the ground with petals reaching
towards the sun

Me gusta poesía en español
me recuerda a los momentos en mi adolecía  cuando my madre y yo íbamos solas a la playa
cuando mojadas nos acostábamos sobre la arena leyendo Sor Juana o Neruda

Me gustan las guitarras
me calman
siempre ha ávido músicos en la familia
para mi no es casa sin música
sin que alguien cante o toque algo
Segovia, Metallica, Violeta Parra, Led Zeppelin, Caetano, Ry Cooder, Pedro Infante
baladas, corridos, salsa, bachata, samba, cumbia
no hay alegria hasta que se libera el cuerpo sobre la pista de baile o en la cocina con una cuchara de palo batiendo el mole poblano
mi sangre mixta a heredado tantos sabores
y tanta riqueza de ideas y colores
que no cambiaria nada
me gusta a mi quien soy
y quiero seguir creciendo
y amando ser una ser humano

it was just that the rain reminded me of you
and I had to hold all the unspoken words
and all my tangled web of misperceptions without clarification in a bag
apart from what you are
who you are
who knows who you are

and I hold what you might think of me in a bag, too

and I know the mind cannot arrive at truth
it can only circle around the field  
and drive itself dizzy
until it collapses

so I close my eyes and try to sense
what does not have words

I can now see it
I can see the time I am in
I can see where I am in history
the player at the board looking at the pieces

“this one I can move”
“this one I cannot”
compassionate, strong willed, wiser now

I can now see
but what I see is only a fraction
but I can see my fraction
I can see it

My mother’s wings would be made of thin iridescent chitin. The kind everyone notices
because they absorb black light and give off a bright blue-green glow. I am certain this glow and the spiral of her womb  are what others sought to dominate. Her inner beauty,  her pretty, her numerous adjectives that numerous men wished to fish out and keep as keepsakes to make them feel like the bigger fish. She was never a small fish in a pond she was always fluttering in the sky. Free. Wild.Winged

Deadly Dior
Grave digging Givenchy
Dead bodies still in cells Celine
Children Crying Chanel
Some are still in the rumble Starbucks
Never Again, Nestle the why you funding genocides
I’m lovin’ it, McDonald’s- actually, no I don’t love you funding war
Where dreams come true Disney+, I beg to differ and offer. Where nightmares are funded for children caught in a conflict.
And so many more who to boycott, I do believe I have stumbled upon a long, long poem that wishes to be longer. Don’t forget you money speaks too like words and songs and paintings hung up.

Eu sou uma nuvem
e eu também sou o sol

Eu sou a beleza da vida
sob a forma de uma mulher

Eu sou um pedacinho do planeta
–Outra filha da terra

Eu sou caracol
bactérias
infinitamente inseparável de nossa biografia existencial
–Pequena poeira eterna flutuando na atmosfera do tempo

Eu venho do que foi e será

Todavía te quiero tanto que
todos los días me pregunto cómo haz estado

Todavía te quiero tanto que
exploto
y no encuentro la manera de vivir sin ti
yo se que la existe pero no la quiero

Todavía te amó tanto
que siempre quiero disolver los grandes obstáculos
siempre quiero abrir mi boca y darte algo dulce pero me callo

me quedo con mis palabras porque
tu también tienes que poner de tu parte
pero esta vida no es fácil
y aveces te quiero esperar cien años
pero surgiría la muerte como otro obstáculo

Todavía te amó
hay un río con fuerte corriente que no solo me atrae a ti sino que también te siento dentro
como si me hubiera intentado salpicar en ti
más termine empapado

Todavía quiero tanto poder amarte
aun que seamos seres distintos
aun que seamos solo un puntito temporario
en esta infinidad

y hay mañanas cómo estás que camino hacia el mar  y al llegar desde la orilla veo el gran mar que nos divide y te veo a ti
y sonrío y se que estás  ahí vivo lleno de vida, imperfecto pero real con sangre que fluye, y muy callado con mente tan llena y te quiero gritar
te amó
nunca te olvides venga lo que venga

Y todavía te amó aunque esta sea nuestra realidad pero se si queremos la podemos transformar

Three people paint the subway station with life
the horn announces that the next train is coming bound for the seoul

There is no such thing as “normal”;
When you try to create “normal”,
“Normal” chokes everyone involved.

le dije que ya no muero
que algo en mi despertó

que siento la vida surgir desde mi costado
un punto definido y la totalidad de la inmensidad
a la misma vez uniéndose
enlazados en la misma cosa

mi ser está en este mundo
mi cuerpo sobre esta cama
pero yo no me habita la habitación

es que desperté del infierno y desperté del paraíso
desperté
es que desperté un mañana profunda, una mañana clara, una mañana sin ninguna ilusion desperté de un gran sueño
dónde todo estaba dividió ahora
todo es

He has a life line that runs right across his entire palm
so his grandmother used to tell him he would do great or fail great
( we all fail great if we live long enough and do great if only we can see how stupendous our simple acts of courage and kindness are)
He listens when I am

angry because my ego (my little I, my concept of “me” with all its stories is in full gear) activated dancing circles around my sanity,

sad because I cannot see past the veils of ecstasy and sorrow and peer into reality (where these is no story attached to anything, a pencil is pencil, ) for that moment,

hopeful that the small caterpillar hanging from the tree will survive and enter chrysalis ,

goofy dancing  good bye as the train doors close and he’s off to his home  and when I talk his head off about the albums I have been listening to (most recently everything Branford Marsalis has played on)
at the foot of the mountain and ask that he please be my climbing partner.
                He hikes. He hikes  though the forest in summer with me despite the inevitable  encounter with his arch enemies (the mogi) the mosquitos 🦟

stretching my hand out he reaches for it and we take a long peaceful walk

I touch the insects bites
that have swollen up
and become bumps
on my right arm

I run my middle and index fingertips
over them and trace the Summer Triangle: Vega, Deneb, and Altair

I think to myself
It’s July, I should be able to walk outside at night and see them shine brightly in the sky

1.

The wind blows and I am nervous over a hill,
where the grass is low
but lower is the water flowing

Keep in mind,quiet costs
the dry branches motion in the gust of time
slowly churning thoughts
over the eve of our crowing destiny
2.
From that hilltop
I see them

The smell of Franciscan Manzanitas and bees
surrounds them

I thought they’d lost their way,
down the path where the ferns grow high
and the forest deepen enough to make most forget

But I saw them egress the woodland’s mouth
an abetment of hands cusping future

they giggled and where light
on their feet
enthroned to this field
they walked over the sharp blades of grass
3.
there is no such thing now
as optional, ornamental pruning
trimming is to occur
and its necessity makes itself known
coils its body like a serpent
4.
our consciousness burrowed for too long
in the ground

5.
When I turn my head I see you, too
Do you see them ?

the crowned that have come
blinking their love for all things

it seems like we must begin again or the fates will cut their strings

fueron lazos tus escombros
que después del huracán
de ti me ataron a tu memoria

divinas fracturas
que mi cuerpo terrenal
no pudo más que entrar
en capullo

You are the last rose in autumn before winter
on cold night bright defying the muted sky

Me gusta que la gente es como chicle dulce que te abraza. De todos eres  “mija”
<<mi hija>> así me presenta mi madre

Adoro ver a los viejitos agarrados
cuando empiezan las baladas
sus cuerpos son como mazapán
frágiles pero las miradas que se dan
son suficientes para azúcar el paisaje

Me gusta ver a los niños corren por la pista de baile sobre sus caras se agranda la alegría.

La music es alta y constante
y se convierte en pan de vida

his daughter had long hair in my dream
he was sitting next to her
I simply hugged him
and everything else
was a blur

They pick circular crowns of flowers
recalling their loved ones’ favorite colors and their quirky inclinations to dress using a certain shade of green or purple.

Lulu died as a baby so, her mom,
my aunt Hermelinda and Lulu’s younger sister Licha add her to the list of people that need floral crowns while counting relatives on their fingers.

Generations of loved ones equate to my small statured aunt, taking multiple trips from the florists’ shop to her car.

distinção bela
sou em este corpo uma floresta
onde a vida brota e foge
minha beleza é profunda e verde

Havia uma mulher que falou com La Lua. Ela ficou tão encantada com o luar que um dia ela estendeu as mãos para ela e pregou os polegares.

Ao tê-la em suas mãos, a mulher abraçou a lua perto do peito e sussurrou com carinho: "você ilumina a mais escura das minhas noites".

put everything behind
you. they are
good lessons to springboard
from. Put
everything behind.
everything
in your life are lessons
to springboard into
the now- springboard
into putting
a little more of everything within
your life
Springboard–
this is
your life.

“it is not taken too kindly when a woman speaks out and is direct. It’s seen as aggressive. Ask your wife”

“ No, that’s not true” said the cis gendered man, as he responded for his wife

Ciertas cosas son seguras
cómo el calor del asfalto
sobre cadera
arenada

cómo la agua tibia en la piscina al atardecer
cómo la tierra a su alrededor que recuerda la calor así te recuerdo a ti

cosas conocidas enlazadas
cómo si todavía estuvieran costado a costado presente las arenas del pasado

I care about the songs we sing to lift our spirits
they don’t have to be played in nice halls
I care about the reason for which one courageously awakes and decides to find joy in simplest of tasks

I care about the reason why you lift your head up
I care about the reason why this earth has life and how to make it thrive

And when they tell us how foul we  have been
The many wars we have waged
How ****** and separatist our histories have been
when they cry in full rage
full of resentment towards our direction

We will say “baby, that is less than half
of what we have been.”

What about the silence
what no one could describe
–no mouths,
no language deep,
or high enough–
for its daily beauty was (is),
too profound

Fibers of life
made from those soundless instants
woven in clear thread
holding the seams of this existence jointly together

Present at the second a mother reaches out her arms
to meet those of her crying child: soothing, healing, comforting, warmth
–no words could raise a flag and reign  
in absolute totality
over its meaning
over life

Just like adjectives cannot describe
my smile greeting yours; our sacredness,

Our brilliance is here in the absence of words
If you are to judge us; judge us by the quiet moments
(that you too can touch and that survive us all)
judge us by the mighty stillness
(the root and anchor of it all)

We sunk into the melting ice dissolving over the Han River
changing icy thoughts to free flowing water

everything was water
clear, cleansing and clearing

La lenta sabiduría de la lengua
escurre con corriente fuerte y llena
un frasco entró
¿quien se entera? si cada lengua pide
ojos y cada par de ojos suena
en diferente lengua

¿y qué tal la sabiduría del corazón?
la que dicen que no tiene razón
¿cuantos frascos podrá ella llenar ?

I see the oatmeal boil in hot water.
That is my mind I think to myself, and that’s all human lives lifting as they are born and sinking once they died

Aveces me enamoro de los puentes
fácil y fatalmente frecuento lagos de ideas
en esos charcos anchos me gusta salpicarme en el <<quien habrá caminado estos rumbos con solo tiempo como el factor de lejanía entre nos >>

my eyes are two ponds in each a Fernald's iris floats
...
that night in each picture taken the light, shining off the optic nerve, moved from left to right like two dancing irises reacting to the ripples of my tiny apartment life full of books, domestic cookery, Bluetooth Son Jarocho canciones, and the bright reminder in your eyes that closed of laughter because I passed you the fork instead of opening the refrigerator door. Your lashes looked like the sun's rays your joy traveling to me at their speed before we locked eyes you stood still and gazed at me as I were you and you were me. One cannot laugh at such moments, the profound inclination to smile when one sees the beauty of a sunset over Dockweiler beach or the inevitable beauty of wild northern California flowers swaying in the wind disarms you of all, all mixing spoons and guitar music went. my ponds  silent witnesses  to the bright promise in your eyes,   I thought we were so close to the lips of world peace
...
what is your wish he asked me "I wish we could see ourselves as each other" he laughed "If we could do that, there would be no need to be here. There would be peace on earth "

I have tired to release too many times
but it’s like a spiral winding inwardly

and I accept it’s traversing and infinite nature always coiling and surprising me

at how it is still there

the alarm rings in Guernica
All wounds open with this one

The first verse of Dalton’s Como tu
“I love love, life.” witnesses as
All wounds speak with this one

Ingram’s interview with Ms.Goodman
the Jews Hamburg taken to the Mintz Ghetto stripped of clothing  and then shot
All wounds unravel with this one

The way I cannot speak the language of my ancestor and the violence it took to strip our tongue away but not our lives
All wounds open with this one


Refaats join Jara
All wounds open

And as they open still mothers and fathers wipe the clean the face of their dead children and smile

My your god and mine have mercy and smile upon us again as these wounds open I begin to understand a smile is a treasure

I laugh the way the earth giggles when it’s sure that
storms come in and out of the atmospheric frame at their due time

I laugh in joy that at least I still got enough soul to wake me up

That I got tenacity, and freshness of  lilies
to keep me

giving and receiving
sitting alongside each other
is loving

openness and free discussion
knowing you will be on bridge
at the same time vulnerable
to the elements and the weather
of a too unpredictable life

assures me, soothes me,
serene I am
when I face the day knowing
I am loved by you

Your finger twists the typer’s hand to squeeze out of their tongue the many truths

but they keep them in their pockets the prescripted speech that’s someone’s got their interests tied around
Like some money hanging off some pretty lady’s hips who wraps around a pole, that’s what clicks into place like the sound of an old vhs being pushed in and made to play, but you got the wrong tape
it’s a well dressed dude, making you feel bad that you ain’t as solid a consumer
as him
Ka-ching affluence
He’s got all the right signifiers
Ka-ching
like a dog has got the right canine chow and the right collar to tell you someone owns him
because if he owned himself
you know he’d already found his worth

After the storm there is peace
Incomprehensible peace