send it back to the robber barons
                                   tear it this behemoth of a bill
feed the poor and the helpless
                                  take care of the sickly and the old
send this bill back to the robber barons
                                   send its letters dark & black back to the inkwell
protect our public lands and our natural gems from sale
                                   say no to these robber barons
say "no" say "no more, robber barons! "

You do not have to show up and see every daisy in spring
you don’t not have to hold many hands
just interlace your finger with those of your beloved few
and more importantly you only have to be here
for this one second

I leaned my head all the way back and watched the snow fall to ground
magical
nothing less than magical

You can’t stay there forever
your heart ruptures and breaks open
your life becomes magma cooling
new earth being created from a violent
or effusive explosion but new soil nonetheless

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

Las largas horas son un regalo
al ver la luz del atardecer
escurrir como agua
sobre las manos del tiempo

I do not know your struggles
but may you surmount each of them

May you thrive and may you be joyful
for inherently we all deserve kindness, nurturing, respect and care; may you never be withheld any of these. May you never know the sadness that grows inside your chest when one of these is refused to you.

May you keep good company; may you have folks around that lift you and walk you to the doorway of your own being; ears that do not judge.
May you be compassionate and may you receive compassion.May you be strong enough to apologize when you haven’t treated someone else well; it is bound to happen –you’re  only human.

May you live and love to the fullest; may you be the highest version of yourself.

there are times I hid in under the sofa
ran into the closet
jumped into the laundry pile
climbed onto the roof of the house and waited there
for the long night to overtake your body and diffuse its anger

many times you drunkenly lay on the side of the street
with me tugging at your arm trying to get back into the house

many times inebriated you tried to beat the car keys out of my hand
but I caved and drove you myself to the liquor store

and then you would sit there intoxicated, and tell how much you loved me
how good of a daughter I was

many times my mind feels fragmented, like a tiny lifeboat with a whole in it squeezing out air and I do not know if I will make it to the shore  

I sit on that tiny boat and I cry because
it is so hard for me to realize when someone truly loves me
and when they're just stringing me along
it is sad that I struggle so much  
i feel too confused and too inept
when it comes to recognizing love

many times, many times I forgave you
for the sake of my own well-being
but I no longer have to lie and tell them others you were nice to me
abuse is never nice
and you as a father weren't either

many times I have tried and many times I will continue to try
to reach for wholeness

There are four mariachis sitting in a circle  and two more bolitas of three standing a few feet away. Across the street, there are two more sitting on a bus stop bench, neither seem to have the intention of boarding a bus, as they keep letting them pass by. All of them are waiting–

I see four more in a white mini-van with the passenger door open to let in the cool breeze.

None of the musical charros are playing music. The only tunes being played in a plaza named  after them in Boyle Heights comes from the señor with a plastic tent selling masks and other trinkets. He’s playing old school Mexican boleros ( the kind I really love) through a loud speaker.

I hum along to the ones I know as I walk to the bookstore only to find it is also closed. I start to look around, and everything with the exception of  a corner coffee shop are closed. That’s why they are here, that’s why there are so many Mariachi in the plaza today, no one has come. They are waiting for employment to put some food on the table and pay some bills.

Everything is in waiting–
a forced wait that requires hope. That is also why there are lots of Mariachi at the plaza.  They woke up, tightened their red bows, dressed up in their black suits and left their home with their instruments ready to go.

Marina left and at first I thought she was out picking berries, drifting under the canopy in the forest, but at last the june birds cried and her absence was louder

realizing only then that each step she took
had taken her farther
            My Marina was out of the forest
and although there was no knock on the door and no ring was presented by a striking suitor, I felt
as though at last life had come for her hand

Seré una marinera Mari,
Una mujer que rema
sin timón
penarán me
errabunda

Eternamente fuera de quicio,
dirán que nunca lo tuve

pero cómo la corriente no cesa
tampoco mi remar

Quiero árboles y sol
quiero hojas del tamaño de mi cara
y quiero amarte sin rodeos

Sin tener que estar tan lejos
cuando el sol amanece sobre ti
el mío desciende

Quiero mas vida, pero quien no desea esto


I want trees and sun
I want leaves the size of my face
and I want to love you
Without a rodeo
Without having to be so far

when the sun rises over you
mine descends

I want more life, but who doesn't wish for this

May you wake up and may the sun smile upon you
The are many triumphs that might not seem mighty
but they are
like looking in the mirror and smiling gently at your reflection
putting your palms together and saying “thank you for this new day”

May there be more roads that open up daily onto joy
May there be more silent moments where gratitude
takes the heart into its two hands and we become filled
with an unending warmth
because we trust ourselves
and this great unfolding to sieve us at the end of this process 
into light

I open up the gates and let down my guard
May joy not be impeded may it flow like a river
I am so tired of trying to hold back the waters of trying to police my mind
I feel the way I feel
Care for what I care for
And I love who I love
I open up the gates may joy fill us

Maybe it was unwise to leave ...
... I told a friend my dad kept insisting I come home at least for a year. She said “that’s a big sacrifice”

Maybe it was unwise to be born a girl...
... in my society they think  you belong to your family. Even my mom came “to get me”
She loves me/ she’s getting older/ This time I should listen to her –those are the thought that won.

Maybe all these decisions were not wise... and it’s not a maybe my plans let you down...
... my plans let me down, too. I was sure I could make it. It seemed as certain as waking up the next day.

But it was not my decision not to get on that plane. It simply wouldn’t go. The whole world has halted and the boats won’t go and the planes won’t take off  –they are suspended.

Maybe no wand I could wave could fix
a world crisis
and maybe not even the disappointed
& strain this has brought,
but maybe compassion and understanding could begin to heal not just you or me but everyone whose boats were docked, flights canceled and schedules ruined.

Maybe I can step away from my personal tragedies to see the larger framed photograph that hangs on our global galleria...
...there are some people out there tonight in hospital rooms crying for loved ones who have left and other fighting an illness because they long for life –for the breath we’ve still got. ( as long as I breathe I told my self I try to back it back)

Maybe it is wise for me to stop crying now. There are things that are out of my control and my reaction is a child needing love whom I can rear.

Maybe you keep getting the same lesson : be patient because you have not learned it

Maybe the first time it was a whisper,
the second a branch collapsing over you

the surrender into patience will be greater
the longer you refuse to be patient

Just let patience coil around you (you are the space inside) let time bake your outer form but retain the spaciousness inside

Be patient, be patient, be patient with all–
and most of all with yourself

May the day soothe you and bring you all the strength you need
pour into your being how ever many cups of sweetness are needed to balance out the sour taste

May the day remind you, you are capable of whatever dream, you wish to reach for
that your years have grown your roots, so there is no need to worry; even from afar I can see you’re a tree that can weather storms.

Me gusta escuchar a Silvio Rodriguez
ciero mis oyos
y es como si me cantara a mi

Si, no sola soy maza
tambien soy alma
y me gusta cuando escurre vida
desde las bocinas
desde un libro
desde una pintura
desde la risa de los peatones

Me gusta ecuchar
lo que la vida a sido para los demas
me gusta vivir
y es como si este mundo me hablara a mi

Nosso corpo pega as barreiras
e con sua mistura de sangue
e as desfaz

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

Mind of mine I brought you some rubber gloves, a bucket and some soap. Mind of mine we must dust and rearrange; I know change is hard but bear with me. We must make it a little nicer since lots of our time is spent here. Mind of mine we cannot quit as we get older we must continue to reach for growth, and yes relax a little more. But right now we gotta clean so put on your rubber gloves it’s time!

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

In my pit of sorrow
I grew wings looking at you

the flight of winged sparrows above
me common to the city dweller was a miracle  to me

Mistral en la costa de mi corazón se lleva el noble arrullo y la sigo hacia el un mundo de sueños

The rain refreshes
with each drop skin,
stem and silt loading
on paved roads

brings water to my lips
I, a human flowers, feel

My smile combines with artistry, with intellect, with profound gentleness,
with my audacious willingness to dance, with my multi lingual tongue,with the rising of my chest as I lift it to prepare to catch a wave
it marries in my fingers, that were taught to play Spanish guitar in my humble demeanor the scent of the girasole, and the monarca butterflies that migrate to my mother’s state of Michoacán each year
their wings and mine a miracle

Tu no me tienes que decir
que no madrugas que el sol te come
los ojos. Yo se que el ***** calor
de la noche es mas attractivo para perros que olfatean
las penas que haz enterados

La mente de nosotros es como un teatro
para toda tragedia y comedia.  Dictando
nuestro monologo, el que solo cada uno
de nosotros puede escuchar

Tomorrow I will hike up a mountain to meet a group of monks
I will sleep at 8:00 pm and wake at 4:00 am
and repeat.
I will sit by the lake        
and freeze if I have to
the cold always makes me aware
of more than just this mind of mine

what in me accepts these conditions?
what part of me lingers here and why?
what inside causes turmoil?
What needs to be deeply examined?

May the weight of the small tasks as well as the daunting ones
not linger on your shoulders
may a day not be lost on you,

money may be lost, belongings may be lost
but let it not be you
–your being– that is lost or your anchor of perseverance
or your nature to lean towards the sun

and if you there are too many thoughts tied to tasks
then I offer my hands and my words as wagons
on which to place some of that weight

let us tilt towards the sun
let the day evaporate our worries as it does to morning dew

Surya Namaskar in the bright morning sun

every little part of me comes alive

and my fingers lift me off the ground

pressing powerfully

how wondrous are we

breathing, living, conscious beings

standing mountains

all equal

vast as the vastness

I mother my sadness
and I mother my fear
I hold them in my arms
and sing to them songs of hope,
Compose for them
vocal melodies to blanket
their hurt  
Stuff a pillow full of the resilience
to to get us through the night
and safeguard us through these times

por amarte se me partio la lengua en dos
el lado izquierdo una rosa avenida larga capaz de querer tu manos y saboriar el manto humano de tu cuerpo encajado sobre tu alma  

el lado derecho igual, bajo mi paladar sensible a tu tacto
se rindo pues es  incapz de juzgarte  

aveces pienso que parezco aserpiente por quererte
y me hace querer inventar nuevos mitos
pues cada mito de mujer y culebra me roba la lengua

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".

If we wish to be tender then we must accept to be brave.

It is about to erupt, my chest over my life
blanketing everything anew

I stand on the dirt arena, the matadors are my thoughts and bulls are feelings. Both strong and assertive. I watch them and breathe.

I will give you a bowl with your favorite grilled vegetables, grains, and legumes


I will grow so comfortable that I will take a  sting bean off your plate and replace it with the sun-dried tomato you like

To share your life is to share your bowl skillfully for the purpose of common joy
and nourishment

Things your eyes say:


Your eyes are beautiful, not because of their color or their shape, but because of their gleam as you tilt your head closer and embrace the person next to you.
I know you understand the gift of a small kindness, of a well-meaning "hello,"  and that is why your eyes captivate me with their soft syrup sweetness. They seem doused in sincerity, and it shows. No human makes it to this field of kindliness without crossing the mud moats of pain, but you awoke today and chose warmheartedness' aromatic nectar. And the world reaps its benefit

Still maturing…
never too ripe
always eternal
and with one foot
in time

Thoughts: I observed ducks in the lake comfortable in the cold their plumage  warming them. I thought about what my plumage may be. If the plumage were a metaphor what is it a metaphor for. Is it wisdom, is it skill, is it a learned capacity? I pondered  and then I just laugh because my mind is conditioned to find patterns and metaphors that somehow I momentary lost the point… I don’t have to know. I can just sit here and observe & be present.

2. Thoughts: … ☁️

My ability to respond is limitless
walls are again down
and I know I am responsible for everything in my life
only me, not someone else
for the sweetness or lack of sweetness in my heart
from now on I ought bring my own honey with me everywhere I go
What’s inside I can make pleasant
for I chose to respond now with sweet
sweet involvement  and engagement

I could not write about the people I lost during a short writing class exerciae. My sentences circled
swirled inward on the page
the way my departed and my beloved
swirl within me the sacred spiral
my endless nature trying to map itself out on a thin piece of paper

My duty is not to suffering
or to a half lived life

My duty is not to complacency
or to self pity or  to “woe is me”

My duty is to releasing all the
“ it’s not that bad” descriptions from my life because anything I describe with “not that bad” is not good enough –not if I want a meaningful and fulfilling life

“it’s not that ..:”must be replaced with “ I am blessed to have this” with the sweet sensation and utterance of “wow, I am so lucky” this is the space I am creating
that is my intention, that is the life I am working on having

I am opening the door to all things that bring joy and all the possibilities of a deeper more authentic life that overflows from my core
onto this daily altar that is my life

at entrance of a forest on a hill watching
the great pine trees grow older over
your head; there the birds take flight in the distance

and my eyes burst into rivers, converging at a deep valley shaped by the slow
passing of the years

How did my father survive the streets of LA
a young dark skinned man
a mixed blood being in his prime

I flash back to the time he shouted at me while teaching how to drive
a  simple thing like me hanging  a small dream catcher from the rearview mirror
was enough

“They can stop you for any **** reason, Pita” he’d say.

what I didn’t know was that he was right
and what he did not account for was that I would not be seen as a dark skinned male the day I got pulled over in Davis, Ca by a cop and I stepped out of the car and walked straight up to him and he walked to meet me and asked me “Ma’am have you ever been pulled over ?” I replied “ no, this is my first time” and he smiled as if he’d popped my cherry. “I figured a small and smiling girl didn’t get of the car with the intention to start a fight” that is what my father did not understand
and I wish I could say I understood at that moment
and I wish that officer would of understood too that the only reason he did not pull a weapon on me was simply based on what I looked like

My heart is in healing mode
it want to sing, dance, smile and find the small delights that bring joy into my  life
it is too early to open it to anyone
my heart just wants to love itself
even more so
return to its own home
it wants glide on its own wind
roam its own forests
be sweet but not spoiling of others around it

I like that the people are sweet gum hugging you. You are everyone’s “daughter”
“My daughter” this is how my mother introduces me.

I adore looking at the elderly holding  each other as they start playing the ballads
they’re bodies like mazapán
fragile but the looks they give each other
suffice to sugar the landscape

I like to see the children run through the dance floor
on their faces joy is enlarged

The music is loud and constant
–and it becomes our bread of life