Aztec Warrior

Aztec Warrior Feb 2016

You Asked**

You asked, who are you?
A question I’ve been contemplating lately.
Often the answer alludes me
as the tin man inside
looks for a heart
and sees only the emptiness
I didn’t want to find.
~~~
Sometimes I wonder
what is this smoke and ashes existence
and why do I feel
this cold wind rush through me,
steal my words,
my resistance of pain.
Or allow this river wash over me
removing these memories of you,
your touch
and warm embrace.
~~~
You asked, who are you?
I no longer know.

Aztec Warrior 2.5.16

thanks for reading.
https://youtu.be/yPpoZiDlNlg

Aztec Warrior Jan 2016

POEM 119

Piano Cello Interludes*

I am listening to music,
piano with cello interludes,
thinking about you.
I hear the passionate sadness
mourning from the cello
as the piano weaves hollowness
and melancholy from black and white
minor keys.
I feel the disconnect
between the requiem’s movements
and the reality
of an alive, beating
but confused, sullen heart
fighting to be free.
~~~
It always amazes me
to hear the bow guiding the strings
in pulsing tempo
to the fingers caressing ivory
in such a way
that only a smile
can answer in return,
allowing for a kiss of life
in the midst of chaos
and death.
~~
In moments like this
I want to sit beside you,
place your hand in mine
and tell you all I have learned
and know;
all the secrets
that wander through my mind;
even those held in
dark recesses,
cobwebcluttered
and filled with spent emotions.
~~~
But I know I can’t.
Not because I don’t want to,
nor from fear,
though, to do so is scary
since it would mean giving you
my heart.
No, not because of this.
Rather, cause
I don’t think
this is what you need
or want.
~~~
Life is complicated,
complex in its existence
and it is this contradiction
between desire’s want
and equality’s need;
between what’s flesh
and what’s fantasy;
between art, aesthetics
and reality,
that guides my choices.
It’s how this contradiction
interpenetrates,
thereby shaping
and changing reality.
It is this contradiction
I hear,
feel and taste
in the weaving of piano and cello.
Music living with us in the gutter,
while enticing us to look at the stars.
~~~
I am listening to music,
piano and cello interludes,
I see vast galaxies,
nebulae,
and shooting stars,
Knowing this,
this music of you,
will last a lifetime.
~~~
~~Aztec Warrior/redzone 2.24.14

enjoy the music that goes with this poem
https://youtu.be/QgaTQ5-XfMM

I wrote this poem almost 2 years ago now, for a wonderful, sweet friend who posted here and at WC. She was special to me and no longer posts because of personal reasons and because of harrassment. I miss her in so many ways, her poetry, its rawness and yet beautiful, her challenges and the way she has handled them with courage and the hugeness of her heart...

I wrote this on my birthday and gave it to her.. This poem is very special to me and think it is one of the best I have ever written. So, my friend, where ever you are I think of you often, miss you, and send you my love..

Thanks to all who read, I hope you enjoy it..

Aztec Warrior Jan 2016

POEM 118

BLEEDING LIGHT**
(I wrote this poem some years ago while
looking at an oil painting done by Dale Hilard)

a rainbow floats within the blue
hope rides inspite the pain
a world hovers to capture our dreams
as we sit and ponder life from the fartherest shores
only a brush stroked with heart’s heat
can make these shades of blues and greys
desirable
can make the light bleeding between the hues
irresistable.

~~(Aztec Warrior) redzone 7.23.04~~

Dale was a poet artist who died from Hepititis. He was a wonderful
artist, wrote great poetry and just a good guy. I was glad to
call him friend.

Jan 2016

Pearson Bolt

dissident

he was radicalized in
the marshes of Vietnam
when they told him to fire
his loaded gun at a
group of school children

a dissident who
marched on Washington
with a Reverend and a King
and read Žižek Zinn and
Chomsky's reflections on direct
action and anarchistic philosophy

a staunch opponent of
police brutality in his
fifties he protested the
****** of Rodney King

he did not go quietly
into the black abyss but
raged against a putrescent
apparatus obsessed with control

he died waiting for the Revolution

I wrote a poem about a gentlemen I'd never met as part of an art project. The only requirement for selecting the stranger was that he/she had to appear in a photograph and I had to believe he/she was dead. This was the result.

https://twitter.com/pearsonbolt/status/692565263699435520

#death #revolution #protest

Aztec Warrior Jan 2016

POEM 117

TEARS OF STONE**

     “I was discovering
     the laws of misery,
     the wounded, worn out heart,
     and the sounds of the dead, tearless,
     dry, like falling stones.”
         ~~from ”The Injustice”  by Pablo Neruda

Stones have always been our tears
leaving deep ruts
carved into brown weathered skin.
Stones, filled with our blood
littered over many trails
splashing crimson,
staining the already ochre ground.
Similar it seems to the way light
sometimes becomes a green dancer
spreading out neath the forest undergrowth.
These tears,
stones of sorrow,
stain the earth with our children’s fears,
with our fallen lives,
with our endless
sewing, cooking, making bread,
planting corn, sowing and reaping
our dreams of despair
like black coal
gouged from the earth.
It has been such since
the first grains of sand
were washed ashore
carrying simple strands
of carbon life.
And so it will continue
till all are made into
tears of stone
leaving deep ruts
made crimson by our silence.

Aztec Warrior

...silence = complicity