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May 2016 · 445
POEM 134
Aztec Warrior May 2016
Illusion**

Everyday
illusion burns me alive,
I’m only “smoke and ashes babe”
invisible to your touch.
No need to worry what I say,
no need to turn away
from my love
as it’s only “smoke and ashes babe”;
only dust
blown by the wind.
~~~
Once there was substance,
a flesh and blood man
who stood naked
emotionally open
to the shadows of you,
willing to walk in step
with your spirit roaming,
my flute playing to your heart beats.
When you left
you took the music with you
leaving only illusion
burning me alive;
leaving only “smoke and ashes babe”.

Aztec Warrior/redzone 4.8.16
The quotes in this poem are from the Tracy Chapman song,
"Smoke and Ashes".
Apr 2016 · 465
POEM 133
Aztec Warrior Apr 2016
Up to Us**

The sky is a darker grey dissolution,
the rain comes more often and
is worse than usual
for this time of year.
It sets the mood
on everyone’s face, and
in the corners of the mind;
a melancholy patter-patter
that soaks through your skin
and dampens everything,
like a wet, lake shore fog.

How often have we been in this place,
the sickly sweet
rosy smelling, smoke and lies;
I have lost count.
Anyway, it doesn’t matter,
cause on the surface
all hope has been eaten
by dissolution’s embrace.
We hold so many illusions,
that somehow this can work,
that all that we need is just a tweak,
a continuation of,
what has led us here all along
just with some different paint.

I know it is wrong,
but I often think
we deserve all of these horrors  
since hardly anyone
will do what needs to be done
to end it.
Except to declare
we need more horrors.

The Earth will continue on,
no guarantee conscience life
will again exist.
Perhaps, when looking from a larger perspective,
the cosmos will be much better off
without human beings.

One way
or the other,
it is all up to us!!

Aztec Warrior/redzone 4.2.16
Note: no worries, got up to a dreary day and thoughts...
Apr 2016 · 365
POEM 131
Aztec Warrior Apr 2016
Emotional Flow**
(A Friday night ****)

It was one of those early Spring mornings
when we met.
The sky,
a blue that just got up,
was sprinkled with small fluff clouds,
the kind you can imagine
lions, tigers and rabbits in.
And there you were,
dancing in the morning’s breeze
jiggling, wiggling
in temptation’s sway
that surrounded and pulled me in.
I had to smile out loud
at my foolish, man-ish ways.
~~~
You were wearing one of those
sun dresses,
a bow ribbon
tied on the back lowly;
it swayed slowly
below your waist
in a proud womanly attitude, and a
“you can’t handle me” flow.
~~~
My eyes,
knowing they should keep to themselves,
are taken in by your
irresistibly
sweet attraction;
the quiet storm
of your whiskey tasting
sexuality.
~~~
Floating among these cloud fantasies,
the fire of you
tingles on my tongue,
your sensual flavors
smoothly slide down my skin
leaving me naked
in the emotional flow
of your feminine
****** ecstacy.
~~~
Then
it was one of those Spring nights,
we lay on the still warm grass,
looking at cloudless stars dreaming
their swirling ancient mystery
and haiku;
I pulled you closer, sighing,
my fingers gently playing in your hair,
I whisper,
“sing I forever
the songs of your passion’s love
forever I sing.”

Aztec Warrior/redzone 3.18.16
Thanks for reading... the music link is Madonna's "Fever" hope you enjoy the "****"
Apr 2016 · 553
POEM 132
Aztec Warrior Apr 2016
Dancing**

She wrote 10 words:
“I fell in love with you
dancing to your poetry.”

I replied in 10 words:
“Dancing with you in poetry
your words capture my heart.”

Aztec Warrior/redzone 4.2.16
thanks for reading. the music link is to a Leonard Cohen poem/song called "Dance Me To The End Of Love"
https://youtu.be/AqpOFQvMM1A
Mar 2016 · 687
POEM 130
Aztec Warrior Mar 2016
POEM 130 (10 W)**

Into the rabbit hole
                       we go....
looking for those....    mushrooms.

Aztec Warrior  3.11.16
in the face of the current fascistic direction of society, there are far too many who should know better, still clinging to the illusion this can be changed short of a total revolution and a whole new society based on an end to all oppression and exploitation...
Mar 2016 · 677
POEM 129
Aztec Warrior Mar 2016
A Heart Within A Heart**
(A Friday Sensual Poem)

This heart I hear;
a heart within my heart,
your heart and voice,
sings to me of romance,
of warm embrace cuddling arms
seeking the soft spots,
gentle petals in curves
of entanglement.

This heart I hear
sings songs of chaotic storms
calmed only by your sensual sway,
seen in your sparkle eyes,
your skin draped over mine
in shivering sighs
echoing seductively between
moon beam breaths,
star dust cries
sated with apricot’d
liquid, quivering thighs.

This heart I hear,
your heart within mine
is the majik of word beats
cuddling on a coconut scented beach,
warm, sandy rhythms of
hypnotic romantic dreams
wrapped in star light.

And my heart sings to you.

Aztec Warrior 3.11.16
A few days ago I read a poem by lluvia de abril called 'A Happy Poem' and she asks in the notes, is this a romantic poem? It was of course, and inspired this poem. Hope you enjoy and thanks Abril...
Mar 2016 · 1.0k
POEM 128
Aztec Warrior Mar 2016
The Chaos of Love
(It's a Friday Night **** Poem)**

it’s a very slippery *****
into the chaotic vortex called love.
sometimes it starts
with a smile and a hi.
other times just a casual passing by
and it’s the way her hips sway
and she’s not afraid to look you in the eye.

but fast
or super slow,
it always ends up
sweaty, messy,
arms and legs tangled
in a whirl wind of sated sighs.
it’s like riding a an ocean swell
undulating
rising
falling
crashing on your wide open shores.

i love laying on your beach
you, naked under the magic of stars,
my fingers tasting
the contours of your skin
signing my passion on your heart
as it beats to the rhythm
of your name
whispered
on the ocean’s breeze.

i love painting you,
your skin colored with smooth
tongue strokes dipping, mixing
and dancing erotically
in your emotions’ moans
as your metaphors scream
musky, ******* sighs.

I just love the chaos
of your love.

Aztec Warrior/redzone 2.27.16
Once again the music is Diana Ross'  "Love Hangover"
https://youtu.be/niEYaeYa72U
Feb 2016 · 530
POEM 127
Aztec Warrior Feb 2016
Chaos**

chaos reigns
and yet order
from disorder
as a new conversation begins.

it reminds me of something I heard-
“we all are living in the gutter,
yet some of us are looking to the stars”,+
and you say, “huh”?!

well, in the midst
of all the horrors,
all the drones and torture,
all the wars
and planet destruction;
out of all this
resides the possibility
of great and wondrous change.

change where humans
find their beauty,
not perfectly,
but through struggle
create a world
of voluntary associating humanity.

out of all the horrors of today
great beauty can emerge
and isn’t this
“looking at the stars”.

Aztec Warrior/redzone 2.21.16
+quoted lines are from Oscar Wilde

NOTE: in a small café near the Joyce Theater here in NYC, I met
Leslie and Fred. They had just come from a dance performance
and we struck up a conversation. I wrote this poem and gave it to them.
I also told them that I would mention them when I posted the poem
on line. So, thank you Leslie and Fred, for the conversation and inspiration.
Feb 2016 · 626
POEM 126
Aztec Warrior Feb 2016
Friday Night: It’s a **** Thang**

Smoke fills the air,
the sweet doobie scent
of high
times and
my fingers raising rainbows
as they travel across your naked skin.
Apricot nippled *******
brush my lips with
a music intoxicatingly
****** and you drip sexuality
all over me.
A love leaving me spin
in wildly exotic,
red lacy visions
of your mescaline funk
and lips on mine
driving me drunk with allusions
of your quivering release-
the  l  o  n  g  
s  l  o  w   version.

Oh no, “I don’t want a cure for this.”
As Diana says,
“Don’t call the doctor.”
I just need more tokes
on this sweet, sweet love.

Aztec Warrior/redzone 2.19.16
..the song is once again Diana Ross' "Love Hangover"
https://youtu.be/niEYaeYa72U

Some years ago now, poets at another web site did this "******/sensual tastefully done poetry every Friday night. Sometimes collaborating and it was great fun... well I was thinking about this after a friend asked about "what kind of trouble do you like to get in"? So, here is some "trouble for you?? Thanks for the idea... ;0)
"No cure, no remedy, don't call the doctor!!"
Feb 2016 · 424
POEM 125
Aztec Warrior Feb 2016
Alive Once**

Sitting here staring out the window,
wind blowing the tree’s around
and shaking loose some remembrances
of Spring days,
red hair
and the secret stream
hidden behind your dad’s land.
We used to sit there
under the oak,
tell each other secrets,
our youthful, wide eyed dreams.
~~~
Funny, in a way,
this memory of you-
it was one of the few times
I can say
I was happy, carefree
and wanted to be alive.

Aztec Warrior 2.17.16
thanks for reading... the music link is Diana Ross, "Love Hangover"
This was a song we loved together and I just couldn't leave it out of the poem.  See I still do write you poetry.

https://youtu.be/niEYaeYa72U
Feb 2016 · 821
POEM 124
Aztec Warrior Feb 2016
ANCESTOR SPIRITS CALLING**

The other day u gave me your heart,
it was bleeding in a poem,
beating on drums and
calling to kindred spirits in the night;
describing the pieces torn
ripping u apart.
What’s that u say,
I am who I am,
but who is that?
U say I am who I am
yet this was stolen from me
beaten, ripped
torn away in eyes that
do not see the spirits of the Earth
or the dreary, continuous pain
carried on ripples of time
never fading,
still flowing
after all these years
of shattered life.
And yet u say I am
who I am,
but why?
Why am I only
who I am to you?
Seen only within your eyes
and point of view?
Seen, stolen, defined
by your Eastern skies?
~~~
Don’t I also walk a
path with streaks of red,
drifting, flying on blue sky clouds
carrying me to gentle streams
and sun set dreams?
Why can’t I also follow a path
that sings to me
from forest shadows
beneath a moon of my hue
and left scented
by my ancestor’s sorrows.
A path where the Turtle
speaks of the Earth’s motion
as it surfs a solar wave;
the Eagle drops it feathers
for me to find
so I might write
the Wolf’s howling story;
the Bear rears her cubs
to sing love songs to
the white tailed deer
and Blue Jays guard the moons night time tale
of how humans gave birth
to a world of pain.
~~~
The other day u gave me your heart
it was bleeding in a poem
dripping a life denied
seeking still a gentle setting sun
and gentle waters
not found under Eastern skies.
A heart listening to different
beats all at once
trying to decide who I am
as you say,
but I wonder,
am I?
Isn’t this something
I alone decide?
The drum still beats
the dream of no tears
of ancestor songs
pointing to the path
of I am who I am
knowingly,
willingly!!
~~Aztec Warrior/redzone 3.31.02~~
(written using pen name 'redzone')
Sufrfering from major writers block and have been looking through my old notebooks for inspiration. But I found this long ago poem that was written some 14 years ago. It is the result of a conversation with a friend who is half white (mother), half Sioux, "two toned" as he says. The poem came out oof this conversation. This was posted at a now defunct poetry site years ago. Thanks for reading.. the music is Dr. John's version of "In A Sentimental Mood", cause it is kinda bluesy and the conversation we had was "sentimental"
https://youtu.be/2ks8RWt9Bqg
Feb 2016 · 1.1k
POEM 123
Aztec Warrior Feb 2016
LAUNDROMAT SONGS**

"How long shall they **** our prophets as we stand aside and look?”    
             ‑‑ Bob Marley

Saturday morning,
the scene's the same
round and round
suds and foam,
round and round
energetic flashes of life
play, giggle and roam.
"Can I have a quarter
to play video games?
Hey mom, can I get a
soda and some chips?"
~~~~~
It's always bedlam,
even at 3 am,
always the same
neighborhood faces
some smiling, others
wrinkled like
clothes with a stain problem.
Clothes and lives
sharing destinies.
***** clothes, old and worn,
*****, hard driven lives.
Both, beat and torn,
both trying to get clean
fresh from this
bone weariness
reflected like patched knees,
lost buttons,
mismatched  sox
or  those brown  streaked ******,  
reflecting our brown stained lives.
~~~~~
Round and round go the clothes.
Round and round so goes our lives
that no matter what we do
seems always in need of mending.
Round and round
women, kids
and clothes in tow.
Men, if  there,
in the background,
begrudgingly,
but always  fighting for control.
~~~~~
Sometimes though the  juke wails
joyful music prevails
causing feet to tap
and lips to smile.
Maybe some Miles
or hip hop Coup
announce a new rinse cycle.
Some young'un dropped the  coin
but you can see
all are keeping time
with  these way out songs.
Finally,  eyes  reveal hidden,
no more suppressed,
revelry,
clothes  are folded musically.
The kid knows his tunes,
out jumps a "classic";
"Redemption Songs".
Marley at his best
conscious style, a request.
"Won't you help me  sing
these  songs of freedom.
Redemption songs.
They're all I ever had
redemption songs."
~~~~~
You can see it in
lint filled air swirling,
eyes  gleaming,
kids screaming;
you can taste the hope
and dreams.
A  joyous hunger
of patched  jeans,
men and women sway
in unison. For 3 minutes, 25 seconds,
on this very early morn,
the possibilities of relations
rinsed  clean
of men and women
folding clothes
smelling fresh,
wishing for a better way.
~~~~~
It is only a glimpse
this Saturday morning.
A round and round
scene
that holds promise
as old, worn clothes
wash,
spin,
dry
and leave refreshed,
clean.
On this morn
a few eyes, alert
wishful,
leave singing;
"Redemption songs,
they're  all  I ever  had,
these  songs  of  freedom."

~~redzone 5.22.99~~
(posted by Aztec Warrior writing as redzone)
This is a poem I wrote a while ago. I thought it was a different kind of Valentine's Day card. I hope you enjoy. The music is Bob Marley's "Redemption Songs"
https://youtu.be/QrY9eHkXTa4
Feb 2016 · 439
POEM 122
Aztec Warrior Feb 2016
Senryu #52 (two versions)**

Reaching for blue sky
dreams, humanity seeks colors
while holding sunshine.

~~~

Searching for blue sky
dreams, humanity finds colors
by grasping sunshine

Aztec Warrior 2.12.16
...thanks for reading
Feb 2016 · 633
POEM 121
Aztec Warrior Feb 2016
“Poetry, Like Bread”**

Poetry, like bread
is best warmed,
spread thick with metaphoric jam
and eaten with sticky fingers.
~~~
Poetry, like bread
is the toasty language
of the wind
whirling through trees,
or a rill
rolling over smooth rocks
on a Spring-like day.
~~~
Poetry, like bread
is the language
of a girl and boy,
young lovers
playing hide and seek,
both wanting,
needing to be found.
~~~
Poetry, like bread
feeds us our humanity
the way two lovers
explore each other
with warm,
laughing fingers
slowly exciting
goose bump sighing skin.
~~~
Poetry, like bread
is laying with you
all night long.

~~Aztec Warrior/redzone 2.13.14

Note: “Poetry, like Bread is an anthology
of poetry, edited by Martin Espada. It is also
a line of poetry in this book by the poet Roque
Dalton. The poem is entitled: “Like You” and
the whole sentence is” “I believe the world
is beautiful and poetry, like bread is for everyone.”
The title of this anthology is: “Poetry like Bread,
Poets of the Political Imagination” published
by Curbstone Press. I highly recommend this book of
poetry and hope that my use of these words
does justice to the original meaning
of this line.
Wrote this poem 2 years ago now using my other pen name 'redzone'. it is also posted at WC... thanks for reading
Feb 2016 · 714
POEM 120
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
Jan 2016 · 2.8k
POEM 119
Aztec Warrior Jan 2016
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..
Jan 2016 · 528
POEM 118
Aztec Warrior Jan 2016
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 · 1.1k
POEM 117
Aztec Warrior Jan 2016
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
Jan 2016 · 803
POEM 116
Aztec Warrior Jan 2016
STRINGS & SYMMETRY - JIMI & RAINBOWS**

India Pale Ale nestled comfortably
in one hand,
Pilot G-2  .05 rested anxiously in the other.
The ale went down
like it was the end of the day-
smoothe, cold
and tasted like more.
The pen just looked at me,
daring me to let it
caress this page,
spread its inky passion
like the rainbow of colors
Jimi created with his guitar.
ooooo
It reminds me of recent conversations
with Brian Greene
about strings, resonance
and vibration;
about the make up of the universe
and the meaning of symmetry.
Conversations about the harmonics
of Calabi-Yau shapes,
expecially as multi-dimensional
expressions of gravity,
time and space.
ooooo
But I think
if you want to really understand
the elegance of the universe;
feel the fabric of the cosmos
and its loops of energy,
then you have to listen as
the stretching of Jimi's guitar strings
vibrate, bend and fold.
Jimi created rainbows
when he played.
And what are rainbows
but vibrating color in various shapes.
These colors, escaping his guitar
and melting into the vastness of space.
ooooo
Some say Jimi was an alien.
He stayed awhile
but then slipped out again
into the 9th dimension.
But I think
he emerged from the resonance
in a Calabi-Yau hole of infinity
found in the notes of "9 to the Universe".
He then disappeared in the rhythym
of flaming color arising out from
"Voodoo Chile (Slight Return)".
ooooo
Jimi would pick those strings
at Planck length speed
causing flames to leap
and go higher,
igniting the universe
with vibrations of blues
and riotous laughter.
Jimi knew how to fly
and amuse.
He knew how to laugh
and play jokes
on the universe!
He would make us smile,
keep time with our feet,
and 'kiss the sky'.
ooooo
Finishing up the last of the Pale Ale,
putting down the Pilot pen,
I am ready to seek rainbows
and listen to the universe sing.

Aztec Warrior 1.28.16 (re-worked)
If you ever listened to Jimi Hendrix, you know what I mean
Jan 2016 · 5.5k
Not A Poem
Aztec Warrior Jan 2016
Not A Poem: A Personal Message to Hello Poetry and A Pledge**

None of what has been going on here at Hello Poetry makes any sense but it is hurting many poets here and driving many poets/friends away (8 and counting)... my only thinking is that it is a deliberate attack not only on poets but poetry, and these web sites where poets gather and is part of a growing american culture of barbarity.. it's like those U.S. drone attacks done from behind closed doors that no one sees coming and then everything and everybody gets destroyed... it must stop and we must stop it!

For all those who are interested, I will do the same as Quinn has done and post ANY and ALL private messages that are character attacks or personal attack on me or my friends (if they allow); or ugly comments left on my poetry... Walt Livingston’s  comment on Quinn’s poem should not be tolerated here at HP, and called out for its inhumanity. It has nothing to do with poetry or the poem he left it on. Not one thing he said can be verified and this kind of thing has to stop. It’s like watching Fox or CNN news- ******* opinions posing as news and training us on what to think.

Also, for the record, if anyone receives a message claiming to be me do 2 things, first ask me if I actually wrote it sent it and 2 send it to me... I do not really know (that is I do not yet have the proof needed) who or how many are behind this, BUT I WILL NOT ALLOW THIS TO CONTINUE AS LONG AS I AM AT HP. And this goes for any other site I may visit. So please block me now all who think I will not stand up against plagiarism, attacks, harrassments, trolling, stalking, and any other form of oppression.

I also know that I may lose a few friends in doing this. To them, I can only say, that this is not a reflection on or directed to you in any way and I am sorry if this has hurt you, deeply sorry...

Aztec

PS  Oh, and by the way, the friends I am referring to know who they are, so if there are any questions about this,  message me and ask me.. no one has the right to declare friendship without my say so...

Wish I didn't have to say this, but since part of the sneak attacks have been done by people using other people's names to pick fights and attacks... yes it has gotten that bad.. That insidious...

So poets of HP, Let’s write poetry, support each other with mutual respect (even if and while we debate the content/ideas of a poem); build a community of poets that is a MODEL for the way human beings should and can treat each other, with mutual respect and listening to and seeing our diversity of ideas and nationalities as a great advantage to art and society and to ourselves... this is not a call for love and peace, since this will have to be fought for, nor is it a call to live and let live... there can be no place among human beings for these attacks... as well as no “free speech” for wreckers and attackers..
Let our language be poetry
Let our words be open and honest debate over poetry and art
Let our hearts be filled with fresh new ideas about life
Lets create wonderment and awe with our pen!!!!  
Come on HP poets, Lets Go!!

Aztec Warrior 1.25.16
Well, this post has sure caused an uproar. I am tempted to say, ya'll deserve each other, so *******, but that would be foolish and wrong of me and get us no further, and the attacks on each other would continue and the real poets, those who want to actually write poetry and have it read and appreciated are leaving. So the first think I want to add to this post is: Quinn, and the rest of you (Rick who is "r'and also "woody", a few others; along with Gary L, Nagi,and I think Jack and Vicki were named in Woody's comment that is not gone) STAND DOWN!! No more poems, comments or messaging spreading rumors or attacking people for who they like or block or what happened  months ago or at another poetry site. STOP.

Look everyone who actually cares, someone (and all admit they do not know who he is or was) by the name of Walt Livingston posted and ugly attack. It 's one of the reasons why I posted the above post. This WAS NOT a defense of Quinn, as it is a method being used in several poetry site to create dissention and havoc.  No one knows who this is and yet everyone thinks they know and they spread this rumor far and wide to anyone who will listen. It has to be Quinn he just wants attention. It has to be 'r" he's been attacking me forever and on it goes round and round until it is almost impossible to find the truth. The truth is someone created that account and look at the results Instead of pointing fingers and coming up with all kinds of conspiracy theories, lets put or know how together and find out.

I do not know who this is nor will I speculate. But I will say this, all of us at this point are being played!!! And attacking each other is not helping to get at this problem.

No matter what Quinn did or didn't do at WC that got him kicked off, there was continued trouble at WC that Quinn had nothing to do with. Does this mean Quinn is innocent, no, it just means this mess we are dealing with is bigger than one individual. Look I know you all don't agree with me on this, Which leads me to the main point.

I put the center or heart of the above post last for a reason. To make it stand out from the part where I was saying what I would do to prevent attacks on me and friends (if allowed). Maybe I was wrong in doing this because you all have ignore it. Or at best gave it some general nod and then went right into attacking each other trying to prove who was the real hero/heroine and blah blah. Why?? Why couldn't these points be the glue that can help sort out this "sad state of affairs at HP"  as someone put it. They certainly do not detract from the "Rules of Conduct" Eliot has posted. and everyone "agrees" they will abide by. They could actually act as a banner of sorts that people could come around and express why they like or dislike them and as a means of determining disputes. But I am also convinced that if these points do take hold it will be much easier to root out and identify anyone or someone who is provoking bs on the site.  Are they perfect? hell no. And that is why it will take many many of us to do this including CRITIQUING THE POINTS. But there will be no tolerance of knocking at people for any reason.   It's easy: critiquing points, yes; critiquing people, NO..
I hope I am not talking to the wind here...
Jan 2016 · 1.4k
POEM 115
Aztec Warrior Jan 2016
Spirit Ghost**

I was listening to
Guns N Roses yesterday;
to Axl’s “Sweet Child O Mine”.
It’s funny cause
I always thought he was singing
“Oh oh, sweet Caroline”.
HA!
Ever have that
fantasy meets reality, or
is it reality’s fantasy feeling?
Can’t answer that one
and my guess is that
some mountains should never be climbed.
But Slash’s guitar riffs
pull me in and I start to sing,
“Oh hoh oh sweet child o mine”,
oh hoh oh sweet Caroline
as dark hair carries the wind
spiraling me into the fragrance
of moon soaked lavender,
lilies and a hint of wild sage.

“Where do we go now”?
I do not know
but there are Juniper trees on the horizon,
and dust mingles with sweat
as the sun rises to calm skies.
Walking this path
brings me face to face
with a dancing voice in the wind,
a ghost spirit seeing
present and past,
a sweet voice of healing, she sings
just when I needed it most.

I would love to dance you under the moon,
braid and feather your hair
in the old style of soft caring
and sing of the moon’s shadow
smiling in your eyes.
The music shifts,
moving more gently
into a song of renewal,
into the circle dance, into
“Ly-o lay Ale Loya”.
Come, dance,
circle, counter-circle;
let me show you the friendship,
the spirit in the ghost
you have shown me.

Aztec Warrior 1.22.16
I hope this small poem shows the respect and admiration
I have for a friend who has shown me her strength and
calmness and treated me as a human being.
She is a more than special.
Jan 2016 · 871
POEM 114
Aztec Warrior Jan 2016
Falling Man & The Mountain**

The gathering of stones grew
the higher I climbed,
I could climb no more
realizing too late
the mountain would never touch your sky.
~~~
Never meant as invasion,
just some coffee and hi.
Maybe talk some about
the Birch and Oak
down by the small stream;
or the way wild marigolds told
of their sun soaked scent;
and how long ago our youth was spent
star gazing from our grand mother’s porch.
Your’s from a small town in Italy;
mine from the country side of Pennsylvania.
~~~
While I will climb no more,
I am not sorry for the journey
as it was made honestly
like the wind, Spring touched,
as it whispers through the valley
bringing green grass and clover.

Aztec Warrior 1.15.16

NOTE: I wrote this poem after reading Nagi’s poem (“High Value”)
and Vicki’s poem (“the moss and the moon”). Both poems spoke to me and inspired this poem of introspection, since I have been chasing “skies”
and am in need of a “waning moon”... Thanks Nagi. Thanks Vicki.
Your poetry truly does inspire. So I hope I have not in any way
disrespected you or your poetry.
Jan 2016 · 1.2k
POEM 113
Aztec Warrior Jan 2016
Remembrance**

A dirt blown wind
stings my face as I walk
this dry river bed below the mesa.
It is a barren time of year and
cold, with some snow on the ground.
This is the land of our ancestors,
it calls to me
even though I now live in a larger city
east of Four Corners
and the Four Sacred Mountains.
~~~
It is in the hogan of my Grand Mother’s family
that I am learning the ceremonial dances-
the Blessing Way;
to sand draw the signs
and dance the dance
that can heal the diseases
of the belegana’s hatred
for our traditional ways:
the Ghost Dance of the Sioux;
the Katsina Songs of the Hopi and Zuni;
the Circle Dances of the Cherokee.
~~~
Belegana society teaches our young
the ways of money, alcohol and ****,
of scorched earth, casinos
and death.
~~~
I am only a small part People,
my moccasins too new
and still hurt my feet.
And yet, I would willingly sweat out
every ounce of belegana blood
for just one glimpse of seeing
the full moon rising over Big Mountain;
of watching Coyote dancing
to Kokopelli’s flute;
our People happy, in balance
above and below,
no longer forgetful of our Origin Songs.

Aztec Warrior 1.15.16
Jan 2016 · 574
POEM 112
Aztec Warrior Jan 2016
Jazz**

Perhaps I am just getting older,
struggling to understand life’s dance,
or just from living alone
but I have turned,
listening to jazz once again
and its deep tonal mysteries.
There is something in its rich idiosyncracies
that appeals to my urge to return home,
to the deer and the hawk
to the old council lodges
and the circle dance;
broken for too long by self-serving philosophies
of a society that has lost its humanity.
~~~
“Kind of Blue” is an album that settles me,
comes closest to a round dance
that turns inside and outside of time.
It lets me enjoy my worn out jeans,
oft washed flannel shirt
and soft moccasins.

Aztec Warrior 1.13.16
NOTE: “Kind of Blue” (1959) is the title of a Miles Davis
album that is one of his best in my opinion. I embedded
the link to the entire album.
https://youtu.be/kbxtYqA6ypM
Jan 2016 · 590
POEM 108
Aztec Warrior Jan 2016
Whitman Revisited**
(Note: apologies to Walt Whitman.. this poem is metaphor for American/U.S. and not, as in Whitman’s classic poem “O’Captain, My Captain”, about Lincoln.)

“O’Captain, O’Captain"
the ship you sailed from port to port,
its prize did surely win,
but its sails were always blown
by winds of war and sin.

"O’Captain", your dreams
were born of pure fantasy of myth
to benefit a few,
all was needed to see the truth
was to take a whiff
of stench in genocidal schemes
turned into tears and screams,
creating chaos and more
from shore to shore.

“O’Captain, O’Captain",
your Yankee Clipper has won,
a single flag was raised
but never should be praised;
from the Halls of Montezuma,
to the shores of Tripoli,
your bombs and drones and unjust wars
have blown many Peoples away
on every single shore.
It’s called the good ship
Manifest Destiny -
it should sink and sail no more.

Aztec Warrior 1.6.16
Further Note: Walt Whitman was a wonderful poet, controversial in his views and style of poetry at the time, but Whitman saw Lincoln as a hero for uniting the states and ending “legal” slavery (though as history has shown, a different kind of slavery emerged after Reconstruction- share cropping. As stated in note above in beginning of poem, my use of Whitman’s poem is not about Lincoln, but is a metaphor for America/U.S. and it’s “myth” of the greatest country in the world and having a “special heritage”, “special people” and “destiny”. There are NO special people anywhere in the world. One of the best things to come out of the 60's was that for literally millions living here, began to understand that “American Lives Are Not More Important Than Anyone Else’s Lives.” And the politicians, and official spokes people hate us for it.
Jan 2016 · 519
POEM 111
Aztec Warrior Jan 2016
POEM 111*

Sometimes I feel like
I’m in a Nicholas Sparks novel;
one of those deeply romantic
love stories fated to leave tears
contouring your emotions,
and now I am walking alone,
down by this old river,
ear bud melody
of “Sweet Jane,
sweet sweet Jane”
holds my heart
hoping I might find you again.
Could we ever get back home;
dance those back porch dreams,
dive into the clear blue river
holding hands? Laughing?
~~~
“Sweet Jane,
ah, sweet sweet Jane”
you hold the best part of me.

Aztec Warrior 1.10.16


(NOTE: poem inspired by the movie, “Best of Me” and the song “Sweet Jane”, done originally by Lou Reed/Velvet Underground, but covered nicely by the Cowboy Junkies.
Here is the link:    https://youtu.be/BHRFZFmEq9o
Hope you enjoy...
never, ever watch a Nicholas Sparks movie alone... and not be able to talk with someone afterword, share coffee and thoughts... maudlin poetry results
Jan 2016 · 823
POEM 110
Aztec Warrior Jan 2016
CHALLENGES**

This spirit journey, dream walk starts with a single step taken while standing on the very edge of the precipice, over looking the path of truth far below. Not the abstraction of a never reaching truth, or the truth of some idealist, subjective plane of reality, but a reality that serves humanity, its desires to dream and make real an earth of no pain.

For too long we have only blindly followed the world, known only its suffering and seen its vast oceans of tears shed for many millennia. We have felt the wounds festering in our souls, tasted the salty bitterness of broken promises and wasted lives, even as we have worked and toiled with all our might.

So much is yet to be done though this dream journey has already begun. Soaring along the condor’s wind, breathing in the crisp snowy air as it washes us clean, savoring each crystalline speck, we follow the gathering avalanche as it cleanses the earth in newness along with our ability to know how to fulfill our collectivity, our humanity.

In tomorrow’s land, where wolves have learned to whisper to elk and bear; where our journey’s dream continues, I will still step off the precipice edge seeking truth as it knows and changes the world. Perhaps you too will walk and stare with me at the night’s sky and hear the songs our ancient ancestors sang to the galactic winds.

~~Aztec Warrior/redzone 5.5.04~~
I was looking back through my notebook again and found this poem of some years ago. This one was also written using "redzone" as my pen name... hope you enjoy reading
Jan 2016 · 1.2k
POEM 109
Aztec Warrior Jan 2016
DECEMBER DREAMS**

December dreams spiral
thru the whiffs of smoke,
emanating from forest hidden Cherokee homes.
They pirouette the way notes
imagine Lester Young’s
tenor music to be;
the way Blue Jays flap
while protecting their territory.
~~~
The Eastern mountains,
snow covered and brown,
rise gently as I walk
yet provide glimmers of ancient valleys
carved out by receding ice.
There is the feel of human destiny
washing me as a breeze
sings thru wild peach trees;
And a breeze lifting sharp talon hawks
with its hunting melodies
carrying the owl's secrets
thru even more exotic landscapes.
~~~
Over looking the Talamaque River,
I rest on the brown
frozen earth becoming
lost in ancestor dreams.
I can see the blood flowing west.
I feel the tears soaking the ground
where Dogwood now grows.
And Grandfather speaks to me
with a warm sun in the ‘long ago tongue’:
“Redzone, it is good to
have these memories.
To remember the trees
the bear and the chic-a-dee.
One day, May will arrive with the morning crows
and Turtle will once again discuss
constellations with the Moon.
Our people, will no longer be forgetful
of who we are and how far we have to go."
~~~
December dreams spiral
thru whiffs of smoke
and Lester Young plays
with the flapping Blue Jays.

~~Aztec Warrior/redzone 12.15.01~~
(written after finishing a collection of poems
by Ron Welburn called “Coming Through Smoke
and the Dreaming”)
This is an older poem written when I was using redzone as my pen name..  it is also influenced by some of my Native American heritage..
Jan 2016 · 1.1k
POEM 107
Aztec Warrior Jan 2016
I’ve Said Too Much**

if you think of me
    like i think of you
then i will come to you,
find my way from this deep, deep abyss;
find my way
    to your touch
        your warm embrace
            your strawberry lips.

oh no, i’ve said too much.
i’ve opened my dreams
and fantasies
to your silence.
    and i wonder

who stole your heart?
who left you broken
on the floor with lost innocence,
flayed skin
    bloodied bones
        with chains and locks
            on all your doors?

this cruel life.
    thief
        painmaker
my hands around his neck.
it's for my relief,
i know i can't save you.

oh no, i’ve said too much
now you know my anger,
opened my hatred
to your silence
        and i wonder

if you ever dream of me
    the way i dream of you?
smiling,
    barefoot
running carefree
through a field of wild flowers-
red poppies
    blue bells
        yellow daffodils
            violet snapdragons.
just happy.
cause then i would come to you.
find my way to
    your touch
        your warm embrace
            your strawberry lips.

oh no, i‘ve said too much.
i’ve opened my desires
    dreams
        fantasies
to your silence.

Aztec Warrior 1.3.16
...thanks for reading...
Dec 2015 · 1.0k
POEM 106
Aztec Warrior Dec 2015
POEM 106**
“Lose Yourself to Dance”

It’s a new year
so ‘lose yourself to dance’;
wild gyrations laughing
at hips swaying the air
in riotous tones
and happy feet.
‘Come on, come on
everybody on the dance floor’,
yes, even you
with those doubts and fears,
let me dance away your tears,
just ‘lose yourself to dance’.
~~~
I know the world’s a mess,
that we live in light and dark,
inner turmoil
of what we are becoming;
self conscious insensitivity
to atrocity after atrocity,
wondering,
have we lost our humanity?
~~~
As the world,
our lives,
teeter in this chaos
let’s   STOP!
And lose ourselves to dance.
‘Come on, come on come on,
everybody on the floor’;
bodies afire with rebel music
we won’t live their way any more.
Let’s dance in our gardens,
plant our seeds,
harvest a world
without their criminality.
~~~
‘Lose yourself to dance’.
Yes even you
with all your fears,
all those self-cultivated doubts
pass them through music’s prism,
a mirror of refracted life,
a pathway to hope
and our humanity.
~~~
Come on, come on, come on
it’s a new year - 2016
everybody on the floor
join me in rebellious dance!

Aztec Warrior 12.31.15
First off: HAPPY NEW YEAR poets of HP!!!  A bit of explanation. This poem is inspired by several things all at once. First is reading a poem by Vicki ("in the savage garden") and I used some of her ideas in this poem; second is listening to this song by Daft Punk, "Lose Yourself To Dance" (the link is :  https://youtu.be/t-8rvk40qss ) hope you enjoy it; and third in a few short hours it will be 2016!!!  So I hope everyone enjoys the poem and has a very happy, healthy new year!!!
Dec 2015 · 653
POEM 105
Aztec Warrior Dec 2015
Angelic Burning, Sinful Yearning**

Time stood still once.
The earth spun off its axis,
the moon dropped from the sky
as leaves turned bright lemony
and violety blue.
You wrote me a poem
covered in gypsy dust,
laced with ****,
lust filled sin,
and I devilishly took you in
as you whispered seductively,
“Do you get it now!?”
~~~
Oh yes, my love,
I get it.
But I must ask,
“Do you get
I hold you like fire
inside my heart?”
~~~
And then time started again.
An Autumn moon
got caught in my dream catcher’s web
as stars ran in circles
dripping cosmic radiation
on wildflower ecstasies
of insanity’s desires
and you vanish into the
dark vistas of night,
leaving me only this
angelic burning
and sinful yearning

Are you still out there?

Aztec Warrior 12.22.15
was reading old poems at another poetry web site and this poem came tumbling out...  enjoy the music: Chris Isaak's  "Wicked Game"

https://youtu.be/WtfHk2hSlqA
Dec 2015 · 855
POEM 104
Aztec Warrior Dec 2015
DUCT TAPE**

"Abdullah Thani Faris al Andzi lost both his legs in a U.S. bombing campaign in Afghanistan while he was employed as a humanitarian aide worker. After his first leg was amputated, he was arrested by bounty hunters and turned over to U.S. forces. While in custody, his second leg was amputated. He has been held at Guantanamo since 2002, where he has received inadequate medical treatment and often been forced to walk using prosthetic limbs held together only with duct tape."
- from "poems from Guantanamo: the Detainees Speak"

~~~~~

As the bombs rain,
they tell us they are for peace.
So I ask them:
Do flowers bloom
or grass grow
held in such chains;
or seeing humans
suffer such pains?
~~~~~
Mountains weep,
and I speak in tear filled oceans,
whose ebb and flow
erode my beach of hope;
all I have left are curses
told in Arabic qasid verses.
~~~~~
As the bombs rain,
ripping apart innocent people's limbs,
they say they are for peace.
And I ask:
will birds fly
and sing their songs,
or will they,
like so many of us,
have only plastic legs
held together with duct tape?

~~redzone (Aztec Warrior) 9.23.10
(Another earlier poem I wrote using a different pen name)
Even after promise after promise of release and proven innocence there are still over 100 detainees at Guantanamo (Gitmo)... everything about this represents war crimes and crimes against humanity... but the U.S. has never ever stood for anything but crimes against humanity...
Dec 2015 · 629
POEM 103
Aztec Warrior Dec 2015
UDO**
(means 'peace' in Nigeria)

What is in a name?
Sometimes it is a story.
Sometimes it is just a dream.
~~~~~
Your story began,
as many stories do these days,
"The men came and they...
     burned my village-
     ***** my girls-
     killed my husband-
     cut off my *******.
     I ran away-
     through the bush-
     found a ship-
     crossed the sea-
     and then they put me in here..."
~~~~~
I read your story,
then had to put the book down-
especially when I could see
the woman with no name,
a woman who had no papers
to prove she was real,
dangling from the rafters,
chain gripping her neck
in a breathless embrace;
her feet swaying
showing her nakedness,
her paperless demise.
You told how she peed herself at the end.
Her once life a liquid puddle on the floor.
And I couldn't read anymore,
her image burned too brightly.
Even tears could not ease the realization
the cold-chained grip
was more loving
than living her life,
than being forced to return home,
facing the way every story began-
"the men came and they..."
~~~~~
Your story didn't stop there,
it refused to be quiet
and held me close,
as page after page
revealed more of your life;
made me question my humanity.
~~~~~
You gave me your secret,
whispered it in my ear
and asked,
"would you cut off your finger
for the likes of me"?
"Would you dowse the flames of oppression
with the redness of your blood?"
"Would you fall on the enemies sword,
let it rip out your beating heart"?
"Would you give your all to change the world"?
"Would you, would you?"
~~~~~
You gave me your secret,
whispered it in my ear...
You gave me your name.
You gave me your story
and more, you gave me
a dream, a reason to live.

~~redzone (Aztec Warrior)1.18.2011
(as you can see, wrote this poem a few years ago
using a different pen name)
written after read the book "Little Bee" by Chris Cleve.
It's a very good bookand I think they were going to
make it into a movie. I recommend reading it, though I think his
ending is simplistic and doesn't get at the root of the problem he is
writing about....
Dec 2015 · 632
POEM 102
Aztec Warrior Dec 2015
POEM 102

*It was the summer of ‘42,
her hair fell to her back,
streaked with sun light
and scented with salty air.
As her tanned toes
wiggled in the sand,
she turned and smiled-
a brown eyed, freckled smile,
pulling me
into a sea shell spiraling summer;
into a warm ocean’s kiss.

Aztec Warrior 12.14.15
thanks for reading... enjoy the music,
theme song from the movie, "The Summer of '42"
https://youtu.be/mEzH0FuL8qo
Dec 2015 · 1.6k
POEM 101
Aztec Warrior Dec 2015
POEM 101
Devouring You In Poetry**

I awake to tangerine,
red licorice skies
staring at me with
chocolate covered caramel eyes,
creating apple spiced flavored,
cotton candied words
that kaleidoscope
off my tongue,
down my chin
moving my finger tips
to drip
gooey marshmallow
and smiling butterscotch words
across your lavender scented,
sleeping rhythmically
cherry cream *******.
~~~
With desirous morning sighs
your blueberry lips,
and open arms
invite me in;
into your humid jungle folds
to bathe in your gorges
and waterfalls,
unleashing my coppery nouns,
my amethyst adjectives
into your liquid opal synonyms,
devouring me in your rich tones
of ****** poetry.
~~~
With our metaphors
deliciously spent,
and a golden sun
rising toward the moon,
you nestle even closer
and whisper
in alive, wild poppy hues,
“tonight, my love, fill me with haiku,
as I come to you in sonnets.

Aztec Warrior 12.11.15
it's Friday....
enjoy the music:  Madonna, "Fever"  from her ''Erotica" albumn
https://youtu.be/oiVtWtVAEYI
Dec 2015 · 1.1k
HOME
Aztec Warrior Dec 2015
HOME**

(a poem by Warsan Shire. She is a 23 year-old Somali born, London-based author and educator. This poem has been posted all over the internet. I found this copy in a revolutionary journal called, “A World To Win News Service” their web address is;   http://uk.groups.yahoo.com/group/AWorldToWinNewsService/)

no one leaves home unless
home is the mouth of a shark
you only run for the border
when you see the whole city running as well
your neighbors running faster than you?
breath ****** in their throats
the boy you went to school with
who kissed you dizzy behind the old tin factory
is holding a gun bigger than his body
you only leave home
when home won’t let you stay.
no one leaves home unless home chases you
fire under feet
hot blood in your belly
it’s not something you ever thought of doing
until the blade burnt threats into
your neck
and even then you carried the anthem under
your breath
only tearing up your passport in an airport toilet
sobbing as each mouthful of paper
made it clear that you wouldn't be going back.
you have to understand,
that no one puts their children in a boat
unless the water is safer than the land
no one burns their palms
under trains
beneath carriages
no one spends days and nights in the stomach of a truck
feeding on newspaper unless the miles traveled
means something more than journey.
no one crawls under fences
no one wants to be beaten
pitied
no one chooses refugee camps
or strip searches where your
body is left aching
or prison,
because prison is safer
than a city of fire
and one prison guard
in the night
is better than a truckload
of men who look like your father
no one could take it
no one could stomach it
no one skin would be tough enough
the go home blacks
refugees
***** immigrants
asylum seekers
******* our country dry
******* with their hands out
they smell strange

savage
messed up their country and now they want
to mess ours up
how do the words
the ***** looks
roll off your backs
maybe because the blow is softer
than a limb torn off
or the words are more tender
than fourteen men between
your legs
or the insults are easier
to swallow
than rubble
than bone
than your child's body
in pieces.


i want to go home,
but home is the mouth of a shark
home is the barrel of the gun
and no one would leave home
unless home chased you to the shore
unless home told you
to quicken your legs
leave your clothes behind
crawl through the desert
wade through the oceans

drown
save
be hungry
beg
forget pride
your survival is more important
no one leaves home until home is a sweaty voice in your ear
saying-leave,
run away from me now
i don't know what i've become
but i know that anywhere
is safer than here
I am proudly posting this poem because of the fascistic views being prominently displayed as legitiment views in american and european media and society... for inhumanity and barbarity there is NO equal in the world than what the US has done in it's entire history down to a few seconds ago... Warsan Shire's story is just one of literally millions and millions... but posting a poem is not enough, it is up to all of us to stop these wars of aggression waged by our own government
Dec 2015 · 922
POEM 100
Aztec Warrior Dec 2015
Take These Songs*

Songs flow through me
falling slowly in time
and these memories;
are they dreams,
are they true,
or fleeting fantasies of you.
If you want me
then reach out and touch me.
I am here
within your sighs,
within your melodies.
So take these songs
and take me home
there’s still the time to fly.

Aztec Warrior 12.9.15

(Inspired by the movie “Once”)
enjoy the music:  "Falling Slowly" from the movie "Once"
https://youtu.be/yzQ9VrnNQLQ
Dec 2015 · 588
Just a note
Aztec Warrior Dec 2015
I want to thank all of you who have read my poem "I Fell In Love With You" (POEM 99). I am truly amazed that so many of you fellow poets have found this poem to your liking, re-posted, left comments or just read.

I will do my best to read and comment on your poetry, to visit and say HI in some way over the next few days.

For a lot of you, and me as well, writing poetry is like breathing air, we would die if we didn't (not sure who said this first, don't think it was a poet, but an author), perhaps not literally, but definitely inside we would be dead. So for me your reading and all is like fresh air and I am amazed and humbled by all of you.

Thank you.
Aztec
okay, now lets all write like there was no tomorrow... and have a few beers (or whatever you drink) on me.. hell even throw them on me if you want!! lol ;0)
Dec 2015 · 9.6k
POEM 99
Aztec Warrior Dec 2015
I Fell In Love With You**

I fell in love with you
slowly,
syllable by syllable,
word by word,
poem by poem
imagining the moon’s
dancing affair with stars,
twinkle by twinkle.
And then
all at once
like the explosion
of a super nova
affecting distant galaxies
and down to my very soul.
~~~
I fell in love with you gently,
the way a dew drop
glistens in the morning sun,
the way a flower often opens
to a moonlit song.
~~~
But like all love worth holding,
it turns to fire-
raging,
uncontrolled,
wild and consuming;
you have become the flames
dancing across my skin,
smoldering brightly
within my heart
turning me into the sweet smell of ash.
~~~
I fell in love with you
slowly
then quickly,
the way a meteor flashes
as it skims across the night sky
or hearts melt
within an ******* sigh.
I fell in love with you.
Sorry.

Aztec Warrior 12.4.15
forgot to add the music.. enjoy
https://youtu.be/cHg-Zkwndqg
Nov 2015 · 452
POEM 98
Aztec Warrior Nov 2015
Love: A Discussion*

Love:
a definition might be;
it's one of those 4 letter words.
Discuss

Aztec Warrior 11.27.15
some music:  from the movie "Love Jones"
enjoy   https://youtu.be/jyEDzjSvvjM
Nov 2015 · 578
POEM 97
Aztec Warrior Nov 2015
I Am Loseing Myself In Your Words

I love your words.
I often find myself lost in them,
wandering around,
watching them floating
in crystalline, Spring like pools
their colors blazing
like a mid day sun,
yet tasting like honeysuckle
as they roll off my tongue.
I love your words.

I love your words.
Enticingly exotic
syllables of Blue Orchids
scenting the jungle
in dawn’s early light,
yet lingering and weaving
themselves into Summer’s breeze.
Gentle words, yet sultry with
the rage of passion’s fire.
I love your words.

I love your words.
Warm, welcoming,
they speak to each other,
laughing at the intricacies
of life while
playfully teasing reality
with fantasy’s mystique,
with their letters littering
and blowing in the wind.
I love your words.
*

I love your words.
They dance with me,
swirling in my mind,
holding me close
blowing whispers warmly in my ear
making me feel young, alive.
One day, we will die.
The sun will swallow the earth
into oblivion. The stars will disappear.
But, I am in love with your words. Okay!

Aztec Warrior 11.21.15
Note: the idea for the last 4 lines
in this poem came from the movie,
“The Fault In Our Stars”.
Nov 2015 · 924
POEM 96
Aztec Warrior Nov 2015
Can’t Get Next To You**

There are words
that rummage constantly
through my head;
sad, shadowy words
filled with a dark void;
malevolent words that stab you
when your back is turned;
or staring at you
eye to eye.
It’s ironic too,
cause even with crossing a roaring river
filled with liquid fire,
I can’t get next to you.
I can’t get next to you
and I am covered
in the singed sweat of alone-ness;
where the hues of Autumn
embrace Winter’s barren-ness,
its blank, hypnotic
pull of death.

Aztec Warrior 11.20.15
Nov 2015 · 3.2k
POEM 95
Aztec Warrior Nov 2015
(Where I worked, they set up TV’s in the cafeteria to watch the continuing coverage of the events of 9/11. I had become known as a sort of poet and many asked me to write something, a poem about 9/11. In the printed version which I handed out to people, they translated into their language the word ‘******’ and into the poem. The company did not like it cause they wanted to whip up the patriotic jingoism and calls for revenge. Thankfully this poem helped to stop this at this factory.)  

911 Thoughts

“Our grief is not a cry for war”
--Artists Network, Refuse & Resist

“..and the poets down here
don’t write nothing at all,
they just stand back
and let it all be”
–‘Jungle Land’, by B. Springsteen


“Beto nki tutasala” (‘What are we doing’)
--Old African saying


New York City 9/11/01:
She walks down the street
numb
peering side to side
pausing,
showing his picture to everyone who looks.
Tears streak her brown skin
as the reality of his loss
sinks deeper in,
yet searching, as if just looking
will make him appear by her side
an ease the vacuum of why that
echoes mockingly in her heart.
~~~
Friends have asked me,
write a poem about these events, Red.
Write about 911,
and the horror from the sky.
Tell us what you think.
Can you give us some hope
that when the dust
and tears
settle from our eyes,
we will still be able to see the sun.
How?
What words can I use to describe
or even surmise all the reasons why.
How do you explain to your grand kids
the war has come home.
They have put us in harms way.

New York City, 9/11/01
Yes the ‘war’ has come home
so many innocents have paid
a blood price for a
globalized monster
grown, nurtured, raised
in the dark soils of the USA.

Southern Iraq, 9/8/01
U.S. and British ghosts
swoop down on a ‘radar installation’
that turns mysteriously into a village.
8 civilians known dead,
many others injured.

Baghdad Iraq. 2/91
Clutching her injured child to her breast,
she flees collapsing buildings
while thunder surrounds her,
she is looking frantically for shelter
from ‘smart rain’
pouring down from the night sky.
Explosions that almost drown out her
screams.
Screams for a lost generation;
how do you rebuild a generation?

West Bank / Gaza, Any day
Young comrades pick thru
blood soaked rubble of once homes
looking for survivors of
‘made in the USA’ helicopter terror.
Or picking up stones to fight off
‘made in the USA’ tanks
spewing out ‘collective punishment’
needed for new Israeli settlements.

Beirut Lebanon, 1980
Safely, miles out to sea,
the USS New Jersey
spits out salvo after salvo
painting the city with fire storms.
Thousands die, thousands more
made refugees in their own country
punished for harboring
Palestinian refugees who refuse to
recognize ‘stolen land’
now claiming to be Israel.

New York City, 9/11/01
The view of passenger jets
lingers in our vision.
Over and over they seem to play with,
dance,
then mingle with those towers
until only twisted steel,
burnt flesh,
and crumbled cement remains
creating a mass grave.


Vietnam, 1970
The village explodes.
Children running
naked
flesh singed, burnt
burning
as liquid fire drops
from high flying 52's.
******; an English word
which in Vietnamese, Chinese or Khmer
Means DEATH!
(Imagine here the words for death in Chinese, Vietnamese and Khmer.)


Hiroshima / Nagasaki, 1945
150,000 human beings now only shadows
seared into the concrete,
human outlines
that still scream their agony
heard even today by anyone
who doesn’t have selective amnesia.

New York City, 9/11/01
What words can explain the loss
of loved ones, friends?
What words can capture
the vacant look of the black woman
seeking her young daughter
who had her very first job interview
on the 104th floor?
What emotions are left
after the search for loved ones
finds only gray dust and charred stench
whether in New York or:
Baghdad, Beirut, Belgrade, Gaza,
Chile, Guatemala, El Salvador, My Lai,
Sudan, or Mogadishu?
What can prepare you for the
sickening sweet scent of
burnt flesh carried on lazy breezes;
of dust coating everything with
the stink of human blood?

~~~~~

And now there is talk of
And preparation for:
Retribution
Justice
Retaliation.
More words that the people of
the world understand all too well:
DEATH! (The words for death in Chinese, Vietnamese, Hindi, Urdu, Ctujarati, and Khmer are not formating when I cut and paste. Imagine them here.)
MUERTE! DEATH!

~~~~~

Every day now the powers that be
prepare us for even more untold horrors;
hype us with red, white and blue views.
Pass on to us today’s NEWS:
“Congress passed new war legislation today”;
“unnamed sources report that”
“a high government official who wishes to remain anonymous”;
“the word at the White House”;
SPECULATIONS: there are 50 governments that harbor or support terrorism.
Several undocumented Arabs have been arrested trying to buy illegal chemicals
INNUENDO: known terrorist are said to have links to Afghanistan.
RUMOR: the next attacks could come as early as 9/22;
Air Force One was threatened today;
terror may come in the form of chemical or biological;
All the conjectures ‘fit to be news’;
Bin Laden is the one, Iraq, Iran,
somebody in the Sudan,
someone, somewhere has to be made to pay.
Conjecture pumped out continuously
24/7
why, we got it straight from heaven
so it must be true!

~~~~~

New York City, Aftermath
For many the future is hard to imagine,
uncertainty weighs heavy
like an echo that bounces endlessly
off tenement walls.
Like the way the “WHY’S”
multiply with each official explanation
and grows from whispers to amplified
crescendos of NOOOOOOOO! NO!
Not in our name.
You cannot exploit our grief,
our sorrow for so many lost lives
into your “holy war of retribution”;
into your vision of “Homeland Security”
and more repressive police powers;
into your call for Justice envisioned as an
Americanized world.
The people of our planet
do not need another
unjust war. And yet,
as long as this system continues,
as long as organized greed,
backed up by Washington bullets reign,
these horrors will continue to
rain from the skies.


Afghanistan, 10/07/01
Today the bombing began.
More horror fell from the sky
as talk of even more countries, people
are added to the “suspected list”.
One thing is sure, those hundreds,
thousand who have already died
had nothing to do with 9/11.
How long?
How many more will die
before we put it to an end?

~~redzone 10.04.01~~ (edited 10/07/01)
(written while using the pen name 'redzone'
reposted by Aztec Warrior 11.18.15)
I wanted to add this poem because many have 'forgotten' who actually unleashed the hooror of ISIS, Al Quieda, and the Taliban on the world. Not enough space to go into all this here, but if you are aagonizing over what is going on in the world, I suggest that a visit to http://www.revcom.us will help to understand not only what and what is behind these horrors, but also a way OUT of this madness...
Nov 2015 · 506
POEM 94
Aztec Warrior Nov 2015
POEM 94**
The Sky Melted Its Blue
(This poem is dedicated to the lives lost in Paris,
along with the several million lives lost in the wars
the U.S. and its allies have caused since the invasion
of Afghanistan; as well as the millions, whose lives have
become horror stories in seeking refuge from these wars)

The shy melted its blue
into angry red.
Dark piercing shades of night bled
as a desperately needed hospital blew
in Afghanistan.
Doctors, volunteers, sick and wounded patients
gave their blood to the night sky.
October 3rd, U.S. state sponsored terror
added to the tens of thousands
who have already died.
~~~
The sky melted its darkness
into angry red.
Everyday people, eating in cafes,
going to see a soccer game,
going to concert halls
or just walking down the street enjoying life.
November 13th, ISIS terror
and bodies bled into the Paris sky.
~~~
Where is the difference
in these acts of societal horrors?
How can anyone claim
a moral high ground?
~~~
Two reactionary, outmoded systems
face off against each other.
One, claiming to be enlightened,
democratic, “the greatest society to ever be”;
built on genocide and slavery
that down to today murders
black and brown youth,
incarcerates 2.5 million in dungeons,
attacks women on every front,
and savagely destroys the Earth’s very life.
The other, reactionary, feudal
with harshly enforced ignorance
and superstition,
and the brutal oppression of women.
Two poles of exploitation and oppression.
MacWorld or Jihad?
Are we supposed to choose?
While choosing either, strengthens both!
NEVER, should be our resistance cry.
~~~
This cycle of terror, horror
and wars of aggression
must be broken through and stopped.
With conscious, visible resistance against
ALL oppression, continued invasions,
drone attacks and bombings
done by the ‘West’.
As we also call out against
the reactionary terror
of the Jihadists.
This is up to us,
the everyday people, world wide.
This system of imperialism
has gotten us into this mess,
and through revolution, nothing less
we can find our way out
and build a world free from all this!!

Aztec Warrior 11.18.15
(See http://www.revcom.us)
Side note: An historical reference: The people of Germany, who lived in the village around the Dachau death camp could see the trains loaded with human beings; could smell the burning flesh coming from the ovens and yet did nothing to stop this horror. When our great great grandchildren look back at what is happening in the Middle East by our government, what will they see?
Will they see that we did everything we could to stop these wars of
aggression for empire and imperialism? Or will they look back with contempt and see people who looked away with the excuse of just “wanting to be safe”??
Nov 2015 · 640
Not A Poem; but a Plea!!
Aztec Warrior Nov 2015
Perhaps many of you have already gotten a similar plea from Eliot York. But I wanted to post this as a way of helping to spread the word that money is needed to keep this poetry web page going.

I am not able to do much by way of donations, except for a few "sun shines on a poem or two each month. Perhaps if a few more of us could do the same, it might be a small way that would add up and Hello Poetry could be kept afloat.. Below is Eliot's message to me and I am sending to you..

Hi Aztec,

This is Eliot, from Hello Poetry. I hate to bother you, but I need to raise funds to keep Hello Poetry running.

If you're able, Hello Poetry could really use your support now. Buying sunshine, donations through paypal, or spreading the word-- anything helps!

http://hellopoetry.com/donate/

Let me know if you have any questions or feedback.

All the best,
Eliot
If say 20 of you could shine up 2 poems each month at $5 each, that would be $200 a month and may help a lot!! This is what I will try and do each month... why not join me??!!!
Aztec
Nov 2015 · 561
POEM 93
Aztec Warrior Nov 2015
The Shadow of You

Sitting here thinking,
drinking my Black and Tan
contemplating
the stormy motion I see in shadows

*


Yes, it’s dark in there
but, occasionally you can see
different shades of black
mixing with greys
and an undercurrent of blue.
Sometimes, usually when you
least expect it,
a swirling white
(more a ***** white
but it’s lighter than grey)
infuses its movement
in the midst of shadow
making it spin wildly.
And an unruly midnight Moon
beckons briefly within these darker hues.
Its swirl is enticing,
entwining seductively
within the greys and blacks
calling me to enter.
Pulling me like temptation;
like moist needy lips
kissing me into oblivion,
into forever shadow.



I don’t mind, honest.
In fact, I am willing, but...
It is not your shadows I fear.
I love the way your greys swirl;
the way the sway of your hips
dances enticingly with the music of you.
I could live here,
listening forever.



No, it’s my shadows that I fear.
They swirl with storms of black
and I have no control.
They have ancient origins;
they contain seeds that can only
flower in those dark spaces
found between well meaning words
that today finds only loneliness.
My shadows know all too well
the ugliness of traditions,
the hopelessness of poverty,
the emptiness of love.
These shadows have no glimmer of light,
just the motion
of darker shades of night.

*

And yet...
and yet I cannot help but see
the motion of you inside shadows;
see you write your words;
your pen creating a kaleidoscope of greys.
How you weave spaces and allow
for someone to enter your dance;
to lay their head upon your breast
and hear the music of your beating heart.
And yet....

Aztec Warrior  2008
Tripping through my poetry note books is often fun, especially when you find a poem you actually enjoyed writing and like.
Nov 2015 · 441
POEM 92
Aztec Warrior Nov 2015
SEDUCTION**

(for a friend who asked if I were "Caucasian". My answer: no one determines the nationality of their skin when born. But all of us can determine who we are and who we stand with and what our lives mean. I chose long ago to stand against oppression and to stand along side those fighting their oppression. Not as a white man, but as a human being)

You beat your ‘tana’ drum
with ancient, calloused hands
making it speak relentlessly,
as if you were rain soaked wind
announcing moonless death.
As it echoes down brown, barren rivers,
its crescendo can be heard
crashing through tangled undergrowth
until it reaches the
timeless and continuous sea.
~~~
The ocean has swallowed
millennia of hardships,
where,  on this very spot,
blood flowed freely, soaking
these sands with slavery’s misery.
It was here
the Great Rock at Toubab Dialaw
was  born.
Born and grew.
                            Grew from endless
emptiness, borne as the
beating of human flesh.
It was hacked, torn from limb
and shackled, then
dispersed to distant shores.
Blood, red with resistance,
soaked the sands,
colored the tides,
and choked the air with its
beat, beat, beat,
beatings and death.
Blood ran thick with sated flies
and when you looked into their eyes,
all you saw was  bottomless ocean.
Empty
           Yet pulling,
like seduction.
~~~
You beat your ‘tana’ drum
with hardened, calloused hands,
and your rage.
You make it speak seduction,
enticing us to dance on
Toubab Dialaw’s ****** shores,
staring into the bottomless eyes of death.
It is pulling
            pulling,
                      pulling us
into its seduction.
Filling us with your anger,
with your rage;
filling us with your drumming tongue
and the unquenchable thirst for revolution;
for all these wrongs to be undone.

written as redzone 3.21.07
posted by Aztec Warrior
I wrote this poem several years ago and under the pen name 'redzone'. I looked for it last night in my notebook because of a conversation with a friend about the ugliness of slavery and continuing outrages against Black folks in today's america.
Nov 2015 · 945
POEM 91
Aztec Warrior Nov 2015
Scent Of A Woman**

It’s ironic, funny and strange,
even iconic,
like those Pillars of Atlantis
at world’s end;
water logged
seaweed covered,
yet still guarding
long past City Gates.
~~~
Oh, I have played the fool,
the playful court jester;
have left witty comments
to elicit a smile or two.
I have been a hero,
wielded the Sword of Un,
played La Mancha’s
Quixote, windmill slayer,
fighter for Dulcinea’s sacred honor.
I rode Appaloosa bare back
painted in warrior red
leaving my blood
soaking the banks of Sand Creek,
and valley’s of Wounded Knee.
~~~
Yes, all this
I have seen and done.
And yet not once
has the scent of a woman
said,” Come home to me.
Kiss me into the night.
Hold me until
the morning’s light.”

Aztec Warrior 11.7.15
Nov 2015 · 497
POEM 90
Aztec Warrior Nov 2015
Sorcha, Remembered**

why does sunlight
shimmering through the trees,
leaving shadowy patterns
on the ground below
remind me of you?
or how watching
two squirrels
chasing each other
around the Sycamore
remind me how you loved
to listen to Lennon’s ‘Imagine”?
~~~
Yesterday
I came across pictures
of your ‘safe place’.
The ones you emailed me
to let me know you were okay.
a small waterfall
glimpsed between
lush green over growth
sparkled in the sunlight
and I could imagine
you sitting there
humming to the music it made.
~~~
You once told me
you thought we (humanity)
could make a difference,
could fix the damage done
to the earth;
fix the damage people have done
to each other.
and this was said in spite
of all the pain, suffering
and damage done to you; which
eventually led to your death.
~~~
I must apologize
to all I know
for not thinking of you more often.
for it wasn’t until
I recovered your photos
it had been awhile.
it reminded me
that after I heard of your death,
besides playing ‘Imagine’
over and over again,
I couldn’t stop playing
Annie Lennox’s re-mix
of ‘I Can’t Get Close To You’.
~~~
You lived down under,
Queensland native
with husband and kids.
so while I never met you,
I felt a human to human
kinship - one we all should share.

Aztec Warrior 11.3.15
Sorcha died in 2002, of a brain aneurysm as the result beatings and abuse throughout her childhood. Sorcha was a poet and friend.
Nov 2015 · 682
POEM 89
Aztec Warrior Nov 2015
Walking With Basho**

Note: These haiku (hokku) were written after
reading a book of Basho’s ‘travel logs’. It contained
many of his best and well known poems and prose.

#92
under the old oak
I watch squirrels
chasing their tails.
the oak ignores them.

#93
A breeze ruffles green leaves
as Wrens sing a symphony-
perfect harmony.

#94
I travel in the
company of red guard youth-
we want the whole world.(1)

#95
rushing rivers and
deep gorges block our advance-
great challenges ahead.

#96
Spring blossoms beckon
we smell their sweet aroma-
birds chirp approval.

#97
traveling this road
strewn with shadow and hard ship,
we dare scale great heights.
#98
rain and wind harass
the rabbits fur and spirit-
he sits stoically.

#99
scared of its shadow,
a frog leaps from its lily-
silence is broken.

#100
a burning man looks
at the desert’s dry land scape-
he paints large cacti. (2)

redzone/Aztec Warrior 8.20.12

(1) Red Guard were youth during the Cultural Revolution in China
under the leadership of Mao Tsetung and the genuine revolutionaries
in the Chinese Communist Party. They made revolution within the revolution
inspiring millions world-wide and preventing capitalist-roaders from
seizing power for 10 years. When Mao died, these reactionaries seized power and today we can see the ugly horrific exploitation and oppression the masses of Chinese face again today.

(2) Burning Man is an art festival in the desert of Nevada that began as an expression of creativity and defiance of the prevailing American culture.
But like everything in this society, it has been corrupted into a festival
where buying and selling once again contaminates. There are though still some aspects of the open art and creativity that remains.
Love this notebook....
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