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~~

Sometimes,
just when I think
a conversation has started,
she becomes mute
and slips back into the sea.
I now understand
Orion's difficulties
in chasing Luna
across the night sky.

Crows On A Rainy Morning**

It’s a rainy morning
since you’ve been gone,
the grey consumes and I just moan.
Crows visit and circle my home
with their mocking caw, caw
cawing me, calling me,
while pecking my eyes, reminding me I’m alone.
They gather on the Juniper,
on my clothes line tearing the shirts of mine
you always wore,
offering me dropped black feathers
to build a dream catcher
so I can relive all the nightmares
of losing you.

Mornings use to be alive with the scent of you,
singing our old songs as you dressed for the day
while I made us coffee, strong,
rich and dark, the way you liked it
and we would sit under the oak
down by the stream.
But first, always first
we faced in all directions one by one
giving thanks to the rising sun,
to Grandmother for another day,
to Grandfather’s balance.
On most days we listened to the river
singing songs to the trees,
hear strange tales of deer playing tag with
wildflowers and dandelion.
Sometimes the old back bear would come by
showing her cubs how to fish.
I will remember these days,
hold them to my heart.
They were days made by you,
by your touch on my face
as you leaned into me,
by your sandalwood scent.

Now, years later, it is a cold,
rainy morning as the grey consumes me
to its moan.

Aztec Warrior/redzone  9.28.16

POEM 130 (10 W)**

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

Aztec Warrior  3.11.16

MONSTER SLAYER: GEORGE

Summer clouds,
billowing white, amidst
a blue ocean,
speak in the language of
rabbits, turtles, whales,
of knights and warriors.
Moving slowly
with majestic determination,
calling all to look,
imagine
and create
those night time lullabies
to help small children
sleep
and not fear
those monsters
in the closet,
under the bed,
or in the room
down the hall.

All too quickly
they learn the monsters
are real, alive and well;
are the ones sitting
on the edge of the bed
singing of woodland creatures,
pretending their sharpened teeth
don’t leave scars that
never ever heal.

As a young boy
I would watch those billowing
white clouds
and imagine knights and warriors
carrying sharpened,
double edged swords,
advancing on this ocean blue
as they headed to my best friends bedroom
to cut off the heads
of these monsters
and stop those sweet lullabies.

Today, summer clouds
hung, draping their whiteness
in such a way
I saw your face.
A tear streaked your cheek,
but the there was also a smile.
I remember you pitching fast *****
that hurt my catchers hand,
as batter after batter
swung and missed.
You were that good.
I remember us mixing a
toxic concoction
with my chemistry set
and killing a colony of ants.
It was a masacre.
That night we both had nightmares
of ant armies seeking revenge
and swore we would forever
protect all life
as penitence.
For a while
we were best friends.

And then
the monsters came.
You were 11,
in fifth grade when
you finally fought back.
After the monster attacked
your mother and sister,
you found your sword.
As in the epic tale of George the Dragon Slayer,
the battle was fierce;
blood everywhere;
but George,
the boy with the lightning fast ball;
the boy who apologized for killing ants;
did the bravest thing of all -
he slew the monster!
*
George -
you were my best friend
they took you away
and I have never seen you again.
I never got to tell you
I was so happy you won!
George -
you were my best friend
you taught me to be brave;
to stand against all monsters.

(Written using the pen name:
~~redzone 4.12.14
Posted using the pen name Aztec Warrior)

Note: The other day when it was so warm and spring-like, a memory from long ago floated around in my mind. His name was George S., and for two years, he was my best friend.
    I wanted you to meet him, and tried in a more poetic form to tell you some about him. He came from another country. He, his mother and sister had fled from his father who abused them. But he found them and for a short time things were ok, until the horrors began again.
    This poem is for all who know what abuse and oppression is and have survived because of your courage in battling these monsters. It is also for all those who in one way or another have not been able to do this, in spite of their heroic efforts. Our hearts are yours forever!
     George, where ever you are, THANK YOU. Cause at a very early age, you showed me what it means to be brave and to stand up against injustice and abuse.

CHANGES

.....”and if the elevator breaks down,
go crazy!”
--Prince, from “Purple Rain”
~~~~~
Is it possible to
hear the rain whisper
to the forest
as it falls between
thirsty trees;
as it converses
dark oboe concertos
with musky,
leaf cluttered earth?
Or to follow
water’s cycle
from the calmness
of the hurricane’s eye,
seeking each molecule
as it links with
oxygen green skies?
~~~~~
Impossible?
But, these random acts,
riotous developments,
are common place,
hum drum, every day
rainbow dreaming
compared to the
possibilities of human
creativity
interactions
and conscious probabilities,
of touching inside
subatomic flows,or standing beside
Jupiter’s cyclops eye
as it penetrates into the soul of
a wicked Miles Be-Bop note
exploding the myth of
humanities inhumanity!
~~~~~
****!
Genghis Khan,
Attila the ***
were angels
gleefully dancing
on the head of a pin
compared to the atrocities of
“human nature” fables
of “selfish genes”,
“bell curves”,
Broca’s brains,
or some god fed, bred
morality of “original sin”,
and “semper fidelis”.
Even Alexander,
slaughtering only hundreds of thousands
in his conquests
built libraries and
stood “enlightened”
compared to today
“****’em all, let God
sort it all out” mentality;
or a more accepted version,
“why, some of my best friends are...”
~~~~~
Have you ever dreamed
a different reality?
Of feeling the wind
in a Van Gogh wheat field?
Or, flying on his “Starry Night” beauty?
Have you ever hoped of being a “Centennial Person”?
Human,
not the robot
powerless automaton
making a handful prosper
while we bleed
nuts and bolts of
everything for a price,
everything for sale.
While for most, we need
need, just to live.
And they say
I am insane
crazy
out of my mind!
Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha!!
Excuse me as I laugh
in your face,
as I look to create a place
to take off my hat
relax, and call home.
Like the black Panther,
Quetzal, or Leopard
I too seek the musky
earth and canopy
of verdurous rain forests;
to bath in crystal,
sun reflecting mists
of mile high water falls;
to drink from mineral rich
mountain streams.
~~~~~
Like sister Elephants
raising their new generations,
discussing the re-emergence of Kalahari
after a Spring thunder storm,
I seek the unfettered
creativity
collectively
voluntary comradery
of human minds
working for the common good,
sharing in the common efforts
of a world made better
as future generations
discuss blue green
oceans where we all
first emerged so many
millennium ago.
~~~~~
I am ready,
still fairly young.
Proletarian sisters, brothers
hand me a gun,
hurry cause
I can see the
Revolutionary People’s Army
storming old
**** encrusted
bourgeois citadels.
What force can stop us?
We are the mountain wind
sweeping down
thru valleys,
over plains.
We are irrepressible,
irresistible.
We have a world to win.

Aztec Warrior 10.4.15

ON THE TRAIN

Intro:
   1) “To be or not to be. That is the question.”
        – Shakespeare, from “Hamlet”

   2) “There is but one philosophical problem, and that is suicide. Whether or not the world has 3 dimensions or the mind 9 or 12 categories, comes afterward.”
        – Albert Camus, from “The Myth of Sisyphus”
    
   3) “Yes, I thought. You can ponder this or analyze that til the cows come home, but the real question is whether all your pondering and analysis will convince you that life is worth living.”
        – Brian Greene, from “The Fabric of the Cosmos”
    
    4) “ Now when you come up against the great gulf that often, and even generally, exists between the conditions and suffering of the masses of people, on the one hand, and what you are able to do about that at any given point - when you run up against that repeatedly, everyone feels a definite pull which expresses itself in moral terms: how can you stand by and not do something about what’s happening to the masses of people?
          – Bob Avakian, from “BAsics”  
_____

World music colors the air
with Mexico, Ireland, India,
the Middle East and Africa.
Colors-rich, deep, nothing pastel,
primeval
and it’s hard to sit still,
hold my  peace
while these rhythms paint
the pulse of my body.
I can feel the sticky humidity
of jungles fragrant with bougainvillea,
and bromiliades dangle
from every note of Les Nubians.
Talking Drums answer in response.
While trumpets call out
staccato style,
hot with salsa,
a reflection of my uneasy mind
wondering what I will find.
In spite of these colors,
and tunes,
shadows hide in these runes;
it isn’t an easy ride.
*
How do you write about dying?
Could I write a poem
the way Mozart wrote his “Requiem”;
feverish, delusional
yet his notes flowed from his fingers
like a tempest brewing
in an open flame.
While my words are shards,
splintered in millions
trying to make some sense.
Yet this pen won’t leave my hand
it demands to be heard.
*
“Have a nice trip home”, they said.
But these nerves are tensed;
they vibrate
the way this train is bouncing
on the tracks.
Within the swirl of colors and words,
stirred and mixed musically,
we raise our questions,
speak our art
and tell our stories.
There have been many.
Countless, like endless grains of sand
washed ashore in the cosmos.
But what happens when they end?
What if a story winks out
like a dying sun losing its light
as it becomes a black hole.
Or a symphony comes to its last note.
Then what?
Will there ever be another?
A continuance
or something new?
Extinction is final -
it is a *******.
***
Dad, you say that it matters,
that this family name
has reached its last branch.
But why?
Humanity will go on.
What is in a name anyway?
And how did it come about, our name?
But more, what have we done?
Yes, we existed.
We loved, fought and died.
We played, married,
raised family and did what we thought right.
But have we disturbed the universe;
make waves in the ocean’s tide?
More importantly,
did we live and die for the people;
sacrifice all just to make the leaps
to change the world?
Here is an infinite truth:
billions have come and gone
now lost to history;
billions more will do the same.
Our lives are finite,
yet change and matter,
in one form or another
is infinite.
In this ever changing world,
have we strained to the limits
to touch matter,
affect its taste;
attempt to move its direction
in the service of human kind?
Have we simply gone along with the way things are?
Or, have we made a difference?
Have we really lived?

And isn’t this the only truly philosophical question!
_________
Conclusion: Further thoughts:
     1) “But it is only through fearless engagement that we can learn our own limits. It’s only through the rational pursuit of theories, even those that whisk us into strange and unfamiliar domains, that we stand a chance of revealing the expanse of reality.”
          – Brian Greene, from “Hidden Reality”

     2) “Your life is going to be about something - or it’s going to be about nothing. And there is nothing greater your life can be about that contributing whatever you can to the revolutionary transformation of society and the world, to put an end to all systems and relations of oppression and exploitation and all unnecessary suffering and destruction that goes along with them.”
          –Bob Avakian, from “BAsics”

4/30.12 (began 2/12/12)

https://youtu.be/rkhtjCr2fF4
Music: Angelique Kidjo, "Voodoo Child"

Sometimes the dream catcher
weaves a dream of you
that, like a sweet kiss,
tastes like a wildberry haiku
written in the language
of a Spring breeze
as it ripples through
a rush of lavender flavored flowers.

Just as sometimes
it weaves you
into a smile on my face
and a glimmer in my eyes.

Aztec Warrior 6/9/15

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

The sky broke with thunder
as lightning cracked down tall trees
and another day turns inward
soaked with sadness and pain.

I miss you.