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Aztec Warrior Jul 2015
Some morality courtesy of the Red Hot Chili Peppers.
"Give it away now";
"What I got you gotta put it in you,
Don't stop, continue..."
Oh hell, just listen to the music:

https://youtu.be/exCEcmLw-Hc

Aztec Warrior  7.27.15
inspired by the self centered attitudes that have emerged here at HP...
Aztec Warrior Jul 2015
EVIL:  A society that promotes
me first, arrogantly, ignorant bliss.

Aztec Warrior  7/27/15
Aztec Warrior Jul 2015
It has been said
that when a gypsy witch sings,
the moon's silver tongue
speaks illusion in haiku,
and its beams tickle
feathers in your dream catcher.

I am no witch,
but in the darkest moments of night
where shadows dance uninhibited
with Milky Way stars,
I find serenity in your songs,
and I blow sonnets
of silver sensuality
over the contours of your beauty,
to tickle your dreams.

Aztec Warrior 7/28/15
Written for a poetic friend who said they were waiting to be tickled by a silver moon.... hope she likes... ;0)
Aztec Warrior Jun 2015
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.
Aztec Warrior Aug 2015
POEM 31

The sea is calm tonight,
reflecting star light
and a Summer moon.
Walking on these wave swept sands,
I see you swimming the salty tides,
diving under
then emerging,
your playful smile
moves an ocean breeze
across my face
and I warmly reply:

Saturn’s in the 5th moon;
stars dance to your mermaid’s tune
and I build sand castles
to shelter you from coming storms.

Breath me into your waters.

Aztec Warrior 7.31.15
wanted to write something nice for a friend who heard sad news tonight... hope they like it...
Aztec Warrior Aug 2015
POEM 32

I wish falling in love
was as easy as writing a poem...
Wait,
what the hell are you saying Aztec?!
Poetry ain’t easy.
It’s messy,
it interrupts your sleep with word dreams;
it runs away when you get close;
every time you think you’ve
found the right words.
Poetry ain’t ******* easy!

Yeah, true
but when you do find the words
they fill the pages
with lilacs
and wild blueberries
and strawberry cream truffles;
they dance with the shadows
within you
and caress your lips with
butterfly whispers
when you read,
then re-read...

But love,
it’s fleeting illusion,
even if whimsical,
and leaves your heart
in shambled pieces,
especially
when it isn’t returned!

If you are honest,
a poem will always be with you.
Even if it ain’t ******* easy

Aztec Warrior 8.2.15
looking for the words
Aztec Warrior Aug 2015
Foolish Aztec.
Why would she
fall in love with you?

Aztec Warrior 8.2.15
Aztec Warrior Aug 2015
POEM 35 (Etched)

I wish I could forget you.
But tell me,
how do I erase
your name etched on my heart?

Aztec Warrior 8.2.15
Aztec Warrior Aug 2015
POEM 36 (Waiting)

Frustrated illusions
roam untamed
and all I can do
is follow them endlessly
waiting for you.

Aztec Warrior 8.2.15
Aztec Warrior Aug 2015
If Bukowski could only see me now,
he'd be jealous.
Because through a mist of
blue-grey haze
and inebriated silence,
I'm writing a drunken poem.
It's not so bad really
as my "Lagunitas Censored,
Rich Copper Ale"
boldly announces:
"Life is uncertain,
Don't sip",
and I am drinking to silence.

Silence,
as in,
another black life,
is smothered in blood
and I need to scream
but nothing comes out
and how the **** long
will this go on?!!
I mean, 179 black lives lost
since the year began.
I have to ask,
which side are you on?
Why aren't you in the streets
until this **** ends?!

I will have a big headache in the morning.
Sorry Bukowski,
not from the beer,
but from realizing
the american nightmare
still goes on,
and on,
and on...
We need a revolution, nothing less!!

Aztec Warrior 8/14/15
Aztec Warrior Aug 2015
It's easy having principles
if you never have to use them...

Aztec Warrior 8/24/15
Aztec Warrior Jun 2015
POEM 4

As the blue-green sea rises
with the moon’s whimsical phases,
it also falls with vociferous attitude
crashing methodically
on the rocky shore.

I see you
standing within this torment-
Neruda like-
conducting with poetry’s brush
the colors of a starry night.

And the emptiness in my heart
is filled with your melodious art

Aztec Warrior 6.13.15
Aztec Warrior Aug 2015
I love the wild silence heard
as the Aspen whisper to Cedars
in the early morn.
It's a love sonnet
written on a summer breeze
as it tickles rustling leaves.

It reminds me
of the goose bump silence
stealing my breath
when you touch me.

Aztec Warrior 8/24/15
Aztec Warrior Aug 2015
I am drinking Bourbon Street blues
thinking in jazzy riffs
of a syncopated you
swaying to those snappy beats
head held high
eyes lit with fire
pulling me into your dancing arms
and all I can do is sigh.

Aztec Warrior 8/25/15
Aztec Warrior Sep 2015
POEM 42

Kokopelli blows his flute
and the wind chases coyote’s tail
around the moon
tickling him into yelps
and leaps
and other hilarious displays.
From high on Chaco Mesa
the Trickster’s music is heard;
from Chinle
to Yah-Ta-Hey and
all the way to Four Corners.
It is the Hopi Yei
making fun of those
who have lost their balance
in the world today.

Aztec Warrior 9.6.15

youtu.be/XPd9be8R5bA

youtu.be/ID-hZ3pVx7w

(Note: first song is called ‘Yeha Noha’ and means “Wishes of Happiness and Prosperity’second song is called ‘Ly-O-Lay-Ale Loya, “The Counterclock Wise Circle Dance”
May you find your balance)
Aztec Warrior Sep 2015
POEM 43 (Demons)

Darkness dances with
and caresses shadows
while fading in and out of time.
The days are cold, bitter,
the nights colder
but you can feel my heat
if you look inside
and see my truth.
Yes, I want to shelter you,
but you will also see
where my demons hide.

If you get too close
all your dreams will fail
I will let you down.
So I will let you go,
hold you no longer
unless you show me
how to love you;
how to hold on
while these demons
**** out my life.

Aztec Warrior 9.4.15*

https://youtu.be/GFQYaoiIFh8

*(NOTE: I utilized some of the words, ideas found in the song “Demons”
by Imagine Dragons. The music in this song is mesmerizing to me, even
though I believe we make our own fate for the most part;
we are much more than ‘greed’, there is no ‘kingdom
come’ in the religious sense. We alone determine our path.
What we believe and what we do affects the world around us.
This poem is dedicated to a very special friend.)
Aztec Warrior Sep 2015
POEM 44 (Chandelier)

123, swing
123, swing
123, swing
swing from the chandelier
fly like a bird
forget everything
until morning light’s heard
and nothing exists.

123, feel my love
123, feel my love
123, feel my love
let your tears dry on the air
there is no shame
in wanting tomorrow
to never exist;
to exit the past
and just hold on
let me be your full glass,
open your eyes... and

123, see me
123, see me
123, see me
hold out my hand
lets chandelier
until morning light’s heard.

Aztec Warrior 8.26.15

https://youtu.be/2vjPBrBU-TM

(Note: Inspired by the Sia song “Chandelier”. I utilized the ideas
and some of the words to express an answer of sorts to this song.
This is another song where the music mesmerizes me and has added
meaning cause I understand the ‘shame’ when the morning sun comes up.
This poem is also dedicated to a very special friend and to the deeply felt
hope that they are doing more than ‘just holding on’.)
Aztec Warrior Sep 2015
HUMAN HISTORY 2: LET'S DANCE
(A few words of acknowledgement: While these are my ideas and thoughts, I drew heavily on the story of 'Waterlily', written by Ella Cara Deloria. The discussion between the two Sioux women described below are drawn from this book. Her book beautifully details the life of 2 Dakota Sioux women and with them the customs, beliefs and beauty of the Dakota Sioux people. I am deeply in her debt.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

'Let's dance.
Lets dance.
Put on your red shoes and dance the blues.'
-D. Bowie


I.
'Hao, Kola!'
'Hao, Kola!'
Greetings between two
darkly tanned men, black hair
long and waving erratically in the wind,
their deep black eyes smile
and embrace these two warrior friends.
'Hao, Kola!'

II.
Out in the open prairie,
under an intense blue sky,
a few sharply white clouds
float in contrast against it;
two Peoples drew towards
each other for a ceremonial sing,
as was customary before the Great Sun Dance.

Ill.
'Hokahe'. 'Hokahe'.
'Hokahe'. 'Hokahe'.
Dakotas and Omahas meet.'
Hokahe' floats on the fresh morning breeze.
Colorful war standards wave and
flirt about gracefully.
The Omahas have come to sing.
The Omahas, proud, magnificently bold.
The Omahas, self assured in painted red face,
wearing heavily fringed buckskin white,
brilliantly adorned.
With war standards and lances held high,
the Omahas were a breath taking sight.
As there on the prairie's lush green grass
Omahas greet Dakotas with ceremonial song.

IV.
Two Dakota women overheard talking:
Blue Bird: 'You met them?! What are
white people really like?
Are they gentle, kind, as their
skin would imply?'
Smiling One: 'No, they are very hard, very
stern and dull towards each
other. They pass each other without
recognition. Very unmannerly.'
Blue Bird: 'And what about the children?
How do they play?'
Smiling One: 'Oh, this is so sad I would
say. I don't understand the
reasoning behind their ways.
These people actually detest
their children. You should see
them; slapping their little one's
faces and lashing their poor little
buttocks to make them cry!
Yelling and screaming at them
anytime of the day. I have never
seen children treated this way!!'
Blue Bird: Deep in thought, hugs little
Water Lily. She feels sick with
sympathy for these unknown
children. Only crazy people
teach their children like this.
What makes white people act so crazy?

V.
The Sun Dance time has arrived.
All the different Peoples, Tribes.
The Dakota, Teton, Omaha
make good on their vows
to the Great Spirits,
renew the hopes of their families
for peace and plenty from the land.
And they danced.
Looking straight into the sun,
because they knew it was what made them one
with the world and each other.
And they danced.
Time itself was lost in the sun
and new life was begun.
And they danced.
Danced around and sacrificed on
the clean cut pole,
blessed and made holy
just for this ceremony.
And they danced.
Till the sun was thrice Earth eaten
and moon time rose full in the sky.
But now on a different scene
and a People from so long ago,
who in their naked skin,
danced and howled at the moon.
Howled at the dead and the living.
Howled and danced,
danced and howled cause they were human.

VI.
Alone,
orbiting on this blue-toned Earth
I want to ask:
When will we, today’s humans dance?
Dance in global community?
Dance on the lush green grassy plains?
Dance on high hillsides, howling at a full, lush moon?

VII
'Let's dance.
Let's dance.
Put on your red shoes and dance the blues...'

~~written 10.1.98~~
this poem was written a long time ago.. I think it still holds up.
Aztec Warrior Sep 2015
SPEAKING SPANISH


I do not speak Spanish,
but (pero) I say-
**** these borders
(chinga las fronteras)
that keep us apart.
~~~
I do not speak Spanish
pero (but) I feel the pain,
know the horrors
caused by
****** (E.E.U.U.) imperialismo.
~~~
I know a few words of Espanol
and I often sound funny,
y people say I speak
with a Yankee accent
(Si', es verdad)
pero in mi corazon (heart)
yo se (I know)
we, all of us,
(todos los gente)
must change the world,
make a communist revolution
and build a better world.

~~written 1.29.12

"NOTE:  Revolution Books, in NYC used to have
a Spanish speaking  open mic. At one of these events, as I listened
to the different poets read their poems, I wrote this and was
asked to read it. The translation is mine.
Aztec Warrior Sep 2015
SONG TO THE HAWK, OWL AND WOLF:
SONG TO SKYBRUSH


Inspired by Native American teachings:
“Each life is precious and it is important to honor our beginnings;
to remember that we effect all life.
That our lives have meaning, and
we are known by the tracks we leave.”

~~~

I.  Brother Hawk Soars:

and you paint the sky
with flaming vermillion,
violet, aqua and
shimmering fuchsia;
bold tastes that flow easily
on a summer day
turning the heat and humidity
of Iowan plains into
a cool breeze with
your  flapping wings.
You always did love to fly
and showed us your world
with dreamy eyes.

~~~

II. SkyBrush Rising:

I saw you fly,
brother Sky.
First as the ferocious Hawk, then
as the fearless Owl.
Flying as the spirit warrior
to where Tama first arose
on grassy plains
and you began your this world, journey
as artist, wonderer,
seeker of Grandfather’s wisdom-
of the beauty
above and below.
So long ago, you entered this world
leaving foot prints
among untold words,
sailing down the Oronoco flow,
yet, it was not long enough.
For our world needs so much more
of you
from you.
This is the duty
and the obligation
as one of the people
that this artistic
journey demands.
Yet Dale,
you have given
and given,
and given.
Your have shown us what it is to live
no matter where
those wooden ships sail; no matter
how they impale
our sobbing hearts with pain.
You have shown us how to breathe
in life
as star gazers;
as nomads
wondering on an ever
changing universe.

~~~

III. Howling Brush:

running, roaming, laughing
as brother wolf
when I first met you,
unfettered, on
midnight trails
by the mountain lake.
I was chasing my tail
in contented circles
when you challenged me
to a game of tag,
and then to some of your grandma’s
homemade tea,
while we sat, restless, howling
under the old oak tree.
We told outrageous stories
of dancing with human beings,
and flying with condors
on cloudless skies.
You even claimed to be friendly
with an old, grouchy grizzly bear.
And I believed every word.
Even the moon made itself full
when you would howl
and paint the world in metaphor
at the PoetryCafe,
located just this side of cyber space.
Yes my friend,
as brother wolf
you were a howling Brush,
and I your open canvas.

~~~

IV. Sky’s Mysterious Brush:

flowed with colored psychadelia
and words,
yes words, shaded in pastels
as well as whimsy;
fashioned in chaotic order along
the broad strokes
of conscious designs,
reaching into the prism
of your mind,
refracting the elements of light,
turning each nuance uttered
into the evenings springtime wind
blowing across Iowan plains
and piercing a receptive heart.
It was a magical brush
filled with mystery;
filled with the thrill of sky
seen while laying
on a hill of clover.

~~

I see you flying brother Owl.
I see you running, cousin wolf.
I see you on your journey
moving along the trail
of beauty – above and below,
finally in harmony,
with Grandfather’s brush
showing you the way.
But old friend
I am missing you.
It is lonely under this old Oak
listening to the leaves
singing the old stories of
brother SkyBrush.

~~written 7.20.06
This poem is dedicated to Dale Hillard (SkyBrush), a wonderful poet, artist and friend. He passed 9 years ago. I met him on another poetry sight about 15 years ago and we swapped stories and poems and would kinda raise hell at the poetry site (good, honest fun) with many joining in "fruit cake wars". He was a wonderful human being and I think about him often. He died from HepC
Aztec Warrior Sep 2015
Silence Part 1


These walls speak of books
neatly aligned in rows
on wooden shelves;
pictures hang in portraits
and city scenes;
while the sun enters
through cracked windows
weaving rainbows,
as nervous dust particles
move haphazardly
here and there.
Yet, with all this motion
and occupied space,
emptiness fills this room
except for distant shadows of you.*

*8/18/11
first in a series written a while ago...
Aztec Warrior Sep 2015
Silence Part 2


I sit thinking,
pen in hand, and wonder
why conversations,
once held,
filled my room
with words, metaphors,
innuendo
have mysteriously disappeared,
seeping innocuously
into the cracks of the wall.
Hidden there, I am unable
to coax them out.

8.18.11
2nd in this series....
Aztec Warrior Jun 2015
The Dream Weaver
catches each of your dreams,
holds them gently,
keeps them safe
from calloused hands and demons
who want to steal away all hope.

I take your dreams,
savor their succulent flavors;
lick their sweet contours,
soft peaks, and lush valleys.
Sated with your liquid wonders,
I turn these dreams into poetry
to be floated on the Sea of Longing.

Aztec Warrior 6.13.15

https://youtu.be/0QIvW20IFUE
Aztec Warrior Sep 2015
Silence Part 3


Sitting here thinking,
pen laying across the page,
waiting for words
to announce themselves
with something profound to say.
Instead
I count the rain
splattering on the window
until I realize
this will be
another wordless day.

8.18.11
another in this series...
Aztec Warrior Sep 2015
Silence Part 4


I am not sure
where conversation has gone.
How it disappeared in the shadows
wandering this room.

Words, thousands and thousands
once flowed between us,
creating friendship,
innuendo,
mystery.

Words, thousands and thousands
once spoke art,
poetry,
the conditions of life;
now they are drapped
over a limb
looking surreal
and found only in dreams,
or heard rustling in the wind
as they fade into smoky mist.

Silence speaks loudest
as you near sleep;
as your mind
holds its breath
against the darkness,
where words no longer exist.

8.18.11
last in this series on loneliness, sadness and loss of a friend...
Aztec Warrior Sep 2015
Kiss Me: 2 Thoughts

A kiss may be just a kiss,
a sigh, just a sigh,
but when our lips meet
I see heaven in your eyes.
^^^
There's a lot of melting
going on in your kiss.
My heart melts into your chaos;
my mind melts into morning dew;
and I am drawn by passion
to look straight at your sun
and burn in your solar flares.
^^^
Aztec Warrior  9.9.15
Aztec Warrior Sep 2015
Candle

The light from the candle
flickers
in that haphazard sway
and reminds me of the sadness
in you eyes.
I want to hold
and comfort you
since that is all I can do.
The pain is yours
from memories new and old.
Maybe one day the anguish
will be gone, and
a smile will find your heart;
until then,
this candle flicker
is writing a poem for you.

Aztec Warrior 9.10.15
Aztec Warrior Sep 2015
A Siren’s Song

is heard crashing upon this shore.
It travels on an ocean breeze,
floating on the sea’s mist
while dazzled by
rotating stars
as they wander through
this endless night.

Like Ulysses,
I cling to the mast,
tie myself to the undulation
of her sensual song
enticing
pulling
calling
me to join her
on the waves
of a starry midnight gaze;
tempting
teasing
swaying suggestively
to follow her song
into the ocean’s
mystery and depth,
into sweet oblivion
and a sailor’s blissful death.

Aztec Warrior 9.10.15
what happens after a conversation between two poet friends...
Aztec Warrior Sep 2015
POEM  55

Everyone talks about demons,
but how many
have actually seen one?
I have
cause they live inside;
every time I mirror look.
They are small,
smelly ***** of blood matted fur
with sharp razor teeth, and
they never let you go.
Gnawing
biting
ripping
drinking your mind
with hypnotic cruelty
and away from the reality
of this even more horrific world;
leaving you alone
with your pain
as companion.

I don’t go out any more,
broke - no shattered
all the mirrors.
I just sit in this room
filled with four walls of colorlessness.
Sssssssssh...
Don’t talk
maybe if I’m very quiet
they will leave me alone
where I can think
about, sweet
blissful
death.

Aztec Warrior 9.11.15
Aztec Warrior Sep 2015
It’s okay.
Really.
I don’t want to talk to you either
since there is
already too much silence
between us.
Besides,
I’m going to be busy
gluing back together
all the pieces
of this shattered heart.
Too late I learned
the hold you had on me.
Silly of me
isn’t it.

Aztec Warrior 9.12.15
Aztec Warrior Sep 2015
“There must be someway out of here
said the joker to the thief
There’s just too much confusion
I can’t get no relief....”
–Jimi Hendrix, “Along the Watch Tower”

^^^^

While floating on the Adriatic,
I got caught in the monsoon
of your turbulence;
caught in your undertow
and the dystopia
that surrounds your heart

^^^^

But I don’t care
don’t care...  cause
it’s where I want to be;
drenched by your rain,
thundered down your darkness,
then shredded inside your lightning
and devoured by your black hole sun.

^^^^
Cause....   cause
I love you.

Aztec Warrior 9.22.15

Note: “Along The Watch Tower”*
https://youtu.be/TLV4_xaYynY
Aztec Warrior Sep 2015
Intelligence:
doesn't come from books; it
comes from putting people
and the planet first.

Aztec Warrior 9.26.15
Aztec Warrior Sep 2015
POEM 59

October sighs
a slight breeze
that whispers goose bumps on my skin
as you walk beside me
and hold my hand.
^^^
But, I must say,
I’m not an Autumn wind,
I am the sky.
Nor am I a harvest moon,
I am the night
that comforts you with star light.
I am not a dragon slayer
but I breathe the fires of hope,
and whisper Quixotesque dreams
of sweet surrender nights.
^^^
And I ask,
will you join me
in succulent October sighs.

Aztec Warrior 9.26.15
Aztec Warrior Jun 2015
Sometimes it’s the absence of words
that keeps me awake at night.
But lately,
it’s their abundance;
their constant chattering
that haunts and taunts.
Too many words.
But the worst of it-
no matter how I try to arrange them,
they only make non-sense.
Verbal garbage, that
long ago began to rot.

Aztec Warrior 6.13.15
Aztec Warrior Sep 2015
POEM 60
(String Theory Possibilities)

“I’ll wait for you there
like a stone...  Alone
-Audioslave, “Like A Stone
*
There’s a place in my heart
that knows only you
and becomes gooey
emotions with torrential rain
filling the deep oceans of empty space.
Strings and their theory
wrap seductively
around my needing you gravitons
and all I know is
I’m like a stone
waiting to be thrown
skipping across your heart,
leaving ripples of disruption
where new worlds are born.

Aztec Warrior 9.30.15
...no strings were attached or damaged in
writing this poem..
https://youtu.be/7QU1nvuxaMA
Aztec Warrior Sep 2015
1967

It was 1967
when you wandered into my life.
The Beatles were on
a “Magical Mystery Tour”,
but you were my mystery.
Your red hair taunted my sensitivities
and for the longest time
I couldn’t understand
why “P.S. I Love You” played
when you walked in the room.
It was awhile before I realized
my eyes followed the
wishful sway of your hips,
and the slight upward turn of your lips
would ignite a fanciful beat
in my heart,
with a dream of their soft taste.
One of your girlfriends told me once,
you did it just to see my smile.

It was 1967,
the Red Guard rebels had seized back Shanghai
in a January Storm,
the whole world was in joyous celebration
turning everything right side up
and everyone wanted
to kiss the skies.
And you kissed me.


It was Fall,
Autumn's orange and browns ruled
but that kiss felt like
wild, red roses,
blue bells, daffodils
and green smelling air.
That kiss pulled us into world events
and tasted like more.

In 1967
I began to write poetry
and picked up my paint brushes again.
Mostly because of you,
your red hair hue,
how everyone smiled with you,
and the way you made me feel
like I was human.
In 1967 the whole world was changing.
We both felt it
as it affected the way we saw each other.
Lovers yes, but more, standing
in the thick of all the social rebellion.
We wanted a better world.
Hand in hand
we traveled together
for a little while.
I wish I would have loved you better,
more equally,
with more respect.
But I was a typical male,
not yet ready to give up my privilege.


It was 1967
we loved with the passion
of a changing world.
Five years later you left.
Yet I still see your taunting red hair,
can taste your Spring-like kiss,
feel your warm skin next to mine,
and be inspired by the slight upward turn of your lips.
While I put down my paint brush long ago,
my pen still spills ink for you,
still calls you ‘Amber’.

10.16.12
Note: I wrote this under another pen name (redzone) and posted at another poetry web site. But I wanted to share it with you here at HP.

https://youtu.be/Hnrsqf33MXA
Aztec Warrior Sep 2015
The Sword Of Un
(a Quixote song)**

My sword, ******,
now sheathed
hangs by my side
still sticky wet
covered with the gore
of apocalyptic horsemen;
their heads hanging from my belt.
Was it all for naught,
as you thought my savagery
was mockery,
false pretense and hypocritical lies,
aiming only for self fulfillment.
~~~~~
Many, it’s true,
seek only what’s in it for them
superficalities in the vain glory
of seeming warm approval
of acceptance;
seeking their own tree water
while the whole forest
is dying of thirst.
~~~~~
I seek not conquest,
but look you
eye to eye,
heart to heart,
and speak openly my words,
dripping and ******,
of devotion for you.
~~~~~
These words,
love and devotion,
are given freely,
yours to keep;
given, not for gain
or ego’s display
and paltriness.
But because within you
I see and feel all
the wonders of life.
Yes, I see your thunder storms
and distorted illusions
of delusional complexities;
and absurdities of unfair life.
And say, bring it, all of it
cause in all these contradictions,
I see you,
for you!
~~~~~
It’s ironic
isn’t it,
I fell in love with you
dancing within your poetry.
And I would ****** my sword,
slay many more apocalyptic dripping horsemen;
let my Sword of Un sing,
sever their heads
and hang them from my belt,
if I knew for one second
it would allow me
to walk with you,
fingers warmly entwined,
sharing the secrets found
on a coconut scented beach,
lie naked on sun warmed sands
and listen to the music
of your woman’s beat.
As I offer you
all the pieces of my heart.
~~~~~
I am not going anywhere.
So if you're in need of revenge,
or to avenge a wrong,
here’s my Sword of Un.
My head is lying on the block.

10.3.14

https://youtu.be/F3RYvO2X0Oo
Aztec Warrior Oct 2015
POEM 63
(A Very SERIOUS ‘Y’ Day Poem)


She calls herself
ninjawarriornoodlebumbles,
and she is all that and so much more.
She is a psychological thriller,
a physiological wonder,
a metaphorical super nova
with a heart that beats gold.
While she is way,
we’re talking light years here,
too old for me
and I will never ever
catch up to her zeal and maturity,
I can’t help but have goo goo eyes
and wave at her
at midnight
during a total,
full moon eclipse
as she giggles at my silliness.
Or, maybe it’s just laughter
cause I am so very young.

Aztec Warrior 9.30.15

Note: for a friend, you know who you are!!
Aztec Warrior Oct 2015
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
Aztec Warrior Oct 2015
A Winter’s Tale


It was a Winter’s tale
you told as soft,
fluffy snow,
fell around us.
Your eyes danced excitedly
with the laughter in your heart,
as you announced,
“we are, all of us,
miracles;
tied together
as one.
And when we die
we fill the sky
with our light.
We become the stars.”
Castor,
Cassiopeia
Cepheus.
~~~~~~
“Do you believe in miracles?”
~~~~~~
No,
not really.
There is no reason
for our existence
and yet,
we are tied together
in countless ways.
I believe our light
returns to the star stuff
from which we were born.
Andromeda,
Gemini
Pleiades...
~~~~~~
I believe
in you;
light’s miracle
found twinkling
in your smile.
Tempting me
the way Benny
enticed Joon.
The way Peter Lake
kissed Beverly Penn.
~~~~~~
No,
I don’t believe in miracles.
But, I believe
in the miracle
that is
Cassiopeia,
Pollux,
Cepheus....
The light
I found in you.

11.23.14*
https://youtu.be/lNy4UNY5KW8
I wrote this poem for/to a dear sweet friend under a different pen name, almost a year ago. I wanted to share it here. It is part of a series of poems but I will only post this one.
Aztec Warrior Oct 2015
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"
I wrote this coming home from a trip to see my parents and listening to World music
Aztec Warrior Oct 2015
LET'S KISS THE SKY

“Wild thing
I think you
Move me...
You make everything
Groovy...
Wild thing
I think
I love you.....”
~~Jimi Hendrix version (Live)

Splashed across
the Monterey screen,
a Jimi scene
where he is on
his knees,
guitar aflame
as red ember fingers
entice,
urge each flickering note
to wail, screech.
Black, all colored
fingers encourage
a generation to
take it higher,
be the fire
burning down an
oppressive society.
“Wild thing,
I want to know for sure...
You move me!”
~~~~~
Back in the day,
as we often say,
Babylon was
on the run.
People planet wide
were having fun
like agitated atoms
escaping the sun
in great solar storm flares
spurred on by
Mao Tsetung
and the red East
rising of Tai Shan.
While in the beast’s belly
stood the Black Panther Party.
Red Book’s shining light
held high, displayed proudly.
In the other hand
they held
the guns
of liberation.
There were many who
impatiently
awaited word,
‘Let’s go! Now!
Seize the time
Seize the hour
Off the pigs,
Seize the power.
The sky was there
with red tinged clouds
waiting
wanting to be kissed
by the surge of humanity.
~~~~~
That was then.
We have rounded
histories bend
never reaching
the top of Chingkangshan.
This is now
a new generation
a youthful crowd
seeks a new hour,
a righteous power
to topple those
old ‘Ivory Towers’.
~~~~~
That was then
we rocked the boulevard
with our deeds
our urgent words
and necessities.
“Let’s not speak falsely now
the hour is getting late.”
Each day
saw some new advance
a new dance.
For a short
wonderful breath
we had the upper hand.
We had the bourgeois
on the run.
They, shaking at rustling leaves;
we, laughing as they flee.
That was then,
this is now.
We have rounded
histories bend
never reaching
the top of Chingkangshan.
~~~~~
As I replay
that Jimi scene from
30 some odd years ago
I can’t help thinking,
We had them on the run?
The flames from Jimi’s alive guitar
spoke to us
and we replied,
‘Wild thing,
you move me!'
And as we round
histories bend,
I can once again
see the snow caps
gleaming in the sun.
This time
this time we will
reach over top
of Chingkangshan,
we will boldly say,
“Excuse me while I kiss the sky!”

Archives:  Written 1998*

https://youtu.be/7DGGFx7Zmbw
This is another poem written a while ago and pulled from the archives.
Aztec Warrior Oct 2015
POEM 68*

The curtain dances the breeze
through the window
chasing the sun slowly
across the wall
until it highlights your face.
You begin to stir,
one eye opens
as your hand
reaches over to
where my heart is racing
toward good bumps.
You move closer,
place your head on my shoulder
and return to sleep,
as a dream’s smile
covers your lips.
~~~
I have always loved
watching you sleep;
your breast rising,
falling
to the song
only you sing.
~~~
This song,
the one that wakes me
to the morning sun,
that carries me through the day,
is also the song
that now eludes me,
shatters my hopefulness
and carves shadows
all through my heart.
~~~
Every morning,
as the curtain dances
the Autumn breeze
and the sun climbs my wall,
I wonder,
why have you gone?
Will I ever hear from you again?


*Aztec Warrior 10.7.15
Aztec Warrior Oct 2015
POEM 69
(A Dream Spoken in 2 Parts)

I.
The sky, falling,
why does it melt
when you read poetry?
The earth sways,
then stills
as your silken words touch.
And all I want
is to be lost
in your soft, gentle voice;
and melt in your sky.
II.
The moon, rising,
why is it on fire?
I hear words gently breathing,
is it the Pleiades singing
teasing Orion’s chase;
or is it the siren’s call
enticing ocean waves?
And all I want
is to burn in your flame.

Aztec Warrior 10.12.15*  


https://soundcloud.com/user-520857625/audiorecording
Aztec Warrior Jun 2015
POEM 7

The Quetzal dive bombed
the playful Leopard,
who only wanted to bask
in her sun
while listening to the
jungle’s waterfall symphonic
memories of Blue Orchid,
aromatic visions.

He meant her no harm.

Aztec Warrior 6.13.15
Aztec Warrior Oct 2015
THE TASTE OF SYNONYM*


The odor of stale beer danced
with the steel blue smoke,
while Ska beats filled the air
with electricity.

As the room filled,
a thousand words spoke
all at once, loudly,
making it seem like a small riot.
Amidst the noise of confusion
and polemical anticipation,
I saw you stare.

You came at me with tight jeans,
a feminine sway,
and a slightly ruby smile.

You came at me
like an afternoon thunder storm
with lips tasting of cinnamon- synonyms
and dark brown eyes.

But it was in the symmetry of nuance
and the way you nestled easily
within the folds of my arms;
the way faded jeans and
oft washed flannel shirt
felt like home.

It was in the symmetry of morning delights,
of your creamy antonyms
melting on my tongue, that inspired
as I  explored your perfumed valleys,
roamed your mountain tips.

And I went to you in simile,
with a smile that said:
I walk no longer in shadow,
but in the moonlight of your eyes.

I went to you
with Neruda on my lips
and Enigma as my guide,
singing the Blues in Haiku tones,
painted as inquisitive whys.

I came at you
with poetry in my heart
and your synonymous taste on my lips.

I came at you
like gentle summer sips
of sonnet-flavored rain.

You came at me in synonyms;
and I replied  with cinnamon and rhyme:
come, speak to me of time,
art,
and the rhythm of the night sky.
                                                            ­          
Aztec Warrior

https://soundcloud.com/user-520857625/the-taste-of-synonym
Aztec Warrior Oct 2015
A JOURNEY**

The night-stone, carefully placed
in the small bear skin pouch,
discusses drum beats with
amulets, charms, powders and
even a small wren’s yellow puff feather.
All creating within the power
of his ancestral soul.
This small obsidian,
chipped and flaked smooth stone
held along its edges the
blood of the animals
sacrificed to keep him alive;
giving him their spirits,
their views on how the Mother evolved
as well as their precious
shapes as he passed
from one world to the next.
His bag was rich medicine
and served him well.
~~~
He stood looking over
a vast valley plain
and could hear the stream
wrinkle smooth the rocks
as its mountain waters
continuously flowed.
He could see the honey bee
making love to the poppies
and clovers as well as
the sweet daffodils.
He could taste the pine needles
dance on the musky,
early morning soil after they
were awakened by squirrels
looking for a game of tag.
And he could feel lightly
the sway of Oak trees
moving slightly by the notes two hawks sung
circling, whispering, hypnotizing
their wary prey.
~~~
Looking out over this
green smelling plain
he could feel the vision swell,
as guided by this trance
he searched his pouch for
the blood star he had captured
one spring day while
riding the back of old Turtle.
Looking out over this
amber hazed horizon
he felt himself walking
talking with Grandfather
asking the meaning of rain,
wind and snow that carried him
gently to Big Mountain.
“Grand Father,
where is the beauty?
Where is the peace
above and below us?
Grand Father,
why are we still blind
to the wolf’s howl
and the cawing of the crow”
~~~
Standing atop Big Mountain,
holding in his left hand
the red star cloth
he begins his journey.
“Grand Father, let the wind beat
this drum of resistance
that is our human essence;
let the rain soak our hearts
cleansing us worthy to find
the path of snow and its soothing
warmth to make the Earth whole.
Grand Father, I only know
Babylon must fall.And this crimson star,
dripping with the people’s tears
can lead us back to the heights
of Big Mountain;
to the beauty and peace
above and below;
to our long lost whale songs
sung by the night sky
and seen in our children’s eyes.”
Carefully placing the medicine bag
around his neck,
holding it and smiling,
he takes the first steps..

Aztec Warrior
Aztec Warrior Oct 2015
Music Liberation*

Staring out the window,
listening to morning colors
mingling among the last of night's hold,
I wander through this song of
stardust memories.

I hear it calling in notes that
ride tight G clef
of 6/8 time, then
syncopate into a be-bop dip,
laughing through the pulsing lips
and swaying hips
of a jazz playing quasar.

Meandering through this beating
blue noise haze
I hear you softly say:
"In the spirit of pulsar improvisation
let our wild, unfettered imagination
create a world littered with
musical reverberation.

In an earth cleansing,
blues chasing human beat,
let us hasten each step,
until our world has been won."

Aztec Warrior
(written several years ago

https://soundcloud.com/user-520857625/audio-recording-music
Aztec Warrior Oct 2015
LISTENING

Poetry is so strange;
like a stiletto sharp moon
it shines our hearts
with midnight wonders.
And, by its glow I read,
"our deep cosmic loneliness
and our starboard hearts
where love careens,
we are listening,
the small bipeds
with the giant dreams."


Yes D.A., we are listening
to the pulsar songs
played in the universe.
We are listening
for others,
who just may be listening for us.

Seduction is like this you know;
subtle, uncertain,
even fragile at times;
yet irresistable as Lilacs
beckoning the moon.
Seduction is also a
summer down pour
we willingly get caught in,
jumping greedily
in puddles,
laughing,
just happy to be together.
We listen to the patterns
water splashing made;
listen for others
to hear what they have to say,
even if they were many galaxies away.

*
We listen.
We wait, but not idly.
We listen, write poetry
sharp, like a stiletto moon.
And, under its midnight glow,
hold hands.


NOTE: the bold quoted lines are from a
poem called "We Are Listening", by
Diane Ackerman found in her book
entitled "Jaguar of Sweet Laughter".


*Aztec Warrior
Aztec Warrior Oct 2015
POEM 74
A Voice And Colors


did you know
there are colors
in her voice?
not just your normal hues,
but sequined shades
that hypnotize within your heart
as she speaks,
and you are pulled under a magical spell.
there are subtle shades
of reds, greens, yellows,
even blues
that as of yet
have no names
but shine like imagination.
they twinkle,
then shift
drawing you closer to listen
as she sings you
a siren’s enchanting poem.

and my heart starts beating.

Aztec Warrior 10.18.15
some explanation...  some, write about love with wonderful "imagination", an imaginary love, even if not directed to anyone in particular... this poem is a dedication to that wonderful imagination and imaginary love and to her voice that sings about it... hope you enjoy.
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