///

It is very easy to bear a child
when you are a good parent or not

It is also not too tough to write some words
when you are a good poet or not

But it is too tough for a parent to grow up   
their child as being a real man

As it is too tough for a poet to make
a meaningful poem with those words

Though either you are a very good parent
or a very good poet

///
@ Musfiq us shaleheen

you were laid up in guadalupita
with camelia la tajena from la junta
and her tonto from la plata-
hiho-yo

shootin' tequila with pancho villa
jefe of the bandidos mc locos
- tweakin and twerkin chicas and cholos
and vatos ridin' with the vagos -

they were singing -

"con cuerno de chivo y bazooka en la nuca
volando cabezas a quien se atraviesa
somos sanguinarios, locos bien ondeados
- nos gusta matar"

you were kickin - breathing quickened
- bravo television tunnel visioned
to the tonto/pancho episode
en camera - exposed

pronto - camelia shot her tonto
dead - a perfect rose upon his head -
i like killin - she said

hiho-yo, tonto

we sang narcocorridos
all night long -

on the blue mesa.

r ~ 10/25/14

 *song excerpt from:
"Sanguinarios del M1” (Bloodthirsty Men of the M1)” (2010)
"Translation: "With “goat’s horn” (AK-47) and bazooka at our necks/Sending heads flying if anyone tries anything/We’re bloodthirsty, crazies deep in the scene/We enjoy killing..."

You need to reach out
- that's what I was told

I confided in a number of people

Sat across a lot of wise spectacles
Sympathetic coffees
Blank invites
Dispassionate loves

You need medication
- that's what I was told

I popped a number of pills

Over months,
White, long
Yellow, small
A number of nights
Crazy eyes,
Erratic behaviour
Strange moodswings

You need a change of scenery
- That's what I was told

Miles and miles of sand
A sea extending into the sky
My heart became the feather
That landed on waves
And sank
Far below
The understanding of humanity

Went to the hills
Stream flowing by
Which iced over at night
Bare apple orchards
Green and stone
Woke up at 4 AM
From where I stood,
I couldn't see the sunrise

My spirits
Shattered and fell
Along with some rocks
Off the cliff's sheer face
As I ended up
On my hands and knees


You need to meditate
- that's what I was told

Pure silence at 4 AM

That's what I woke up to
And I sat for an hour everyday
Trying to focus on
The "om" I was told about
With the last echo
I was left bereft of purpose
Vision and energy
I couldn't move on
With the day

She counts the moments
In sighs and shudders
And sings his wonders in the wide and wanting spaces
At the centre of her soul.

She loses herself
In the world between the words
And hides his shy confessions
In the shadow of her secret self.

I searched for meaning
In religion and philosophy.
Taking on gods and
Prophets.

Gained some wisdom, but
Ended up confused more than
Enlightened.
Lost the little firm footing
I had.

I searched in arts and music.
Interprating. Analyzing.
Enjoying and disliking.
Expressing and being
Alternative. Original.
Outside the box.

All I gained was an unhealthy
Love of wine.
Less meaning than I
Began with.
Some pretentious friends.
More confusion than ever.

So I stopped searching.
Stopped chasing.
Stood still drawing fresh,
Crisp morning air into
My lungs, then felt it travel
To my soul.

I closed my eyes and heard
Her heartbeat through her
Naked chest; her collar bone
Against my temple.
Attuned my own to hers.
Dancing. Still.
Dancing. Still.
Dancing. Still.

Everyday magic.
Adventure within trivialities.
Dirt on the knees of my new
Jeans from recieving a hug from
A five-year-old.

Seeing pride in the eyes of my
Parents from a distance.
Unretainable love
And lust in the eyes of
My woman on a Tuesday afternoon.  
No special occation at all.
Just here,
Now.
Us.

No need to struggle.
To search.
To run after anything.
Just relax. Observe. Appreciate.
Love. Long for, then
Enjoy.

Nothing is without reason.
There's meaning in  
Everything you sense,
Everywhere you are;

You.

---------------------------------------------------------
*"I know enough to know I don't know enough."
I blinked and looked at the floor.
Were the rumors true?
What could this mean?

My nerves were oddly settled as he handed me my tea.
This tea had a fragrance so familiar, yet so.. exotic.
I couldn't quite place it... The steam rising from it was.. hypnotic.

"What do you know, Lazarus?"
I asked after a moment of silence.

"This child is a key, of sorts. He knows yet not of his power.
Some figure him to be the fountain of youth incarnate.
Others wish for him to be a clairvoyant seer, mailable unto their ends.
I'm not certain, but I've had dreams of this child since I was but a boy."

Lazarus paused and ran his fingers through his beard.
He sighed an unsettled sigh, heavy with burden.

"We set out tomorrow to find his family.
We must ensure that he fulfills his destiny,
whatever that may be.
We must be careful, though.
There is sure to be a terrible darkness seeking this child as well."

The most uncommonly heroic
goes by the name

common man.

I am on a journey  
and where it leads, I do not know
the bends and twists within my soul
leave my words and deeds feeling hollow

Am I the man I reflect
or a monster laying in wait
conflicting reports have come
and the doubt never abates

I try so hard to
be the best I know how to be
childish remnants stripped away
I'm left to navigate these canals of misery

Am I victim or villain
a product of an earlier fate
or is that just an excuse to unleash the demons
and become the thing  I truly hate

this battle never ends....

Low and wide
against the tide

A partisan -
a part of him
un - fascistionable

Poppa's boat -
- Pablo's mujer

Pilar -
for us her story
well told

- For whom
the bell tolls.

r ~ 10/19/14

If you enjoy something creative,
set out to do it.
Don't just live vicariously,
gain some skills.

If you fear failure,
you fear opportunity.
If you embrace imperfection,
nothing can stop you.

Do what you love.
Love what you do.
Anything shy of that
isn't worth your while.

She is a tress of hair out of place,
combed in slow sweeps from my forehead.
I thought her an enigma to perchance unravel
by the press of well-paired lips
or by a mind besotted with moon glow
and Grenache wine;
one wicked with wisdom.

Saccharine words stirred into woody coffee,
I, Whitman, imagine her
the chill of Robert Frost
clung like sugar grains to my Leaves of Grass.

Almandine eyes of the nine Mousai
revved up by unbridled inventiveness…
I twinge too much to hold it inside,
she triumphs beyond the rim of her vessel,
so our ache and exultation
steal past the musing sentinel of apprehension;
and leap from once dormant imagination
into spirit shadows and splendid motifs.

She is a stranger to all,
but to those whom she whispers as lover.
We, two strangers of sun and moon,
curl nubile into night
to take our nuptials at dawn.

One hundred million miles and
one earth between us;
now bound as one, we pull the tides
into an unexpected tempest in my heart;
a tender act of indiscretion
undoing a tame, near tepid, bearing.

Thus muse and artist
feast upon the provender of providence
and all delectable in between them.

Perhaps I'm encased in a box
made out of two-way glass.
A biased one-way mirror...
Mutual vision doesn't meet nor pass.
When you look at me,
you only see,
yourself for all that you care...
Me? Just a faint suggestion that I'm even there.
   Maybe that's why...
      you ask about my life,
      about my strife.
      When I'm about to unload my
      head,
      I end up having to hear about yours
      instead.

Perhaps at times I travel around
in a bubble of frosted glass.
Only a blurred version of me...
Clumsily ploughing through the mass.
Incoherent, misunderstood and unclear.
Unintelligible muffles of hopes and fear.
   Maybe that's why...
      My words are just perceived as
      playful rhymes.
      Never keeping up with the times.
      Words regurgitated but no one
      realises what's coming undone...

Perhaps what I need
is an armour of bulletproof glass.
One of unique quality...
One ahead of its class.
You can do and say what you want.
A shell that would bear most of the brunt.
     I'll be impervious.
          I'll be protected.
               I can be indifferent.
                    I can be jaded.
   Maybe that's all I need...
           A shocking stunt.
                 A fresh perspective.
                      A new plan.
                           Revised objectives.
   Maybe a different name to start all
   over...
      To tie the binds and thoughts that
      scatter...
      Hoping of holding everything
      together...

Come morning, all will be
      forgotten...
Maybe I'd still be beaten.

   So for a chance that's,
     fat as hell
           or
     thin just a sliver...
Truth is of the three, I have neither...
So...

    *what I've said doesn't really matter.