his golden chariot climbs high
pulled by four fiery steeds
his corona ablaze
shining and radiant
bringing light and warmth
to a mundane world
rising in the east
setting in the west
from horizon to horizon
for eternity
his only respite
was resting inside a golden cup
catching the red eye back east
via Oceanus
to start the day again

a solemn, solitary figure
dedicated to daily duty
Zephyr felt pity for him
she whispered a sweet perfume
that struck him like Eros’ arrow
his eyes followed his nose
he spied a maiden so fair
frolicking amidst flora and fauna
a wreath of yarrow crowning her hair
Helios had never taken notice
of mortals before
but found her beguiling
an innocent, unassuming hottie
so unlike the haughty goddesses
he left his chariot
to pursue her visage
the earth plunged into cold darkness
as mighty Atlas moved his shoulders
trying to see what was the matter
the earth quaked
humans shrieked in fear
“The gods have forsaken us!”

Zeus heard the commotion
and looked down from Olympus
he found Helios gazing upon his lady
entranced as if by Sirens’ call
unaware of the darkness
entrenching earth
enraged, Zeus hurled a lightning bolt
temporarily blinding Helios
shaking him from his stupor
Helios blushed with shame
for his dereliction of duty
creating the first red sunset
as he climbed back into his chariot
in a pre-emptive strike
a preventive measure
Zeus erased Helios’ memory
and first froze the girl in a block of ice
but took pity on her
and transformed her into a cloud
to the delight of humans
Helios resumed his duties
oblivious to the eclipse of his memory
but somehow feeling strangely at loss

to this day
every now and then
on the rarest of occasions
he would glimpse a peculiar icy cloud
dancing before him
uncertain as to why he would notice
one cloud from so many
he would just smile brightly
and carry on

life’s slippery slopeyness
keeping us on edge
moving forward
avoiding Sisyphus’ fate
preparation is paramount
educating ourselves
for proper execution
of meaningful moments
discovery and discernment
stoking passion’s fire
fear of failure and
mediocrity’s nothingness
quieting doubting demon epaulettes
turning our mind’s soil
to aerate our roots
fomenting growth
with no need to impress
others or self
or even think in those terms
exploiting one’s own personal
weaknesses and strengths with
grace sanding smooth
rough passages
today’s deferment is
tomorrow’s regret
posture your head high
with joyous eyebrows
feeling alive
appreciating the privilege
of the fruit of your passion

there are days when
the sun seems out of place
setting in the north
you don't know
what you need or want
and don't go looking for it

still, fate happens
an unexpected encounter
a bar, a club
a restaurant or church
the market parking lot
the office elevator
a coffeehouse

a meeting of eyes
a glint of sunshine
or lighting
a sweet perfume
an accidental touch
an unsolicited opinion

a want for company
and social connection
a need for intimacy
and softness
a gushing of blood
running on instincts

small talk conversations
a tentative trust
in this age of
STD's and AIDS

the door is closed
lights off (or on)
no clothing not optional
protection a must

the warmth of skin
the heat of passions
the sweat of effort
the grunts of climaxes
uttered or unuttered
smiling, thankful eyes
calming a beating heart
with deep breaths
caresses and stillness

no commitment or strings
a confluence of souls
a fork in the river
a parting of ways
call it maturity
call it immoral
or sinful
call it one and done
written in the vaults
of heaven

(tales of my mamasita)

after breakfast
father would tend his tuba
father and mother
would then forage the farm for
cassava, sweet potatoes, green bananas
tarot roots and fruits
sometimes harvesting enough
for two days
while mother prepared lunch
father would fish for viand with
his fishing net
going to the far side
of our part of the island
or staying not far from the house
sometimes big brother and little brother
would go with him
to carry large baskets for catch
father was an artist with
his fishing net
circular and hand knotted
lead pieces sewn to the rim
his fishing net
was carried folded over his shoulder
the tip held in front of him
the heavy weighted part hanging behind
eyes shaded with hands
he searched for schools near the shore
in the clear turquoise
putting it down on powdery dry sand
his fishing net
was supported on his forearm
grabbing another part with his free hand
he would turn and fling
his fishing net
over the blueness
seemingly effortlessly
arms stretched skyward
his fishing net
would expand in mid-air
arcing like a geodesic dome
hovering like a frisbee
floating down to the water
in slow motion
finally sinking into sea
father would wade waist deep
stir the fish with his hand
then haul
his fishing net
full of  mullets and other small fish
we would feast for lunch and dinner
with a plentiful catch both
father and mother
would scale and clean
sun dried, smoked or salted
preserved for tomorrows
everything was cleaned up
and put away after lunch
siesta time
afterwards, mother would
do her pottery
fix the tree bark for father’s tuba
or repair
his fishing net
using a tatting device
father and mother
always kept themselves busy
never whiling away the time
till dark

I can’t remember Spring
can’t remember a cold May morning
with overcast skies
in the land of endless summer
roses bloomed in winter
guavas ripened in February
but I haven‘t heard the wrens
chirping and twittering
since we cut down the lemon tree
or the mocking birds
that used to nest there
seasons still turn
in changing climate’s confusion
but where have the blue jays
and butterflies gone?
the banana tree still grows
the native sweet potatoes spread
but it seems there were always flowers
and I miss the scent of night jasmine
the gardens have withered and browned
without her tender care

awakened early this morning
too early
sat on the edge of my bed
and fell back asleep
sitting hunched over
wearing my glasses
as if I were staring at the floor
I entered dream's state
saw my mother’s feet
standing on the floor before me
as I looked down
she was wearing red, silver and blue
shiny, glittery high heeled shoes
a dream within a dream
I was a little boy
fallen asleep sitting on the floor
next to the dining room table
can’t remember the furniture
we had in childhood
but this was someone else’s house
I saw her feet standing before me
tapping her left foot
with those red, silver and blue high heels
tap tap tap tap tap...
I awakened, in life, and laid back down to sleep
one or two years before she passed
she asked me to buy her a pair of shoes
picked from a junk mail catalog
open toe with blue and red leather straps
latticed loosely across the front
and solid natural wood high heels
as kids we called them “samba shoes”
she loved them
but hid them from me for awhile
before admitting they were too small
I guess she got to wear them
after all

got back in bed this morning
to visualize a healthier me
running on the beach
splashing in the froth
like a chariot of fire
the song playing in my mind's ear
but my image maker wasn't working
I lacked control
out of body and out to sea
the ocean's table glistening
I came across a sole blue whale
his back's expanse above water
eyes just below surface
he approached me slowly
without threat or fear
we held eye contact for a moment
a melding of minds
a baring of souls
in silent conversation
intense black irises told me
he was lonely
I thought he wanted
to speak of his plight
his species' endangerment
ecology's pollution
his journey's migration
seeking food and warmer waters
instead, he was looking at me
discerning my life
and mankind in general
wondering if everything
will be all right

sitting in seclusion
on early morning's beach
with a friend
eating potato chips
talkin' 'bout life
he was jobless
I was playin' hooky
a gray sky hovered
cool winter breezes blew
for some reason
he thought his pain
was greater than others'
but he wouldn't talk about it
the chips were salty
seagulls screeched and cawed
the ocean crashed
life went on
but not for him

still down but uplifted
fortified by friends, family
and friends of family
touching my heart with their prayers
with hands clasped
or palms up in supplication
or fingers tapping keyboards
spoken or unspoken
your words to God's ears
my frustrations alleviated
through your kind thoughtfulness
my spirit roused by your intentions
as I lay in bed this morning
moved by your kindness
I lifted my hands in praise and thanks
they tingled with grace and vibes
a manifestation of your love
good feelings overcame my moodiness
my mind reset on healing's path

friends come and go
loved ones pass
fruit is seasonal
jobs not vocation
my hands have steered
four steering wheels
clothes and shoes wear
houses have termites
I can't find my hammer
estates are contested
health is for the healthy
art is opinion
gain and loss
equate peak and valley
with flatline meridian
happiness and challenges
are temporal
like grains of sand
sifting between toes
life is sweat
sweat is good
through everything
I keep the faith
hold onto hope
and work on my dreams

(C) 03/31/15

the waters gathered
as oceans parted ways
revealing the dry ground
tectonic confrontations pushed
mountains awakened
with a stretch and a yawn
their opened mouths
echoing the call
of hidden treasures

(for Barbara M.)

crisp crystal skies
bring out the smiles in your eyes
the warmth of your embrace
holds my heart
somewhere between dreams
deep within love’s wounds
my joy came back
my happiness

in midnight’s lust
you’re the one I trust
to love me so tenderly
filling my emptiness
keeping me safe
and unafraid
somewhere between dreams
deep within love’s wounds
you came into my life

cuddling with a kind, strong man
on a wintry secluded beach
wrapped in love’s blanket
there’s only you and me
gazing into deep blue sea
somewhere between dreams
through the wounds of my heart
my happiness dared to ask
a cry in my wilderness
calling out to be heard
and the answer that came back
was you

so hard to see the heavens
beneath the city lights
their brightness and the city air
restrict the pupils' sight

still, sky gazing intrigues me
the moon, the stars, the planets
the texture of their distances
the colors of their fire

once, after a windy day
strong gusts blustering constantly
I looked up into midnight's velvet
unveiled from pollution's filter

so many stars up in my eyes
sheer numbers I'd never witnessed
as I watched in wonderment
drinking in the multitude

a streak of light cut through the film
the slightest, sharpest nick
a streak of light swept through my mind
so fine, so white, so quick

first shooting star I'd ever seen
I reveled in delight
standing agape I made a wish
upon this glorious sight

she holds her candle high
this tabletop winged statue
this angel of light
lit only at Christmastime
her votive casts two flames
in a tapered, thick walled, coke-bottle-like holder
bright symbiotic beings dancing in tandem
to delightful ying and yang choreography
two flames moving as one
only close inspection reveals
one as actual
the other an image reflected on glass
still, her candle is a two-fer
two flames for the price of one
two tongues of light
speaking in reverence and reflection
in remembrance and honor
like two spirits inseparable
connected beyond time and space
forever

(for Barbara M.)

how do you say goodbye
to someone already gone
looking back with tired eyes
holding on to past lies
let hurt fade like roses
set heartache to wind

wishes made on shooting stars
dreams never meant to be
sad songs played on old guitars
still sing in my closed eyes
memories of you and me
we never said our goodbyes

wrapped up tight like a cocoon
a stone within my heart
reach deep inside and let it go
a butterfly's new wings
hold it high and make a wish
like dandelions to wind

night presents herself
stars are lighting up the sky
the ocean is black
still darkness speaks quietly
whispering across the bay

seasons cycle forth
leaves are changing their color
big yellow fruit fall
guavas are early this year
they probably miss her too

an easterly wind
blows down into the basin
heat of compression
warming up the desert floor
stirring up the night's passion

her eyes taped closed
to keep them from drying out
IV’s and NG’s going in
tubes draining
ventilators and blood pressure machines
so many tubes keeping her stable
so many tubes
can a person become a shell?
I can still see her

end of life support procedures
morphine drip to make her “comfortable”
gradient decrease in blood pressure maintenance
drifting off to eternal sleep

an impromptu improvised ritual
a heartfelt prayer
a hands on circle of family
touching her
a rosary’s recital

said my goodbyes earlier
I understand it was best to let her go
but couldn't stay to watch her last breath
after Dad and Tops
thought I’d be more prepared
thought I was all cried out

white roses and Jacob's Coat
purple bearded irises and ferns
dark red wax begonias
scents of night jasmine
French lavender
antique tea roses
loquat, plum, guava and lemon trees
all swaying with an ocean breeze
casting shadows in the setting sun

memories of childhood
bamboo and nipa houses
coconut groves and fragrant banana
witches, faeries and wok-woks
a favorite white haired grandfather
living off land and sea
harvesting root crops and fruit
fishing for viand
barefoot and ******* sarongs
in a private paradise miles from town
bonfire festivities
tuba wine and drunken salamats
an open adoption
a house tiled with affluence
and visits back home
a war's interruption
people lost or found
married off to life in America
lumpia, pancit, beefsteak and beeco
spaghetti, burgers, *** roast and pizza
dinner's table set for eleven
the house on Wagner street
the loss of husband and son
advancing age and declining health
ER's and ICU's
a final farewell

a garden of children
grand children and great grand children
branches in Lala's family tree
her progeny sprouting roots
looking to the future

had a picture of dad on my nightstand
it fell not too long ago
but landed upright
atop his shoe shine box that I kept
its new position not precarious
I let it stay there
thought it was kinda fitting
a picture from his older years
taken in the kitchen
looking up into the camera
from the task at hand
peeling boiled potatoes
for potato salad
my potato peelin' pop
morning sun shine spot lights that picture
warm, smiling, reassuring

mom's back in ICU now
transferred to rehab with high hopes
bleeding, unresponsive
cardiac arrest en route back to ER
x-rays, CT scans
transfusions, blood draws, ventilator
endoscopy?
colonoscopy?
dialysis?
quality of life questions
the more I watch her
the more I wonder

How I wish pop could tell us what to do

(tales of my mamasita cont.)

lambayong grew wild on the roadside
a vine like any other
large hand sized leaves grew singly
never in bunches
although lush and green
it was taken for granted
lambayong lay largely left alone
ignored and all but forgotten

my friends and I jumped rope
on the street by the big house
there was always a noisy gaggle
of 4 or 5 jumpers
just out having fun
a long vine stripped of leaves and branches
made a great rope
one day a young passerby asked
if she could join us
we had never seen her before
but gladly let her jump in
for some reason she got mad at me
grabbed the vine, doubled it
and lashed me hard
she was about to hit me again
I reached out and caught the vine
wound it around my hand
and lashed back at her
she ran away sobbing and wailing
we never saw her again
and never found out who she was

during the Japanese occupation
not everyone evacuated like we did
a lovely family from Cebu stayed in town
one daughter was my fourth grade classmate
a beautiful mestiza with fair skin
and loose wavy hair
but we were never friends
just classmates
her family’s affluence was well known
father was a doctor and land owner
jealous lips whispered lies
“the family is supporting guerrillas”
denials fell on closed ears
perhaps willfully lost in translation
lack of evidence didn’t matter
there was an example to be made
brutality’s lesson to be taught
the entire family was beheaded
down to the four year old

Isabel was my best friend
we found each other before the war
I had many neighborhood friends
but Sabel was the only one welcome
to play in the big house
she had both parents
a big sister and brother
a younger brother
they lived in their own
nipa and bamboo house
stilted high from the ground
a beautiful girl with a dark complexion
long black ***** hair fell
in ringlets onto her forehead
we would bathe together
singing together in the bathroom
one kind uncle had his own wing
in the big house
he built me a sturdy swing for two
hung from the ceiling
big strong ropes held a wide wooden seat
Sabel and I would swing away together
sometimes upside down
like a couple of crazy monkeys
we would go up and down the stairs
arms over shoulders
forever singing songs
sometimes her family invited me to lunch
but she never had a meal with us
in the big house
her parents managed to support their family
mother provided laundry service
for the affluent in town
including my family
father traded goods
their life seemed happy and harmonious
after the war
my family returned to Carigara
don’t know what happened to them
I never saw Sabel again
but I never forgot her

dark clouds blowing in
rolling with ocean's westerly wind
large gradient gray splotches
randomly dispersed by natures asymmetry
sunlight filtering lightly
through a background of confusion
an afternoon's surprise
soft, steady showers
hardly offsetting 40 days and 40 nights
of Winter and Spring drought
but still inspiring happy dances
walks with umbrellas
and ice cream cones
in the fresh scent of sea air
and the mustiness of Summer rain

if GOD is truly everywhere
and everything
then death is not a going home
nor a return to the DIVINE
although life leaves the body
and ashes turn to dust
essence remains
transitioning to the realization of
DIVINE omnipresence
you were never apart from GOD
and could never find a place
where HE is not
if you believe your dearly departed
is with GOD
then just look around you
GOD is everywhere

he died at home
an early morning 911
pronounced him dead
police ruled out foul play
his recent medical history
avoided autopsy

through shock, numbness and tears
she finally fell asleep that night
sitting in a kitchen chair
laying her head to rest
on the table
her daughter came next day
to clean the room
make it livable
she mentioned a certain smell
her daughter didn’t notice it

later that night she went into the room
with a freshening fragrance
to her surprise
although it hadn’t worked in years
the ceiling fan was on
the room cool and odorless
was he present?
and thinking of her?
she laid down to rest
in reassurance’s comfort
and cried herself to sleep
thinking of him

hunger has me now
gurgling gastric grumbling
my stomach speaks loud
drowning out the yearning sounds
in my silent empty heart

our part of Guintarcan
where family and relatives resided
was called, Li-og Li-og 1
a very large boulder at area’s end
resembled a disembodied head
lending the name, “small neck” 1

before the war
a peaceful private paradise
miles from town
beautiful birds
coconut trees
all sorts of seaside foliage

young married women
walked barefoot and *******
wearing only a sarong
wound at the waist
they carried round, flat baskets
atop their heads
full of food and other things

early morning, noon or just before dusk
men would be out fishing with nets
sometimes signaling each other
by blowing into conch shells
Father would come home with large conch
baby conch called bucawil
scallops and oysters in their season
he kept a jar of large black pearls
and small white ones

harvest time gathered us all together
Father would go fishing
to bring home a good catch
Mother, aunts and Grandmother
would prepare the treats
sweet potato, cassava and other goodies
men would bring chicken
and pigs to roast
and plenty of tuba to drink

they would build a big bonfire
by the shore
to light up the festivities
women would roast newly harvested palay 2
men would take turns pounding it
in a large mortar and pestal
starting slow then faster and faster
till they had to rest
and let someone else take over
onlookers cheered them
hooting and clapping
it would get so noisy
as the children watched in awe

after the pounding the women took over
shaking and shaking palay in flat oval baskets
tossing husks to wind with movements like artwork
what remained was placed in earthenware bowls
for all to enjoy this delicious 'pilipig'

singing and dancing into night
revelers went home drunk and happy
supporting each other as they staggered
waving goodbye to host and hostess
with a heartfelt and hardy
“Salamat!”


2 - rice with husks

I was allowed to visit back home
whenever he wanted me to
adoption’s only condition
agreed to by Mama Julia

when I was about seven years old
Father and my older sister Coring
arrived unannounced
traveling in a boat he made himself
bringing gifts of large dried fish
small salted fish
green edible seaweed called, “latu”
and ceramic pots made by Mother

Father had never been to Carigara
but found the house with no trouble
everyone knew the Tranis
they directed him to the big house
called, “Tiha”
three stories
a tiled terracotta roof
coconut trees
sweet, fragrant yellow bananas
Mama Julia was away in Manila
old folks hesitated in her absence
fearing Father might keep me
they asked that he leave my older sister
to ensure my return
Father agreed

a very old friend accompanied Father
to sell her handmade pottery
very friendly
with messy white hair
and only one front tooth
her name was Reyang
they spent the night at Tiha
planning to leave early with me
but Apoy Reyang got drunk
from the tuba* Father brought
she went out into the street
walking and talking to herself
my friends told me later they liked the old lady
speaking wildly like a witch
we feared stories of bad witches
who snatched little kids
but no one ever actually saw one
so they were glad to see
a real live old witch
who wasn’t scary at all
they thought she was my grandma
actually envying me
for the nice witch in my family

Father built a mast in the middle of his banca
outriggers on both sides
were made of bamboo poles
lashed together with rope
sailing back to Guintarcan
he brought food to snack on
when wind stirred
Father raised sail
to make the boat go faster
when it was calm
he wrapped the sail on the mast
and used the paddle
I liked it when Father asked me
to hold something for him
but he spoke in a Samar dialect
when he realized I couldn’t understand him
he rephrased it the Carigara way

a perfect day
sea was calm
sky cloudless
I reached down to feel the cool, clear water
rush against my open hand
when the boat was moving faster
increased pressure on my palm was pleasing
I was happy and excited for the chance
to visit with family
but this adventure’s biggest thrill was simply:
my Father came for me


*coconut wine

he adorns the dawn
and brightens the earth
basking us in ultraviolet
he warmly coaxes a reassurance
in the promise of a new day
he brings sunlight to the world
so eyes can see
and he never stops giving
at day’s end he colors the sunsets
relinquishing sky to moon

she casts dreams in shades of silver
her phases waxing and waning
in quarters of human understanding
freedom of the leash
gives her leeway to appear in daytime
or blackout in the night
but her path is mapped in almanacs
her cycle set in cement
even scripture says the earth will continue
as long as the moon shines

clouds can cover him
but the sky is ever present
beyond the gloom and teariness
he is a fixture of blue
and truest blue the day after the storm
cerulean by day
he holds the air we breath
the color of midnight keeps the stars
an infinity pool with no end
a depth unperceptible to naked eyes

she holds the sky’s horizon
along her ultramarine mesa
day and night
she crashes every beach party
with her rolling hula hands
thundering onto sand
her swells rising and rippling
with her music’s ebb and flow
no one has ever seen the ocean stop
even when she’s standing still

daily sun
nightly moon
endless, ever present sky
ocean’s perpetual motion
nature runs like clockwork
why are people so unreliable?

beach’s brightness and heat
soothe weary skin and bones
so good to feel warmth upon shoulders
and sand between toes
reminiscing in familiar scents
of cool salty breezes
and warm sun tan lotions
shaded eyes swimming in clean ocean’s blueness
witnessing waves’ wonder
as a wet world walks onto a dry one
so many people seeking refuge
in rest and recreation
so many voices volleying beach *****
and tossing frisbees
so many feet leaving 1,000,000 footprints
rendered shapeless in loose grains
casting shadows in cups of sand
as day wanes and crowds disperse
curiosity ponders this micro desert of mini dunes
who has walked here through the eons?
who walks here still?
the setting sun shimmers on the sea
sparkling upon 1,000,000 crests
surface tension of the ocean’s tableau
rippled by wind and gravity
driven by earth’s rotation
forming floating cups of golden iridescence
resembling footprints in the sand
moved by their beauty, curiosity ponders
did someone walk upon these waters?
does someone walk there still?

searching for meaning in muck’s mire
crawling on knees and elbows
in hills and valleys of gray matter
weeding through memories
turning them like mulch
refreshing the mind’s soil
nourishing a heart shrouded in fibrillation
a cool wind freezes time
and winds the clocks backward
he sees himself in past’s mirror
looking into his eyes
he finds a place of pensive calm
contemplating the stillness
he recalls uncomplicated beginnings
wafting in the smells of adolescence
waves crashing on the jetty
campfire on the beach
hot dogs cooked on wire hangers
barefoot midnight football on the sand with the girls
blowin’ a little **** in darkness’ solitude
an occasional airplane taking off overhead
drowning out discussion on a utopian society
endorphins heightening recollections
pre-adulthood times before mistakes and regrets
before the bad news grabbed the headlines
keeping discontentment’s seeds deep inside
sprouting an irregular heartbeat
he wonders how it could come to this
never had much growing up
doesn’t have much now
never thought much of himself
just living day to day
with garnishments on a part-time salary

(my great, great grandfather as told by my mamasita)

he came from Calbiga
with his Spanish nose
tropic’s warmth allowed him to wear
but a pair of shorts everyday
his shirtlessness revealed
smooth, supple, brown skin
thick shimmering white hair
the only clue to his age
without knife or razor
his fingers felt his face
and tweezered stubble
with a pair of empty clam shells
he slept on a pillow
of hard narrah wood
made smooth and shiny
by years of use
he built his nipa and bamboo house
by the shore
big, sturdy and strong
sheltered at cliff’s foot
it withstood every storm

high atop the cliff
a tree stood tall and huge
a prolific garden of crops and flowers
grew in the soft filtered light of its canopy
cane and banana relinquished skin
in strips scraped clean and sun dried
woven into harvest and fishing baskets
braided into fishing line
he cut down only what he needed
allowing the plants to thrive
long before sustainability was new

old folks said that tall and huge tree
was a faeries’ castle
tending pineapples growing beneath it
Apay Bectay heard a voice beckoning her
a sweet musical melody in the wind
“Bectay…Bectay…”
she peered upward to a vision so beguiling
a beautiful naked lady sitting high on a limb
her skin a pale, pale white
her face and smile radiant
she stroked her long golden hair
with a golden comb
as it flowed alive with the breeze
she appeared as a mermaid underwater
sitting in a sea of swaying green leaves
Apay Bectay ran home for fear of enchantment

one day, my ears followed a peaceful, playful tune
until I came upon Apoy Engo
by his front door post
improvising on a small yellow flute
he had carved by hand
a thin, foot long bamboo chute
harvested from a nearby grove

when the tide was high
you could always find him fishing
by the house, close to shore
rain or shine
as long as the sea was calm
sitting in his banca
slightly stooped
patiently awaiting a bite
for his viand
a woven sun shade hat
tied under his chin
a picture of serenity
accompanied by the soft lapping sea

wind was sweeping darkness
clouds cluttered the horizon
in all directions
encircling clear, midnight sky
foreshadowing the full moon
shiny, twinkly things beamed brightly
in pollution’s absence
mulberry, guava and palm
swayed in silhouette
dancing to wind chime songs
soft clacks, tinkles and bongs
fragrant breezes carried ocean
like a sweet smelling memory
gently stirring the stillness

Sunday was hot
bright lazy sunshine sizzled skin
cooled slightly by gentle breezes
animating soft shadows
warmly wafting ripe guava scents
skies of crisp crystal cerulean
a scattering of sweeping angel hair clouds
a half moon half smiling in the high afternoon
distant layered mountains display their looming majesty
long green grass awaits Wednesday's haircut
as Summer peeks through Spring
nothing left to want
but the sweet smell of salty seas
and you

dreamed I had five fingers on my left hand
that is, five fingers and a thumb
such a curious sight
sat looking at them, thinking
"What the heck is this?!!!"
turned away, then looked again
gave it my best little-rascals-big-eyed-blink
complete with the exaggerated head forward motion
even adjusted my glasses on my nose
still, five fingers and a thumb
decided to wiggle each one individually
just to see what would happen
to see if they all worked
to my surprise the two
next to the index finger
moved in tandem
my dream state couldn't understand it
and kept wiggling them
upon waking I understood immediately:
I had a ******* to give
...I like dreaming

I saw him soon after he died
on a shelf in the clouds
standing side by side
with at least four others
humanoid beings of soft white light
each emanating a moving wavy luminescence
distinct physical features indiscernible
but no introductions necessary
I knew it was him
he stepped slightly forward to address me
offering a greeting, accommodating hand gesture
although he spoke in an other tongue
the understanding was clear
seeping like osmosis from his mind to mine
he was reaching out from heaven to console us
to let us know he was all right
and at peace
was it a dream?
or a vision?
wishful thinking?
or truth?

ambience and warmth
elemental, mysterious, aglow
the scent of beeswax or fragrance
mesmerizing drips and puddles
a flame’s pin point
a keyhole in the darkness
opening to another plane
where memories breathe
and flicker within the light
like an old time frame by frame movie show
playing back the details in your mind’s eye
anniversaries commemorating lost loved ones
undiminished pain sheds yesterdays tears
in the stillness of your heart
churches light candles
symbolizing God’s presence
people light candles
in memory of loss
expressing the present tense
of their love

I understand their frustration
deal with it every day
sighs and exasperation on lips and faces
as I try to read their meaning
wish eyes could look into the glass and see
frustration mirrors
I try not to show it and keep my cool
there's just no point in getting mad...
can't blame anyone else
it's me
and the world I belong to
blessed be the copers
for patience facilitates understanding
blessed be those who won't try harder
...the ones who don't want to talk louder
...or don't want to write things down for me
for they have lives of their own
I understand their frustration
I experience the like everyday
but what's the point in going on with them
willingness is such a nice coat hook
a place for friendships to hang in there
but it's neither right nor realistic
to expect the world to conform to me
instead...I walk away and keep to my place

ebbing tides
muted shadows sketched in sand
a sculpted archive of footprints and wind
crashing ocean’s hypnotic slow motion
rolling onto the beach
rushing white froth washing forth and back
renewing the smoothness with salty scrubbing bubbles
the setting full moon shines bright
projecting her power’s peak
reflecting horizontal streaks of crackling blue electricity
rippling and running
riding atop the cresting waves
pounding surf as conduit
completing the circuit on shore
empowering the Ancients' resurrection
in the rising midnight mists
mirage-like vaporous images charge
clearly visible beneath her sweeping silvery veil
buckskin **** cloths, eagle claws and feathers
indigenous people stepping rhythmically in a circle
feint sounds of chanting and a drum-like heart beat
a dance for the ages
seeking favor and protection
rituals and ceremonies
keeping the wolves at bay
celebrating the crows’ return
or a bountiful harvest
as they have for millennia
when the moon falls over earth’s edge
the dancers dissipate
retreating like sand *****
awaiting the next full moon.

wish I could cry
and let the sadness pass
even just one warm teardrop
furtively rolling down my cheek
just one shudder
to release and relieve
but men don't do that

cool whistling winds softly whisper
mist and drizzle invite me
dark clouds cooperate
puddles begin to splash
as rain comes to my rescue
hiding me in plain sight

thought I knew loneliness
thought I knew the emptiness
of a heart hollowed out
scooped clean like a gourd
thought I knew the numbing pang
of solitude

her face in the sky
her whisper in the wind
mist and drizzle invite me
dark clouds cooperate
let it rain, let it rain

he's been on my mind lately
still pining for dad
like a child

so many years ago
they said life had gone from him
and even if they could revive him
he had no brain activity
they worked on him on the floor
the official place of death
and left him there for the police
no foul play found
they allowed us to lift his still warm body
onto dignity's bed
my brother had his feet and legs
I had his upper body
lifelessness' limpness surprised me
I almost dropped him as his head fell back
I sat down and a deep breath held my heartbeat
till a loud, slow heave depleted my lungs
I could hear the girls' huddled sobs from another room
a dark carriage came to carry him into dusk
I wanted to run after him
and touch him one more time
like a child

now and then he creeps into my dreams
I can feel the timbre of his voice
laugh at his idiosyncratic antics
reach a hand onto his shoulder
hold him in my memory
then wake up and say good bye
like a child

Del Maximo
© 07/30/13

Tony came out fighting hard for each breath
procedures and hospitals he endured
born an incredible child none-the-less
from him not one complaint was ever heard
taken too soon to the sweet here after
memories filling the hole left behind
a hero who faced his pain with laughter
giving his mom and sisters a hard time
the illuminating glow of his smile
riding four wheelers and fishing with dad
his pranking, teasing, giggling jokester style
cherishing the nineteen years that we had

a spirit for life some only dream of
feeling, forever, his presence and love

the ground shakes as she approaches
rotundly trudging forth in petite gentility
hairy arms flailing
nostrils flair with the bray of her speech
the odor of ignorance on her breath
lies spew like educated honey
expressed in sweet smelling
Snow White delusions
beady eyes the color of ignominy
assess mannerisms and etiquette
seeking softspots to expose and exploit
carrying a large plastic bag on her midnight meanders
she collects the load she lays on the road
she always keeps her **** together
she claims to be the life of the party
but her grunts, snorts and oinks betray her
who can she be but the beast?

they moved their family to a new place
a little ways out in the country
in a house by a lake
appreciating the serenity of still waters
mirroring the color of blue skies and fiery sunsets
rippling in soft, fragrant breezes

he plants a tree in their new place
the back *** digs deep
ensuring the branching of her roots
in rich, nourishing soil
close by the water
she will not wither or shy
from heat or drought
her green leaves providing shelter and shade
her heart bearing truckloads of fruit

they live happily there
in their house by a lake
built upon a foundation of rock
enjoying the peace that only God can give
flourishing in the abundance of living waters

they said he should submit this
make submissions and do readings
this is the way it’s been done
for many years
but he didn’t really want to
a couple of rejections left him weary
and he’s a writer not a performer

the contests say “all styles and subjects”
but surely they have criteria
not this one
not this one
this one
the all inclusiveness is a lie
the judges know what they want
he wished they’d be up front and specific
but it’s all about the entry fee
they pretend to be seeders
offering everyone a chance
to grow and bloom
but they’re actually weeders
quickly quashing poems
rubber stamped with doom
they never really stood a chance
because it’s all about the entry fee

“Don’t self publish”, they said
“You’ll regret it”
he did the design and layout anyway
“Can ‘we’ make changes to the cover?”
who the hell is “we”?
this is his book?
sure he wanted sales
that’s what publishing is about
but sink or swim
he wanted his book, his way
especially his first book
and he’s a stubborn *******

the internet is accommodating
this IT age makes it easier
the process has been long
with glitches and obstacles
doubt and procrastination
but the would be destination was worthy
available at amazon

not a morning person
she’s content to hide in leafy shadows
wildly overgrown purple and green vines
surround and ensnare her
beneath a canopy of pink antique tea roses

she stands inside a maple platform
designed and handcrafted with care
three asymmetrically positioned 2 by 4 risers raise her
about a foot off the ground
two golden plaster cherubs hover above her on either side
fine grayish wood grain, like carpenter’s fingerprints
peek out through faded cerulean backboards
a painted backdrop made translucent by exposure
fresh cut miniature roses in miniature vases
brighten the stage like foot lights
behind the platform, at the back of the cave
clumps of ferns intermittently reveal
mud swirls splashed on a mint colored wall
up front, a row of marigolds and strawberry plants
embank a retaining wall border
of cabana-like sculpted brick
glistening white quartz stream before her
like a river of rocks at her feet
completing the grotto

she comes alive as the afternoon sun
brings out the color in her cheeks
she steps out from the shadows
and stretches her arms out close by her sides
palms facing outward
fingers pointing down
as if something were emanating from her hands
while she blesses us with peaceful contemplation

sometimes I get lonely
in a world that can’t or won’t slow down
insulated by the angry walls I construct
isolated by the speed of things
voices speaking quickly
echoing the same words
in the exact same way
expecting different results
repetitions rudeness assumes, “You heard me!”

sounds and verbiage bouncing off walls
severing the links in concentration’s chain
classrooms, lecture halls and dinner parties
rendered like rumble in underground parking lots
pushing me into a hermit’s darkness
within a crowd of people
somedays the mountains call to me
and I want to go live in a cave
with no one to talk to but my echo

the buzz of memories ringing in my tinnitus
echoes from the past
a straight pin dropping
my old alarm clock’s siren
freeway traffic’s rush on the day
they yanked the tubes from my ears
first, third, fifth would have been so cool
instead, three dis-chord-ant tones reverberating in my head
constantly confuse my comprehension

echo is my frenemy
always close by
but laying in wait
like a shadow standing in the window

(3 persons in one Universe)

I.
retinas read with rods and cones
as eyes watch
but who sees?
fingertips discern with nerve endings
but whose ears feel fear of library lips?
noses detect an old factory
but who tastes the aroma of rice
cooking in the kitchen?
membranes entreat tympanic vibrations
but who hears the mischief of schoolyards,
playgrounds and wind chimes?
who smells the movement of white water
in blue skies?
who envies a feather’s flight
and a fire fly’s light?
who listens for the whip-poor-will’s cry
and the songs of ocean waves and seashells?
who longs for the softness of your flesh
and the sweet touch of your voice?
more than muscle and tendon,
tissue, bone and blood
every cell in my body reactive
in thoughtful, mindful ways
but who interprets it all?
who am I?
who is me?
who, who, who-whooo?


II.
in my mind I am the god
of existentialism
creator of my microcosm
winding my path my way
but the world is dichotomy
an intertwined double helix
circumstances and choices
road blocks and detours
trial and error
failure and success
life is navigation
community is whom I meet along the road
responsibility is self and selflessness
as a good Samaritan thinketh
I wish I had wisdom’s words
and action’s healing hands
but this god lacks omnipotence
although strength and peace reside in me
human limitations foment fear
paralyzed intentions defer goals
like everyone else
my calendar works out day to day
at times my frustrations mount in muted rage
echoing like distant rolling thunder
sometimes I’m a gentle rain
nourishing the earth
other times I... am...LIGHTNING


III.
some look to the earth for their roots
searching rhizomes for past generations
finding themselves made in the image
of wise bearded irises
I look to the stars twinkling my call name
I hear them in night’s silence
and marvel at the lessons they teach
the patience of their traveling light
the wisdom in keeping their place
in the scheme of constellations
and knowing when to turn with the seasons
their acceptance of northstar as center’s attention
secure in the sparkle of their individuality
hearsay says we are made of the same mettle
we are the substance of stars
I imagine myself in their history
a child of the universe
traversing the zodiac before I was me
but now in this life reaching up to night’s sky
the heavens remind me
although I’m but a speck in its vastness
a blink in time’s eye
I have a shine and brilliance
that is mine alone

birth
life
death
rebirth
a rim tone’s soft cry (wah-wah)
emerging above a drum-like
basso profundo
chaotic cadence
harmony in vibrato
a singing bowl’s sustain dying
to be born again and again
the universe without and within
inhaled into the mind’s eye
traversing core’s essence
expelled through nostrils

meditation in slow motion
posture strung from rafters
a twisting waist
yin and yang separate
but equal
beautiful lady wrists
synchronized to calm, deep breaths
a diffused gaze focusing
on quiet power inside you
chi strong enough to stop time
as you move within a cylinder of silence
thinking about nothing
each movement with a memory of its own
a life time in yang long form
closing down to wu shu
the universe within and without
and in each breath
birth
life
death
rebirth

birth
life
death
rebirth
a rim tone’s soft cry (wah-wah)
emerging above a drum-like
basso profundo
chaotic cadence
harmony in vibrato
a singing bowl’s sustain dying
to be born again and again
the universe without and within
inhaled into the mind’s eye
traversing core’s essence
expelled through nostrils

meditation in slow motion
posture strung from rafters
a twisting waist
yin and yang separate
but equal
beautiful lady wrists
synchronized to calm, deep breaths
a diffused gaze focusing
on quiet power inside you
chi strong enough to stop time
as you move within a cylinder of silence
thinking about nothing
each movement with a memory of its own
a life time in yang long form
closing down to wu shu
the universe within and without
and in each breath
birth
life
death
rebirth

as day closes
I lay on my right side in night’s envelope
knees bent in semi-fetal position
my right hand reaches up and across
resting upon the coolness
of my exposed left shoulder
chin touching upon forearm

I ponder sunlight’s hours
where the insecurity of others
spews green venom
and imaginary superiority
reeks yellow breath

in the darkened quiet of sleepless sleepiness
I find that little spark
the enabler that allows me to love others
in a sometimes unkind, uncaring and thankless world

it is the comfort and peace we all seek
a feeling of belonging
to the earth
to the universe
to one’s self

no matter what others may think
no matter what happened during the day
no matter how hard it was
in that last moment of conscious thought
before drifting back into the womb
of softness and dreams
I know that I love myself
in triumph and contentedness
I love myself
no matter what