they say the stars are falling
falling from the skies
I see them falling with my eyes
but never heard a falling star cry

I sit and watch the life of leaves
conversing with the breeze
but when I try to eavesdrop
tinnitus’ tones peal

they say the stars are falling
falling from the skies
I used to miss their music
the inflection of their rise

their lyrics became mealy
melodies to mysteries
but I can still feel that baseline beat
and follow lips while watching oldies

birds fly by in silent soar
without a flap sound, flutter or tweet
perhaps my heart has gone numb with my ears
I don’t miss it anymore

does loss decrease life’s value
or make it all the more precious

they say the stars are falling
falling from the skies
I see them falling with my eyes
but never heard a falling star cry

one crisp morning commute
driving down Rodeo Blvd.
I came across a cloud of leaves
a city block long
hovering like hummingbirds in the street
jiggling to the beat
of each passing vehicle
caught up in the car's drafts
rush hour traffic
would not allow them to fall
hundreds of small green and yellow dots
standing at attention
waving like beauty queens
twirling like dervishes
leaping and spinning in pirouettes
doing cartwheels and somersaults
each tumble tickling my delight
as playful patterns emerged
you could see their musicality
fallen foliage dancing to a silent symphony
suspended in mid air
out of sync with reality
as I, in turn, drove through in slow motion

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

he stood before them
lifted his flute to his lips
soulfully inhaled
they waited for the magic
he played not a single note

he stood there as if
******* passionately
with body english
the crowd paused for a minute
suspended in the quand'ry

the light bulb came on
and they busted up laughing
as he continued
in his silent happiness
he loved the "gotcha" moment


Del Maximo
© June 13, 2009

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?

I saw a blue bird today
She flew down from my lemon tree
And hopped into my path
Blue and red like a robin but big as a jay
She was in a class by herself
With a curious twist of her head
She didn’t shy away
But stayed for a moment
Then flew away without leaving a deposit
A true blue bird
She left me happy

Got the news last Monday
Ms. Annie has passed away
Didn’t even know she was sick
Happy at first, believing she went home
Sympathy’s hug opened my sadness
Had to fight the deepness back
Pearls and lace
She looked pretty laying in state
Still, was stunned by closure’s shock
Oh Annie

Always glad to see me
Happy to hear my voice
“How’s your mother?” she would chirp
“I give you an ‘A’ today.”
“Good job.”
Forever upbeat and tireless
A ray of sunshine

I saw a blue bird today
She flew down from my lemon tree
And hopped into my path
She stayed a moment with me
Then flew away
Leaving me happy


Del Maximo
© December 16, 2007

self doubt and questions
in an introspective mood
turning life inward
"Do the things I do matter?"
"Am I making a difference?"

the sun still rises
with the moon taking her turn
the seasons cycle
Winter waits for Spring's rebirth
Summer strolls till Fall's harvest

the world in His hands
in a plan to be trusted
yet life is our own
we're each in charge of ourselves
responsibility's choice

questions disappear
when I look at the children
reading their faces
discovering who they are
searching for identity

a compass points North
but life happens everywhere
guidance is needed
helping hands to push or ****
as each living map unfolds

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

the look on her face
with all she's been through lately
holding her breath in
hospitals and waiting rooms
clutching to uncertainty

the look on her face
as she smiles at simple things
her father is home
fighting hard for normalcy
he has someone to live for

she came over last night
wearing a blue plaid shirt
sleeves rolled up and tails out
bustline buttons barely hanging on
squeezed into painted on pants
as usual
it had been some time
hadn’t heard from her in a while
we made a decision
then lost touch
so good to see her again
to lock eyes like we used to
brown peering into brown
then slow dancing till dawn
in my dimly lit bedroom
with curtains blowing soft in summer breezes
our legs interlaced
feeling my blood up on her hip
and  my knee between her thighs
while rocking side to side
two-stepping to the music
holding her close like this
her warm ******* full up on me
remembering everything we ever had
the moment frozen as the earth stood still
*** wasn’t imminent this time
because I knew it wasn’t real
it was just a memory
holding her close like this
and waking up knowing
this was the final goodbye

icecaps come undone
crushing into the ocean
as she sheds her frozen tears
penguins and p0lar bears shudder
as their habitats recede
like the snows of Kilimanjaro

volcanoes explode
spewing smoke and ash like billowing pillows
into the stratosphere
diffusing sunshine's heat
like a cold compress
floes of lava melt glaciers
rivers of mud cause flooded folks to flee

fissures crack and snap from her pressure
towns and countrysides split
floors rumble and roll like the ocean
walls tumble, crumble and roar
bells toll an all too familiar melody
families cry out, wailing and ranting
chanting dirges of great loss
an inconsolable cacophony
rubbled lives lying in ruin

but she is not to blame
the earth is a no fault state
this is our doing
ecology's consequence
greenhouse gasses and other pollutants
have given her a fever
her pores are opening to vent the warming
she is not angry or vindictive
punishment is not her goal
and evil has not played its hand
the planet is just cooling herself
it's how Gaia gets her groove back

familial fractal
mitochondrial pieces of self-similarity
irregular patterns of DNA
each piece clearly resembling the whole
mirroring mirrors
an illness in the matriarchy
reflecting on each member
rippling and radiating
in family circular airwaves
time disrupted
suspended in hope
souls standing still
so quiet you can hear a heartbeat

thoughts, prayers and well wishes
pouring out to fill in the gaps
of uncertainty
pillars of strength in my weakness
as I drown myself in caloric comfort
I’m not too good with life and death
haven’t had much practice
we’ve been lucky

energy’s vibrations
the universe’s common thread
everything is part of everything
each person a contributor to the whole of society
each person contributing to the soul of the individual
psychologically, spiritually, physiologically
we affect each other in ways
not immediately apparent
truly, everyone is part of everyone
connected in oneness
your outpouring of kindness reminds me of that

it’s amazing how much you think of food
when you don’t have much
stretching out the week
with whatever you have
hot dogs and eggs
food pantry vegetables
and stale bread
quelling my hunger
deliciously

sometimes I take my pulse
to remind myself that I’m alive
I am, I think, but is that living?
is a beating heart the same
as having a life?
thump…thump…thump…thump…

forever settling
happy to have what I could get
a kid in a candy store
only able to see
what was within arm’s reach

the dignity we trade
for survival in life’s jungle
staying in ****** jobs
under under-appreciative management
waking and watching the world
with dispirited eyes
then realizing it’s all our own fault

but everything is temporary
a moment only lasts a moment
and life goes fast
you have to  keep dreaming
REM’s in perpetual motion
blueprints drawing forth
from the back of your mind

o, to find what you love to do
to became the creator
to see in the mirror
the person you want to be
to work hard and
put your life on the line
to soar with masters
of cerulean skies
to want something so bad
it makes you cry

she exists now in a dream state
unaware of the horror and the passage of time
wind rushes through broken panes
moaning mournfully
floors creak and door hinges speak
announcing her presence
this was her house
once a place of light and love
full of family and friends
cotillions resonating with music and dance
and lively conversation
a grand kitchen to prepare the feasts
of pheasant under glass
a gazebo for laughing in the rain
arbors for moonlit meetings with owls
a pond for lilies and croaking frogs
gardens for picking her favorite peonies
a nursery for her children
all this now nothing but ruins
from happiness to a home for bugs and bats
crawling with silverfish, centipedes and black widows
shrouded in cobwebs
drowning in dust
suffocating in stench of rotting wood and desolation
decorated with 100 year old bloodstains
she never saw her killer
never saw the spurting of her arteries
never heard her children’s screams and death rales
she sees her house as it was
and every night she roams the rooms
calling her children’s names in long, haunting whispers

sneaks in stealthily
to palpable emptiness
takes a look around
ah, all the familiar sights
it's nice to see the old place

the stains on the walls
clean spaces once protected
shielded by portraits
decor of dust and cobwebs
the smell of yesteryear

peeling wallpaper
ageless soot on masonry
hearth tools left behind
creaking floors whispering names
echoes of her heritage

broken windows breathe
as she groans for visitors
she still has her charm
this old house out in the woods
this home built by rustic hands

from full to three fourths, to half, to quarter
then from darkness back to new
all the moon’s phases in mere minutes
I’ve seen pictures on the internet
a beautiful sight to behold
to watch her silvery bleu cheese
turn into a reddish cantaloupe
perhaps her face is embarrassed
to admit its heavenly glow
is but the sun’s reflection
perhaps she’s forgotten her place
in the earth’s natural order
she is not less, but equal
yin to sun’s yang
lost in the moment
she changes her mind quickly
emerging from earth’s shadow
she feels contentment in sun’s warmth

once in January’s wee hours
so very long ago
I spent the night outside
as backyard astronomer
telescope at the ready
awaiting a comet’s promise
a party of others crescendoed
suspense’s energy and excitement
but their numbers quickly waned
with the fogging of my telescope lens
coldness prevailing over patience
I sat alone for hours hanging on to hope
in the company of trash cans
sitting in silence as solemn sentinel
they said it would light one third of the sky
ONE THIRD!
a sight never to be seen again in lifetimes
I waited for its brightness and brilliance
until dawn started to peek out
over the eastern horizon
just then a sparkle of light preceded the rising sun
is this it?
could this be Kohoutek?
it seemed to slowly climb into the morning
as it approached and grew bigger
I realized it was just an airplane
what a rip off
what a wasted night
I was robbed
cruelly cast in the role of Kohoutek’s fool
nothing to do now
but bring my frozen telescope inside
and jump into a nice warm bed

will she be kinder?
will Luna eclipse that memory?
will her heavenly glory
be worth the cold and the wait?
I sat on the edge of my mattress
gathering the covers upon my shoulders
should I go?
nah
maybe next time
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

a cold, rainy day so apropos
as an era comes to close
what could have been great
what should have been great
is tumbling like Jericho’s wall
some (including me)
see cause to celebrate
but a loss for one is a loss for all

like a phoenix from civic ashes
it came to be
raising noble purpose and intention
helping throw away’s child
kids fallen through cracks
fostering transition from poverty’s cycle
from gangs and crime
to mainstreaming
to expungement
to independence
to jobs
to college

then the blame game came
like a virus
attempting to fix
what wasn’t broken
pointing fingers
instead of looking in the mirror
and falling on one’s own sword
in support of others

telling lies and making **** up
faking knowledge of laws and procedures
expressing ego angrily
without getting to problem’s root
tossing morale to wind
favoring brown noses

ding **** and heigh **
with melting waters thrown
it’s time to rise again
from sage’s ashes
a rededication to leadership
to loyalty
to noble purposes
to service
to new beginnings

tears to remember
with candles lit to honor
heart's memorials
a ramdom act of kindness
from a very special friend

my candle's aflame
a warmth that spans the distance
from my house to yours
with roses and baby's breath
for a very special friend

For Dr. Suess

Who can hear you?
He who hears Whos
Wish I could hear half as well
And what is a Who anyhow?
Do such tiny people really exist?
Is the town of Who-ville a true ville?
Perhaps if I had elephant ears
Maybe I could hear a Who too
As it is I can hardly hear you
But last night in a dream
Horton whispered his secret
An axiom kind and smart:
You only listen with your ears
You hear people with your heart

got locked out today
came home from the grocery store
and couldn’t get in
wandered around
knocking on a couple of doors
looking for help
no one answered
never realized before
that a house without people in it
can be cold as stone
an older couple down the street
let me in and called a locksmith
such gracious, neighborly neighbors

as I sat waiting on my peeling painted porch
on a cool cloudy day
memories burrowed up like a mole
about how I wandered dreamlessly when young
just wanting to survive
thoughts of future shot down
by relative poverty and low self esteem
perhaps it was just delusion
once thinking that I could be anything
I wanted to be

we memorize the ***** and chains
we place on ourselves
like once tethered elephants
never straying from our post
it took a long time to come into me
it took a long time to come to like myself
it took a long time to come to love myself
but at times I still doubted
feeling the pull of my elephant’s chain
the tug of my tether
while wasting away where I stood

finally got myself together
and made plans
it tickles me to think
how I made God laugh

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

the sun is setting across the pond
silhouetting the tree line
with its golden fire
mirroring on the water
rippling with the wind
seems the catfish are getting big
"I wonder how much
my granddaughter has grown?"
the clouds are scribbled in wisps
no discernable shapes to ponder
such a lonely sky

from here you can see the ocean
a distant dulled blue mesa
standing still, yet running
an offshore marine layer clouds the horizon
dark gray cumulus with fluffy white tops
mimic snow capped mountains
clean bright sunshine illuminates the earth
a cheerful contrast to yesterday's rain and gloom
the city is alive with light
as morning fills the room
awakening my mind
with expanding consiousness
a feeling that I AM
gratitude and thankfulness abound
rising emotions remind me
thoughts become spoken words
"I love life"
"I love myself"
"God, I love myself"

for Steph

a shroud of low clouds
dampens the cemetery’s mood
a chubby stone cherub
sits amidst the mists
his green gold patina
weathering the cycling seasons
throughout the years
bathed in spring’s renewal
April’s showers and morning’s dews
basked in summer’s thermal waves
expanding like the days
chilled in the crisp crackle
of autumn’s change
enduring bitter snows
of frozen white winters
but every Christmas Eve he’s comforted
moved by dance of candles
warmed by heavenly halos’ glow
little cathartic coronas twinkling
like a mother-made indoor constellation
commemoratively flickering on her mantle
in annual visual manifestation
of her lifelong heartstrings
illuminated by the depth of their reach
honoring her child
her little angel
born too soon
and too perfect
for this world

she is the whispering wind
billowing buffaloes of cotton candy
fiery red reflections
horizon's home to Venus and Jupiter
her evening eyes twinkle
in gradient shades of midnight
whether clear cerulean
or dark and stormy
her mood reassures, connects
she takes all under her wing
as her firmament holds us
sunshine's conduit
the epitome of blue skies
she keeps us happy
to take away even just a part of her
is a blotting of the mind
straight from the horses blinders
a piece of heart and happiness hidden
an erasure of nature
a blindfold to beauty
a shadow on my eyes
a silhouette of stucco
built too close to home and hearth
prisons have such walls as this
erected to confine and punish
our only crime is a love of peace and quiet
and neighborhood values


Del Maximo
© September 14, 2009

Crawls out of tree trimming truck
Open windows, vacancy
Passer by calls out, “Home, Sweet Home”
Smile replies “Good morning projects”
Stretch, yawn, alive another day

Stacks in hand, bravado declares
“Hey, it just takes twenty to roll.”
Cars roll up, dealing time
“Mother ****, get off my line”
If his head wasn’t cracked like a fish on a hook
He could have made serious book

Screens left in car pockets, empty balloons on asphalt
****, this player’s playin’
Strawberries crawl out of woodwork
Rocks off for rocks transactions—no cash pay
Maybe this one will let you stay
Yo Becky, how are your kids?

**** ups from the past recite their script,
“You going to cop?”
Sprung like a Safeway chicken
You know the drill, just walk it off
Strung out with eyes afire
Well acquainted with your veins
Taking care to bleach needles
What about bloodied syringes, *** brains?

Got in trouble with your boys again
This time there’s no runnin’ anywhere
Pulled you off the top of the fence
Almost left your finger up there
Took a ride in an ambulance
Was it fun?

Your little sister and I flew
Picked you up from County UCLA Harbor
She cried the second she saw you
Don’t know if you even saw her
Since your eye was out of socket

Went up north to heal but started to deal
Big sister’s growing skunk
Little brother’s in Chino with Ming Tai
Big brother’s on America’s Most Wanted
Is this typical projects funk?

Brothers, sisters, homeboys, sensei all had voices
You had talent, promise but made other choices
Maybe now, brother, you can rest in peace
Here lies Shawn
All his heroes were dealers

every year she cut the biggest and brightest
keeping them in a brown bagged pantry to dry out
reaching in to crumble them at season
winnowing the chaff to wind
like her mother and aunties before her
back home in their island paradise

a magical notion
jostling seeds in slow motion
looking like crests on the ocean
neither too high nor too low
broken petals fly free
as seeds fall back of their own gravity

the kids would come ‘round
as projects kids do
to watch and maybe try something new
she would pass them an old melamine plate
a small handful of crumblings to ply
tossing and scooching to catch them again

crimson reds and magentas
lemony yellows
monarch butterfly oranges
violet and lavender purples
crowning petals layered
resembling elizabethan collars

they caught the morning
protected by snail and slug repellent
people came from all around
to admire her oversized zinnias
occasionally picking one and running
garden’s variety of dine and dash

we gifted them to mourners
small packets of zinnia’s seed
extolling them as one of her favorites
soil, water and sunshine
all you need to sow and grow
and watch the memories bloom

at curiosity’s urging
he found haven in haiku
a safe place where people listened
without judging
a thread to test truth’s waters
and tell his story
a 5-7-5 sequence as larynx
giving voice to childhood horrors

beaten regularly with a rubber garden hose
that left no outward evidence
bleeding so badly
he lost a kidney
too terrified to tell the doctor
with his father standing right there
it was a secret kept in the family
her verbal belittlement inculcated
“you should have never been born”
“we can’t afford you”
when he brought home all A’s
they said, “your classes were too easy”
his older brother mercilessly joined the chorus
and the torture
with parental approval

still, his eyes saw beauty
they saw river rocks as hippos
submerged in a backyard creek
they watched in awe at the flight of owls and hawks
swooping down on their prey
they described a “sapphire lake”
“so blue it was almost black”
“a jewel in the belly of the Sierras”
they captured trees and blades of grass
and fallen giants in petrified forests
they found a wife who loved him anyway
despite alcoholic binges and blackouts
his poems told of years of loneliness she erased
they spoke of her as sole reason for sobriety
he found peace in poetry
and used the internet to vent his wise *** ways
at times he even spoke of his family
as if they were decent

but every November remembered
his birth month dredging up the past
he wrote of whispering demons haunting his heart
and scars on the soul that never heal
I can’t imagine his pain
or sense of normalcy
they killed this kid when he was little
but it took him four decades to die
last Friday my friend took his own life

he called me a gentleman and a scholar
and formally thanked me
for encouraging his writing
he defended me in the face of trolls
even though we never met in person
I hope he knows how much we all cared
and I hope there’s a heaven
where he can rest in peace

(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

morning light warms my face
through patches of bright blue cerulean
orphans’ tears drizzle and drop the
sky’s condolences upon my windshield
the musty smell of wet asphalt rises
from the streets
it’s raining on a sunny day
the devil is beating his wife

his father hurt his mother
beat her ****** with his hands
he took care of her after "dad" left
even took up studies on abused women
and championed their cause
but broken down, tired men
often fall back on ingrained memories
push came to shove came to hit
he couldn’t break violence’s cycle
his father taught him well

they vow to love and honor
these duplicitous sons of Janus
but things happen
plans don’t work out
shortfalls and failures
loose cowardice and bullying
frustrations are acted out on loved ones
promises forgotten
knots untied

secrets have a way of coming to light
frazzled nerves and shame are palpable
black eyes and contusions speak
serious injuries become a matter of record
written in hospital and police files
etched on the walls in the vaults of heaven
deeds done in darkness are no longer deniable
and the face he ended up hurting
is his own

woke up this morning
listening to dad talking
his words indistinct
just the sound of his voice droning
barking instructions the way some Asian fathers do
with the military cadence of a drill sergeant
although he’s been gone so long
he creeps into my dreams now and then
inducing feelings of affection
he didn’t demonstrate in life

he was a man of simple faith:
with a roof over your head
clothes on your back
food on the table
you should be happy

his health caused him to retire early
still, he kept himself busy
considered himself a man of action
he worked hard and led by example
he didn’t guide or counsel me
you have to have conversations to do that
through his lies he taught me not to
but within his own means
there was nothing he wouldn’t do for us
perhaps he did too much

it’s been so long I can’t remember the exact date
he had a “fatal” heart attack towards the end of February
and died two and a half months later
on May 6, 1986

how ironic that I can still hear his voice
and now, somehow, find reassurance in his tone


Del Maximo
© February 18, 2010

the boy could sing
even took professional instruction
was told he had a beautiful voice
by singers he respected and admired
and he knew how to use it
he loved singing out load
choir or solo
songs or vocal exercises
emotional range and dynamics
full voice, in character
transporting him to joyful
but he seems to be losing it
progressive hearing loss
makes him unsure

gave away his guitar
chords smelled garbage-like
gave away his cello
he couldn’t hear her voice
but he kept the flutes
beautiful bamboo flutes
and shakuhachis
handcrafted by a magic man

he picked it up quickly
people thought he’d been paying for years
they would stop to listen
complimenting his clear tones
one professional flute player
heard him playin’ from ‘round the corner
came across the street to see
told him he played “whole heart and soul”

he only sings to himself now
voice is a body part
talent plays role
but body just knows how
to listen with ears
and repeat with voice or fingers
his ears no longer hit
on all cylinders
his hammer and anvil out of tune
he understands now
why Lucy couldn’t find her notes
they’re hiding somewhere
behind a brain cloud

the last one to hear him said
“you used to play so beautifully”
if it were just a matter
of fingers on holes
anyone could do it
but it’s something inexplicable
a mind/body gestalt
more spiritual then physical

he plays now to remember
go like this and that’s a ‘G’
go like this, that’s a ‘C’
reminding the body
retraining the brain
rebuilding the memory
refinding the fun
reclaiming the heart

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

if ears had lips
mine would gladly tell you all the things
they can and cannot comprehend
they would explain the difference
between hearing and understanding;
just because they hear a sound
doesn’t mean they know what it is
or where it’s coming from
just because they hear a voice
doesn’t mean they discern words
they would ask you to please speak louder
and tell you that even though volume is their friend
if you take a jumble and turn up the juice
sometimes it becomes clearer
other times it’s just a loud jumble
they might tell you that writing things down saves time
or that texting works better than voicemail
they would tell you how much they miss
the rain’s incessant song
the wind’s sweeping whistle
a dropped pin’s pinging ping
earthy crashing blue green wave sounds
a lover’s soft whisper
eavesdropping’s noseyness
distance’s subtle sounds
footsteps’ proximity
a fire’s warm red orange crackle
freeway traffic’s rushing background noise
a phone call’s lively conversation
a tv show’s clever, non-closed-captioned script
a radio’s soulful catchy lyrics
live performance’s vibrant voice
the timbre of each note in a chord
as I strummed my guitar
they would tell you
how the ringing tones inside my head
compete with your words
they would speak of their frustration and indignation
when you ignorantly accuse them of selective hearing
they would apologize for asking you to repeat
and laugh with you at my disability
they would thank you for dealing with me anyway
they would smile in appreciation
for your exaggerated syll•a•bi•ca•tion
if ears could see
mine would overlook your rolling eyes
and exasperated sighs and expressions
they know it’s not your fault that they don’t work good
and hope you know it’s not their fault either

If I died tonight
if I closed my eyes to sleep
and never awakened
beyond the initial sadness
would anyone really care
did I make a difference
did my life truly matter
to anyone
or in the grander scheme
was I kind and generous
did I treat people well
thoughtful of their needs and wants
did I take care of myself
so others wouldn’t have to
did I hold a door for a stranger
and give food to someone hungry
did I look in a passerby’s eyes
and smile a greeting
did I live in a cave
or commune in a village
did I appreciate my circumstances
did I have fun and laugh often
did I get anything done
did I love anyone
and did anyone love me

for some it’s difficult
seeing beyond one’s own nose
anything or anyone different
any opinion opposing their own
seems it’s so hard to see
the other

egocentric mindsets
with the world as their reflection
and any piece that doesn’t fit
their ideology’s puzzle
doesn’t make sense
they paint by numbers
with every color in ever space
preassigned

is it truly so unreasonable
to accommodate another?
especially someone with special needs?
is it so difficult to slowly syllabicate?
is raising your speech level truly yelling?
would it pain you to write things down
for someone who can’t hear you?
do you not trust email over voicemail?

a deaf counselor told me
it’s due to laziness
that people won’t pick up a pen
she may be right
but I think it’s nearsightedness
a myopia of mind and heart
I’d hit them over the head
if I thought it would help

if I could
I would soar up high
surfing the clouds
embracing blue breezes
chasing and catching
golden reddish colors of sunsets

I would look down with fondness
upon earth
green trees swaying in conversation
with one another
majestic mountains wrinkled with age
dunes riddled with the language of winds
the scintillating sparkle
of oceans’ movement

I would dive down only to feed
avoiding the negativity of human kind
blessing some with my droppings
admiring the perseverance of others
absorbing the good and hope
that give rise to my wings

if I could
I would never come down
to witness the sadness
not just man’s inhumanity to mankind
and to the earth
but the natural sadness
people and places lost and forgotten
with the passage of time

but soaring above
doesn’t undo pain and hurt
and by avoiding the negative
in duality, you pass over joy

it seems we are hardwired
to form relationships
that both break and heal us
make us lonely
and fill our hearts

but on this day
I would rather fly up high
and forget about everything

Del Maximo
(c)08/01/2022

best thing about life
is that I get to be me
I am who I am
with all my imperfections
the things I need to work on

it's life's challenges
all the obstacles we face
that make it worthwhile
not in spite of shortcomings
but the way we deal with them

all of the problems
particular to my path
character builders
things that I needed to learn
to arrive at who I am

and I like myself
not better than anyone
we're all still learning
a balance of reticence
and delusions of grandeur

people may not see
the universe inside me
some currents run deep
other things are worn on sleeves
some, to me, are mystery

but then all in all
life's jigsaw comes together
as the pieces meld
creating clearer pictures
of the person that is me



Del Maximo
© November 30, 2009

to sit on the lawn
outside on a bright Spring day
trade winds softly breeze
endless cerulean skies
the vibes of a live brass band

dark skinned Hawaiians
white marching band uniforms
a curious sight
ah...but the sounds are soothing
wafting warmly through the air

relax and enjoy
look around, drink it all in
think of nothing else
feel the music through your bones
close your eyes and flow with it

Del Maximo
(c) February 5, 2009

I think I saw her
strolling with her parasol
quiet contentment
expressed in a pleasant grin
she just seemed to love her job

I know I saw her
all made up in her doll face
dressed like yesteryear
bringing back the memories
lions, tigers, clowns, trapeze

she looked right at me
batting those long black lashes
I saw her today
just as pretty as ever
the circus fat lady smiled

whose flowers are these?
who brought them to the gravesite
and arranged them with such care?
placing each flower individually
every week a kaleidoscope of color
pastel petals wrapped in green stems, leaves and ferns
bouquets speaking softly from the heart
conversations of love and respect
unspoken words of connection and affection
painting a picture of impressionistic serenity
amid grass and tombstones
who cared about him this much, besides us?
who cares about him still?

one winter’s early eave
as I was leaving work
I sat in my old Carolla, facing east
a rainless sky was threatening
promising a cold, windy storm
contrasting light grays, dark grays and blacks
shapes shifting and swimming slowly
like fish in an aquarium

as I sat spying the skyscape
a conspicuous cloud caught my attention
a large, ashen football against a flat dark field
began to split horizontally across the center
slowly opening like eyelids
long, thick lashes connecting top to bottom
when the lashes finally parted
the aperture revealed an angry Asian face
with fiercely focused features
the interaction looked at me without meeting my eyes
I watched mesmerized for moments
then drove home...wondering

back at work, I described the incident
to curious and amazed acceptance
only one poor soul tried to discredit me
poking fun at my “hallucination”
“You don’t have to be afraid, baby”, I replied
“It’s just clouds”

hiding in wood grain
he was waiting silently
his eyes looked about
as the old house was creaking
crispness of fall in the air

they broke a window
hoping to find shelter there
settled in to rest
noticed the eyes on the wall
more than just knots in woodwork

he was watching them
his stare had them glued in place
a mist came forward
they found the strength to break free
bolting for the open door

as the story spread
people came to check it out
couldn't help themselves
morbid curiosity
one by one they were chased off

caretaker cackles
"That's just Oscar" he tells them
"Lived here long ago"
"His wife and child were murdered"
"He's still here waiting for them"


Del Maximo
© October 3, 2009

her first Christmas tree
rising to the ceiling
the green scent of fresh pine permeates
papa put up all the lights
now it’s her turn
a treasure of ornaments
buried in tissue paper

a small, brightly colored stuffed menagerie
made by her Aunts and Uncles
when they were just kids
glittered, glistening plastic snow flakes
shiny, smiling ornaments of different sizes
and unusual shapes
most of them older than her
going back three generations

it’s quite a task
but Grandma said she could do it
unwrapping with care
choosing just the right placements

when she’s hung her last hook
my little niece stands back
aglow with happiness she whispers
“It’s perfect”


Del Maximo
© December 8, 2009

he steps forward to bless us with song
benediction’s serenade
binder clips and clothespins weaken wind
as sheet music tries to take flight
with each strum he was fighting it
emoting with sad lips and blue eyebrows
taking deep breaths let out with heavy sighs
but holding steady
singing and crying come from the same place
as he sang the sun sneaked out
shadows surrendered their stronghold
a moment of warmth shown upon our gathering
near the pine tree at our father’s grave
Terence’s ashes to be interred with dad
a musician, an artist, a writer of songs and poems
a technician, an electrician, a wood worker
his many gifts now only spoken of in past tense
a son to two, a brother to eight
an uncle to many
a father to one daughter
his passion relived in his writings and works
his essence reflected in her eyes

they call me key man
I have keys to everything
need a door unlocked
be it the highest tower
or the deepest of dungeons
a secret garden
or a ballpark stadium
I can get you in
I have keys to everything
except a place in your heart

Del Maximo
(c) July 29, 2009

standing high atop
the place where he cashed his checks
armed with 5 gallons
Arrowhead's extinguisher
a hero in a bottle
he foolishly fought
the flames of civil unrest
then the roof caved in
good intentions killed in vain
swallowed by the fire pit

days dressed in mourning
haunting the cemetery
tending her grave's grass
grieving guilty tears of loss
for the young daughter she had
she was too busy
caught up in "bargain's" frenzy
lost sight of her girl
her 12 year old was trampled
beneath the lust of looters

gasoline cans brought
to burn the local market
were beat back badly
chased away by baseball bats
a homeboy fire brigade
"This is our market!
The only one in the hood.
It ain't goin' down.
We saw the news on tv.
That **** ain't happenin' here."

tales of rioting
the worst and best in people
national headlines
the leviathan rises
through the smoke, fire, and ash
anger incited
latent hooliganism
an unjust verdict
for police brutality
can't we all just get along?

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

fourth of nine
I was nineteen years young
when he asked me to stay
he went “back home” and got a young wife
knew he would pass before her
asked me again when I was twenty three
crediting my older brothers
as having lives of their own
I guess he thought I wasn’t entitled
to mine

at first resentful
feeling trapped unfairly
especially since I was never a favored child
but ended up not minding obligation’s onus
appreciating her more in her elderly fragility
realizing a caretaker’s privilege
even underneath the family’s
unappreciative eyes

when he had his “fatal” heart attack
I’m glad I was there
to administer CPR
but I carry the question always
did I really help him?
or did I prolong his suffering
for two and a half months?

after awakening
from semi comatose’s state
his memory was in and out
some were upset
by his lack of recognition
but he never forgot me
and in that I take solace

he reiterated his wish
on his deathbed
like an anointing
its oil poured upon my forehead
and radiating inside me
he thought I was good enough
and equal to the task

 
I’ll never forget his final words
a barely audible muttered plea
that I figured out later
he raised his eyebrows and nodded
with a seemingly joyful expression
as if we had an agreement
he closed his eyes
and went to sleep

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