a sad rainy day
clouds hover like a spectre
over mourning skies
tonight they shall all rise up
the ghosts of the walking dead

I am there waiting
the cemetery frightens
but I must see her
see her face just one more time
aglow with life for one night

the earth is trembling
perspective fading in, out
as the shadows swoon
the mists are rising...there...there
Leonore, Leonore, please don't leave...

(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

two dear friends
have lost their husbands
just days apart
verily they comforted me
at my times of loss
yet I can’t find the words
I ache for them
but my tongue is twisted
my keyboard locked
perhaps that realm
is still too painful for me

they say that love
is such exquisite pain
shared intimately by two lucky ones
beyond bedrooms
throughout the life they carve
while traipsing the universe
unalone

loss, then, is the obverse
the looking glass’ opposite side
through which survivors see
the lives their love has touched
where mourners share eloquent memories
embedded in their Brownian motion
movie clips etched inside closed eye lids

is it possible to walk alone
after having known
such infinite endlessness?
does love stop at death's door?
you see it in a stream of colors
shooting towards the sky
you see it in the misplaced moon
hiding in the sprucetops

the loss will always make you sad
but the memories will make you happy
and that exquisite pain in your heart
is but a measure of the love you feel
present tense
for one another

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

time moves forward
winding through galaxies
coursing through milkyways
pulsing through universes
hanging on heartbeats
yesterday, today and tomorrow
happening concurrently
burned onto disks stacked on top of each other
lifetimes skipping tier to tier
peeking through veils of reality
scoping inward to Brownian motion
zooming outward to life’s whole
energy flowing freely through meridians
navigating congestion and voids
finding balance in life’s peaks and valleys
like electrocardiograms
my lifereadings on paper
lately I’ve been flatlining
routines can be boring
drudgery stagnates
maybe I’m just physically tired
maybe I’m tired of life
caught behind a rock in a river
awaiting a cataract to break me free
and restore the song of life’s flow
maybe I’m an insignificant speck of dust
a blip off life’s radar
or maybe the smallest piece of jigsaw
is an equal part of the whole

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

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

they found a new playground
if only for a visit
******* jagged rocks to climb atop
as king and queens of the hill
they came in the morning
and stayed beyond long shadows
no telling when they would get another chance

they reached the summit with the skill of goats
shod in P. F. Flyers
jostling but no shoving
well aware of the precarious danger
taking turns at the highest peak
laughing, talking and telling tales
blowing up bubble gum and balloons till they popped
friends just hanging out on school break
city kids enjoying themselves
out of doors in the fresh air of summer

the Housing Authority was repaving the parking lot
they piled the dug up pieces high
a mountain of broken asphalt
in the days before yellow tape was invented
the Projects kids took full advantage
like a glee filled day at the beach
on a rocky New Jersey Shore

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

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

he was going to teach me how
to pick a lock and hot wire a car
but he went back to prison
I swear, he had a good heart
he was just livin’ the life he knew

adopted in infancy
an idyllic ranch life
going out barefoot and shirtless in the snow
to feed the horses
still, divorce happens
his mother got custody
but blanked out in permissiveness
allowing him whatever
she wanted to play good cop
as divorced parents sometimes do
he would disappear for a week
communing in the canyons; survival skills
drinking water by the rocks
checking jack rabbits for spots
“everything is seasonal” he would tell me
when his mother remarried a drunkard
my friend would don dark clothing and a ski mask
to rob his drunken step dad every payday
to put food on the table
you see, he had a good heart
just livin’ the life he knew

leading a life of drugs
and not just using
he could drink his stuff but also liked Perrier
a life of crime
store front window smash and grabs
in stolen cars
getting involved with big time dealers
still, I swear he had a good heart
just livin’ the life he knew

once asked him why
he never offered me drugs
“Why would I?” he replied
you see, a friend would never do that
he would jump up and say, “No!”
if I pretended to reach for a cigarette
--a regular cigarette
he knew well their addictive nature
knew his lungs were tweeked
and didn’t want me to ruin my voice
I had a beautiful voice
he had a good heart
just livin’ the life he knew

sent to the fire camps up north
in his element in the woods
at peace with himself out in nature
knowledgeable, skillful, personable
upon release they told him
"stay clean till November"
he would have a job waiting for him
he had a good heart
but went back to the life he knew

the last time in prison
he “stuck” someone
it scared him because this time
he didn’t feel anything
didn’t ask him what he meant
we never talked about it again
still, I swear he had a good heart
just livin’ the life he knew

he was in the hospital
last time we talked
he knew he was dying
his sister told me he was scared
it’s been a long time
but I think he was in his twenties
a life of hard times
a death in regret
surely God knew
he had a good heart
he was just livin’ the life he knew

Love is nakedness
Not just under the sheets
But before God and Everyone
And I don’t want you to see me naked
I don’t want anyone to see me naked
I don’t want you to see my fragility, my vulnerability
Allow me to carry on my charade
Allow me to go on thinking I’m strong and brave
My heart is locked up in the highest tower
And I don’t have the key

Joni(1) said love is give and take
But you never gave yourself to me
I had to take you
We all had to take you
That way when things went bad
And they always did
In your heart you were never to blame
I thought I was so in love with you
Now I hope I never see you again

We had fun woman
Our voices sang beautiful harmonies
You smiled me soft and hard
I surprised you when I whispered in your ear
At the Chinese restaurant
And laid my head down on your shoulder for a second
You tore your blouse open in the church parking lot
When I was describing your stature you corrected me
“I don’t have to stick it out.  It’s always like that.”
You were all toughness and fragility
The kind of beauty that never fades
But you were too wild girl
No one could truly satisfy you
Not me, not your husband, not anyone

(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

the elders say the sky is changing
stars aren’t where they should be
Earth has shifted her axis
misaligning the heavens

driving home on date night
respite from daily’s grind
ice cream cones and country songs
breezing through open windows
with Charlie in the back
wailing and wagging to the music
spruces swaying in clear evening sky
“stop the car”, she said
“the moon isn’t where it’s supposed to be”
he rolled his eyes and got out with her
Steph, Mel and Charlie on his leash
trekking a quick adventure
searching for the misplaced moon
walking in the beauty of the night

it took a short while
but they found her in the tree tops
shining in full magnificence
conversing with Venus and Mars
while the man on the moon stole a kiss


Del Maximo
©06/16/2016

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

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

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

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.

she used to sing around the house
songs from the Hit Parade
there was a little transistor radio
slim, dark green with a telescoping antenna
kept on the kitchen windowsill
she would listen to music
singing along while cooking and cleaning
or going solo a Capella
Rosemary Clooney, Della Reece
Frank Sinatra, Andy Williams
Jo Stafford Weston
she told me that when ‘Daddy” was in the hospital
he had his favorites
Don’t You Know and You’ll Never Know
he asked her to sing them again and again
her singing came from a good place
somewhere deep inside her
a place where she could just be herself
apart from life’s responsibilities
far away from the roles of wife
and mother to too many children
leaving behind the frustrations
of carrying on in poverty’s face
if only for the moment it took
to sing a song
she would sing about pyramids and sunrises
about a lady with an enigmatic smile
cheating hearts and when she might fall in love
and we learned all those songs  too
as her hearing worsened
she stopped singing
as if she lost a piece of herself
she’s gone now
but we still have those memories
a musical legacy for her talented children

she reaches deep inside me
with her whisperings
sometimes when I feel her presence
I close my eyes to watch her phosphene light show
an electric ultramarine grid against a black field
capturing glowing molecules floating in the sea inside my eyelids
like a cast out fishnet catching tiny bright blue fire flies
perhaps blue is the color of her music
change overcomes me
calmness and clarity
free from fear and pain
I arrive at joy and creativity
moved to play flute, write poems
or work on paintings or collages
enjoying the stillness of the earth
realizing the oneness of existence
at times I’ve wondered where she was
quaking in abandonment's corner
growing older, I’ve come to understand
she never leaves me
I just need to listen for her subtle voice
and close my eyes and see

she appeared in a dream
way back in my younger years
a solemn, solitary white woman
kneeling silently at the altar rail
her long brown hair covered
beneath a long white veil
looking like Mary
she spoke not a word
her hands clasped in prayer
we all watched from the pews
mesmerized
without moving, she called my name
sounded like Mrs. Pino
my 5th grade catechism teacher
she kept calling
she wanted me to come forward
to receive recognition or an award
glued to  the kneeler in the pews
I thought to myself
‘Lady, you’ve got the wrong guy’

he appeared in a dream
many, many years later
decades
he drove a red Honda
up to my back porch
in the projects
I often dream of that childhood place
as still home
he got out of the car to address me
tall with faded jeans
gray hoody and sunglasses
obscuring his face
couldn’t even see his skin tone
as if he were purposely unviewable
my unempowered eyes searching
he stood there in glory
looking like a son of man
he wanted to know if I knew him
I kept ogling to see who he was
but I couldn’t tell
he asked again
I didn’t answer
still focusing on ****** features
instead of the all of him
he turned back to the car
got in and drove away
leaving me still wondering

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

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

panhandling daily
sympathy cards all used up
tired of all this
slashes his wrists then sits down
on the curb eating pizza

his blood dripping down
his mind is on the pizza
does not care to live
EMT's take him, fix him
72 hour hold

dude's a survivor
gets psyche evaluation
returned to the streets
proudly bragging about it
to anyone who listens

came to my office
asking my friend for some change
friend's a minister
rejected, the dude cusses
picture of humility

he doesn't ask me
he knows what my answer is
done enough for him
all I can do is just wait
then spray the air freshener

it had been awhile--years
he doesn't believe in visiting
he's not there anyway
it's only remains
ashes and dust

he couldn't find the tombstone
a small slab of marble among many
his eyes walk around
reading a matrix of columns and rows
searching  for his name
his steps mindful of sacred ground
keeping balance in uneven hole-y-ness
the crab grass is overgrown
feet sinking into layers of runners
rendering footing unsure
it has to be by that tree

he finds it finally
just where it always was
they already marked it with white spray paint
a spot to be dug up
for his brother's interment
he will join Dad tomorrow
in a ceremony of guitars
this was his last chance
to visit alone with Dad

he stood staring
reading the engraved words
the stone is scarred but holding up
so nice to see it again
induced feelings of connection
a pleasant surprise

he took out his flute
drawing it close to lips
Dad never heard him play in life
perhaps he heard it in heaven
if not, maybe he'll hear it now

an improvised, sorrowful melody
fingers thinking out a tune
reverberating through hills
all the way to the ocean's sky
dissipating into wind
whispering on breezes
after pausing to read the name again
another song
he wonders if Dad heard him
then realizes it doesn't matter
he played it for *him

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

the light surrounds us
individual pin points
spirits we have known
guiding, illuminating
whispering inspiration



Del Maximo
© September 18, 2009

in the fourth grade
his father showed him
******* a man
by breaking his neck
my young friend demonstrated
“first push, then pull”
he got expelled
for unknown reasons
transferred to another school
didn’t see him again
till Jr. High

he didn’t have the grades
to get into my classes
except for P. E.
we enjoyed playing football
and basketball
one time some crazy dude
decided to jump on my back
I cracked him in the head with an elbow
he was dazed and said
“nobody hits me in the ******’ head”
as he staggered and backed down
I heard my friend proudly telling others
about it (hehe)

still the same old bad boy
but he was always cool with me
the things people said about him
stuff he did with a dog
a total lack of respect for women
he got convicted for ******
a seventy year old lady
he says he didn’t do it

part of the crack generation
with all that went with that
dealin’ and usin’s cycle of survival
I heard he got beaten up
nearly to death
and mysteriously dropped off
at E.R.’s door
he says the police did it
strangely
despite his corrupt ways
he was always candid
and seemed honest
it makes me wonder

saw him at Tito’s
getting tacos with his girl
he had cleaned up well
driving a Cadillac
with a Christian crown
in the rear window

ran into him at the corner
the liquor store near my job
he had been clean for three years
that last time I saw him
now he was living in that Caddy
with his big brother
back in the alley
he told me he was sick of this ****

caught me up with the boys
who had died
who got sick
who got sick and died
he asked if my car
was in the parking lot everyday
like he was gonna come and find me
I told him not to
he needed to go downtown
get to a shelter
to a program

as I turned to walk away
he called out, “love you”
I turned to face him
still back peddling towards the car
tapping my fist on my heart

in the fourth grade
his father showed him
******* a man
by breaking his neck
my young friend demonstrated
“first push, then pull”
he got expelled
for unknown reasons
transferred to another school
didn’t see him again
till Jr. High

he didn’t have the grades
to get into my classes
except for P. E.
we enjoyed playing football
and basketball
one time some crazy dude
decided to jump on my back
I cracked him in the head with an elbow
he was dazed and said
“nobody hits me in the ******’ head”
as he staggered and backed down
I heard my friend proudly telling others
about it (hehe)

still the same old bad boy
but he was always cool with me
the things people said about him
stuff he did with a dog
a total lack of respect for women
he got convicted for ******
a seventy year old lady
he says he didn’t do it

part of the crack generation
with all that went with that
dealin’ and usin’s cycle of survival
I heard he got beaten up
nearly to death
and mysteriously dropped off
at E.R.’s door
he says the police did it
strangely
despite his corrupt ways
he was always candid
and seemed honest
it makes me wonder

saw him at Tito’s
getting tacos with his girl
he had cleaned up well
driving a Cadillac
with a Christian crown
in the rear window

ran into him at the corner
the liquor store near my job
that time I saw him
he had been clean for three years
now he was living in that Caddy
with his big brother
back in the alley
he told me he was sick of this ****

caught me up with the boys
who had died
who got sick
who got sick and died
he asked if my car
was in the parking lot everyday
like he was gonna come and find me
I told him not to
he needed to go downtown
get to a shelter
to a program

as I turned to walk away
he called out, “love you”
I turned to face him
still walking towards the car
back peddling
tapping my fist on my heart

for a Lovely Lady

we're growing old and things have changed
our health ain't what it used to be
at times my eyes can't really see
fine print can be tough for me
my ears can buzz, snap and ring
flattening the notes I sing
my strength has gone the way of youth
and dentures now replace my tooths
my knees may creak and fingers ache
but emu oil works, for goodness' sake
I've earned my stripes and can't complain
we still enjoy walks in the rain
we may no longer be so young
but, Lord, we still have lots of fun
our time together is not over
as far as I can tell
we've plenty of moments for picnics in clover
and so many roses yet to smell

everyone knows they have a million eyes
we saw it in that movie
what was it called?
they go buzzing around like
bees without purpose
infiltrating my airspace
snooping around like cats
so curious
or like thieves on recon
scoping out a heist
are they magicians
disappearing when you return
with a swatter?
are they dumb or arrogant
flying in your face
knowing they can get away?
do they seek out food
with their milligogles?
or do they have noses?
do they smell doo doo
from a distance?
I wish they spoke English
so I could tell them
“shoo, don’t bother me
it was just a ****!”

Del Maximo
(c)07/26/2021

for Yarrow

the sun rose at dawn
its filtering soft brightness
gradually warming
the coolness of the wee hours
awakening chirping birds
opening morning glories
giving sunflowers focus

the day begins like any other
a stretch
a yawn
a cup o’ joe
a new day’s problems and delights
yesterday’s thoughts lingering
fresh ideas sprouting
in a fertile mind’s garden

but on this day
so many years ago
a child was born
her beauty springing forth
like Venus on a seashell
with the morning’s radiance
emanating from her innocence
and life echoing in her first cry

poetry is heart speaking
her deepest wisdom
or lightest whimsy
traditional form or free verse
let souls sing
sprinkle metaphor and simile
if you are a poet, write like one
words are music
let them breeze like a melody
color with mix-matched sensory
don’t stay inside the lines
see sounds with eyes closed
hear flickering of fireflies’ light
smell beauty in distant mountains
taste majesty of flowers’ bloom
touch forgiveness
bring personification to life
“she” is much sweeter than “it”
and a seat cushion may have a roundness to her
throw in some high speech
make someone grab a lexicon
delete those extra words
‘I’s and ‘the’s especially
alliteration can create cacophonic chorus
while similar sounds of assonance
tie hoards and scores of words together
although there are no rules
try your best to use poetry’s tools
with this above all else:
let your truth ring
let your insights and revelations
be a healing to self and reader
let experiences resonate in hearts
and harmonize voices

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

somewhere in the past
before my grandfather's time
I paid a visit
back in my family tree
I'm not sure how it happened

I just closed my eyes
tried to think of nothing else
until I passed out
I awoke in a strange land
a time of horse and buggy

kept pinching myself
the pain was real enough
it wasn't a dream
but it was all very weird
no one could see or hear me

recognized the house
it was my family home
familiar faces
seeming contemporaries
but no one there that I knew

I couldn't stay long
felt the pull of the present
felt myself fading
when they posed for a portrait
I stood in the back and smiled

that's how it happened
the camera caught my image
looking like a ghost
a strange man standing in back
whom no one saw at the time

"There's a spirit there"
the family legend goes
"We call him Oscar"
today no one notices
old "Oscar's ghost" looks like me


Del Maximo
© October 8, 2009

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

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

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

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

lustrous drops of dawn
strung on a spider's silk strings
early morning gems
from an open air oyster
as priceless as a new day


Del Maximo
© November 3, 2009

respite from the rain
gloomy monday morning blahs
a grayness pervades
stratus covers mountain tops
another storm is brewing

off in the distance
beyond the metro-skyline
beyond the tree line
a break opens in cloud's veil
a pulling of the curtain

in one little spot
a window of horizon
snow and ice shine through
blinding white titanium
on sparkling powdery peaks

rush hour traffic
along my morning commute
through city's drabness
an eye opening vista
of nature's magnificence


Del Maximo
(c) January 24, 2010

it’s somewhere inside you
the place where poetry comes from
creativity’s corner
you search for it
playing hide and seek
with that spot in your brain
that area of artistry, inspiration and heart
“It’s a hemisphere shift”, they say
but they can’t tell you how to do it
how to make the jump from left to right
from logical to visionary
from specific memories to everything ever experienced
it seems to be a mysterious, unexplainable act
but it’s really quite simple
discovered incidentally
while getting into writing mode
just diffuse your eyes
changing your perspective
look at the things in front of you
survey the scene
focus on the big picture
drinking it all in
then, without moving your head
look elsewhere
put the big picture in the background
hold it in your peripheral vision
focus on one thing visually
or focus on nothing
practice it again and again
go from big picture to small picture
from infinity to macro
it’s like being inside yourself
like focusing on a phone call
instead of the world around you
or like indulging in a daydream
so go ahead and try it
narrow your focus with your mind’s eye
and step through the looking glass
to a place where ideas shoot like stars
and explode like sky rockets in a midnight sky

Heart ****** to death
“Do you need the paramedics?”
Life and Death is three quick breaths
And 15 pumps
Or was it 11, or 22?
Where are they?
One deep rale
Where are they?
"Anung nung yari qui daddy?"
Eyes rolled up to GodDid you see a light?
Fatal heart won’t live through night,
Weekend, two weeks, re-evaluate
“Dey dun’t know daddy.  He’s a fighter.”
Alone in CCU committed act of faith
with laid hands on experience.
Comatose body wholly heaving with Holy contact
Then silence, stillness
Transfers, therapy, rehabilitation
Sent home by HMO
Came home first night to check on you:
Blotted brow and utterance
“Just try to go to sleep”
Came home one day to check on us
Then entered Jacob’s sleep
Headstone scarred by lawnmowers
Grass envelopes me
Gives me hug…you never did
Yet tears are all I see
Heart knows utterance by heart
“Fin, take care of mama.”
Heart de-virged through pain and loss
Salamat po Pops

what's it all about
is it just the nerve endings
purely physical
or maybe it's something more
what makes me want to kiss her

her lips' soft luster
the lure of her permission
does she like me too
will she let me taste her warmth
let me show some tenderness

I just want a kiss
to feel her in my closed eyes
feel the surrender
feel her give herself to me
feel her softness against mine


Del Maximo
© July 4, 2009

before rising crusts
before pizza houses
and Italian restaurants
before delivery
there was frozen pizza
from the supermarket
without designer labels
just clear-wrapped pizza pies
in your frozen food section
at family friendly prices
with thick cardboard crust
dried out cheese
salty pepperoni
and all but flavorless tomato sauce
it was a delicacy
to youth's uneducated palette
now awailable at your local
convenience store
cooked fresh in 90 seconds
same ol' horrible stuff
delicious as ever

just a sliver of silver
the orb's bright edge
peeking out behind a dull gray silhouette
falling to the horizon
in line with L. A.'s flight path
the darkness came early tonight
will the stars come out
in the moonlessness?

once laid my back in pitch black
on the sand at the Salton Sea
sky gazing
excitment stole my sleep
as eye witnessed the galaxy
is it an illusion
like water in the desert
or are the stars so numerous they appear milky?

I look for him in winter
three close stars in a straight line
Orion watches over scorpions and dogs
I follow the Big Dipper
pointing to the North Star
sky's center
the mother of all constellations
they encircle her
each telling her their stories in turn
the Ancients looked up and listened
transcribing what they thought they heard

now-a-days
with science preferred to mythology
and exact measurements to imagination
the stars twinkle silently
mocking us in mute mystery
and unshared secrets
gaze upward in wonder of the tales they hold
paying homage to their beauty and tranquility
listen carefully and patiently for their whispers
you may still hear a story or two
as they teach us to dream

alone in the dark
feeling the infiltration
porch lights and lamp posts
softly glowing through curtains
stealing onto the ceiling

robbing me of sleep
streaming, churning mindlessness
a holding pattern
clenched fists grasping on to night
keeping tomorrow at bay

what's wrong with my world?
peeps not coming through for me
saps my energy
missed deadlines, not showing up
they can't seem to do the math

talkin' 'bout good peeps
I don't know what's happening
it makes me tired
there's too much hustle-bustle
going on in today's world

guess I got away
from always expressing thanks
thankfulness echoes
reverberates, creating
circles of random kindness

so that must be it
got to get back to "thank you"
thank you everyone
for your kindness, timeliness
and just for being good peeps

thanks especially
to the Great God/Universe
copier machine
whatever I put out there
I get copies back, THANK YOU


Del Maximo
© August 7, 2009

some days you wrap me up
like a blanket
and smother me with kisses
other days you get to me
cocooning me in an envelope
tossing me to trash

some days you cut me
bleeding me dry
laughing in cynicism
other days you stitch me up
light up the world with your eyes
and heal me with your smile

some days you are my rock
my reason for living
the gemstone in my heart
other days you pick me up
and cast me down
or skip me on the water

it's just the crazy games we play
to keep life interesting
things done in the sun
but every night you rock me, baby
every night we rock

brain dead for years
with a tin man’s ticker
lost in teenaged conveniences and comfort zones
walking through day dreams in the fetal position
tinnitus’ tones drowning out the music in my head
feeling like puzzle pieces forced together when they don’t really fit
like Frankenstein’s monster
limping and grunting through High School
struggling through classes with some zombie’s ears
ditching often to go to the bowling alley
graduating unprepared in an inverted reality
with polluted brown skies and a blue world
wearing the same blue shirt and blue jeans everyday
wrapped up tight like a blue eggroll
futility’s fortune cookie foreseeing only deafness and poverty
hating life and self –EVERYDAY!
then, somehow, a song crept under the veil
seeping through my tough outer veneers
it’s lyrics melting a hardness in my chest
it’s music coursing through my body like chi
exciting my Brownian motion
a simple message of finding oneself
delivered in powerful, rich, soulful baritone
stamped with profound, moving emotional range
inflection mounting upon reflection
it’s chorus and theme reverberating
I played that record over and over again
listening with my toenails
I decided right then and there to give it a try
that “learning to love yourself”* is a good thing
and that ‘good thing’ was who and what I wanted to be