I missed my revolution.
What's a boy to do?
Don a balaclava for jaysus?
Smoke a fat havana?
Think I'll buy me a beret.
Brush up on mi español.
Grow a fumanchu.
Move fifty years down south.
Find me a spanish speaking babe
to dance the dance in a red dress
shouting viva la vida all night long
till the sun comes up
and roosters crow
at hungry dogs
in a dusty street.

r ~ 5/24/14

Joy.
That temporary high.
Fleeting feelings
in a short-lived life.
The rush that makes it
seem worthwhile.
A one way street.
Joy.
Intermittant peaks,
highs then lows.
All things in between
till you run out of road.
A dead end street
on a one way trip.
Joy.

r ~ 5/23/14

I read him one of my poems
He complemented my mechanics
And although part of me laughed
Wondering how he heard me breathe the commas
Heard my spelling bee winner's letter placement
Still
The notion stuck
Steadfast
Push-pinned in my memory
In the neglected space where kind gestures live
I told him how I appreciated it
I should've told him
Boy no no
You don't understand
My mechanics need fixing
No not my grammar boy
I should've told him to volunteer
Sweet boy
I know hands are easier to work with than words
Touch me with both
Shhhh sweet boy
Fix me with your good nature
Let it wash over me
Wash away my grime
You needn't a good speaking voice
But a good intention
Warming arms
To thaw me
Couldn't hurt
But sweet boy
Too bad
We all grow sick of licorice
And I broke you
Like the mantelpiece momma told me not to play around
I broke you
For a less sweet boy
With a politician tongue
And words soaked in muddy motives
I broke you
Hardened you
Into a less sweet boy
With a polititia- err
Salesman tongue
And words soaked in muddy motives
I left you
Gone with the wind
You were the Rett
In the search for my Ashley
But he broke me
Like the soldiers countenance heading to combat
He left me
Wondering
Where all the sweet boys could have gone

Just been out in my garden for a cigarette
Stood there facing east
Two stately oaks stand over there
Sillouted against a rain filled lead grey sky
Behind me the westering sun sets
Throwing its last dying rays
To fall against those stately trees
Green they stand there
Ever changing minute by minute
Lime green to olive,  to almost black
So many differing shades of green
How can any human stand there
And not see the beauty in those trees?
They started life as such small insignificant things
More than eighty years ago
But look now upon the statuesque beauty standing there
Eighty years standing against all that nature threw
Those mighty ever changing royal oaks

As green as cenote water,
calm sacred well.
Jade, smoothed and polished
by Chac’s tears and sand
and one thousand year old maize
kernels from Tikal, grown
by the first father.
Straight blade edged by lightning
sings against the tree when I cut.
Grandfather will be pleased with me
when this jade axe I gift him.

r ~ 5/22/14