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Dear New Poet:

Then I'm your man,
your very own
Northern star
one of a
3 legged stool,
upon which all,
we enthroned poets,
the world-over,
do rule

the honor you
bequeath me  
to be,
a first follower,
your very own
first responder,
cannot be
disdained
nor
diminished

this case,
this birth,
novice revival,
heart transplant,
makes it
the greatest
to be the first,
the quencher
of your thirst
so long in the parching,
the throat burnt by a
desert sojourn
of a now ended,
forty years

so come to me!

message me
a message,
find me a find,
your poem so fine,
I here now vow,
our embrace will
ne’er be broken

give me this
honorific,
let us together
be terrific,
raise our glasses,
arms entwined
toasting you  
all that mind and 
breast of yours,
bursting full of 
future~contains,
the full release of, 
bringing longer life
to us both

I am a father.
I am a grandfather.
I am a First Follower.
I am a First Responder,
for all who need a leg up,
so step upon my heart,
the first step upon a ladder
with no top, no end ensighted

my legs are as old as time, but,
measure me not by the rings and 
the metered scales of gray hair aging,
shock of white, a cain mark, wizard-wizened

but by the muscles
of my deep affection,
the solemnity of this,
my irrevocable promise

this,
the blessing
we both earn and make
when you write,
while we wait
in quiet attendance -
for all your good works,
your kept promises

Blessed are You Lord our God,  Ruler of the Universe
who has given us life, sustained us until now, allowing
the reader and the writer, to reach, meet, embrace and
greet this day, this new born poem, with hallelujahs,
                                         together!

We come before you Almighty God,
Policeman, Fireman and EMT
to say a prayer before we go
Our ways to each his own Duty

Together now we've come to pray
In case we forget to
During our busy day

The Policeman steps forth,
“Dear God above
Keep us save
and also those we love.

We pray for your unending favor
that we never need use
the rounds we chamber

Our Vests that we wear
for our own protection
please keep 'em bullet proof
and our safety never question”

The Fireman steps up, and then takes a knee
“Dear God above I need you now
I know you're always watching me

In the Fires of our Hell
or on the highway to there
Please keep us from hurt
and not singe a single hair

Give us the strength to lift a wall
or tenderness to pick up a tiny child
give us peace when others are losing it
and peace if the scene starts getting wild”

The EMT takes his stand
“God I guess it's my turn
Not really safety out there
or the protection from a burn

But rather Lord I need your help
let me make the right decision
on every patient that I care for
Their lives in my hands I've been given”

Then all Three stand together
with their heads all bowed low
Dear God above, to all of us
please your mercy would you endow

Keep us safe and bring us home
to our wives and our children
And each time a truck roles out
let it come back safely to it's building

He keeps finding them. Letters to the Moon full of his woes opened and replied to by an Unknown Responder. He hopes that this Unknown Responder will let his letter be by still writing to the Moon, But a part of him wants to keep this mystery around. To have someone listen to his worries and troubles without judgment makes his heartbeat play a song he hasn't heard in years. He signs his letter for tonight, he notices that it's addressed not to the Moon, but to his personal mystery. And there are only two words in that letter. "Thank You"

Last night Gary Facebooked me:
11:03 PM
"Can I ask you to be crazy with me?"
Gary said he had been flirting with this girl, May
for six months.
She wanted to see him in person tonight,
And he needed a ride.
Gary and I met 11 days ago.
Strangers brought together in the streets of Freeport by pokemon GO.
he spotted me holding my phone out from a mile away.
"Team Instinct?
TEAM INSTINCT!"
Lightning cracked above us
as we cryed in harmony:
"THERE IS NO SHELTER FROM THE STORM!"

My knowledge of him consists of three things.

1. He works as a security guard
Is first responder for medical emergency
Tackles felons and escorts people with restraining orders.
plays it up like he's a security guard for something mysterious
He is a security guard for Wal-mart.

2. Gary buys peoples affection.
Throws his money aimlessly
Pointing at his trophies
Prooving he too is expensive

3. To Gary,
there is nothing better to do
from 12 - 5am
Than wander Looking for pikachu.
With me.
besides visiting this May.

"A taxi would be $80
but I'd rather pay that to you, Bro."

On the drive there,
He is Squeeing, Singing,
Flipping out.
"I've got knots in my stomach Bro."

Upon arrival,
He readily jumps from my car
"Go catch 'em Brock" I say.

When I get back to Freeport
he sends me a messege.
1:04 AM
"Dude.
I think she fell asleep waiting
I'm not inside yet."

I park my car in Freeport,
Finish catching a Weedle.
"I'm on my way, stay safe."

"Man I'm so down."
"She's not coming to the door Nick."
"I'm just gonna curl up on the ground and cry."
"I've called her 24 times"

He heavily thumps his backpack into my backseat
Slumps down into my car.

"There is"
"no shelter"
"From"
"the storm"
"In my heart."

We stare out the window.
At the two homeless men
With no teeth
That he didn't beat.
He's holding night vision binoculars
And a clean Knife.
"I'm sorry I got you involved, Nick
I asked you to be crazy with me."

l - DELÍRIOS ORGIÁSTICOS & ASTRAIS
    
    Participei da festa de Dionísio & as grandes estátuas de Leão plasmático, ergueram – se sobre a Terra. O precipício & o primeiro sinal da despedida cantando juntos a trilha sonora da invasão dos Profetas urrando a serviço das letras. Para todo o sempre o trono partido por ninfas histéricas! Crises contra o amuleto. Gnose fumacê participando celebrando a queda das pirâmides. Alquimistas do Verbo cantem o grito profano da Inquisição! Os sete pergaminhos caíram semeando a destruição da pedra Xamânica. Diadorim buscando solução em Fausto & Orfeu...? (inaudível psicopatia irradiada na vestimenta da alma). Exagerados, contemplavam mensagens infernais de Blake em vozes imagens melancólicas de Rimbaud. Logo as marés baixaram & sobre as ondas a Lua levitava em direção ao rugido do fogo; Dionísio em chamas bacantes! Ausência da queda no tempestuoso ninho levando aos portais da tormenta. Sete anjos cantando o mantra da lágrima metamorfoseada em dor.                                                             ­       
   Dionísio em voz de trovão: Oh! Se a voz do Tudo emanar a língua em torpor saqueando o princípio da guerra; Quando os sentidos estão sacudidos & a alma está dirigindo- se à loucura; quem pode permanecer? Quando as almas estiverem aprisionadas, lutando contra as revoltas do ar, na cor do som, quem poderá permanecer? Quando a brisa da fúria vier da garganta de Deus, quando as fábulas da persistência guiarem as nações, quem poderá permanecer?
    
    Quando baladarem o pecado, acabarem na batalha & navios dançarem em volta do último regozijo no espaço da morte: quando as almas estiverem embriagadas no fogo eterno & os amigos do inferno beberem antes do traço do infinito: Oh! quem poderá permanecer? Quem pode causar isto? Oh! Quem poderá responder diante do trono de Deus? Os Reis & os nobres poetas malditos repousando na caverna por dois séculos, têm permanecido?
    Não escutem, mas o Grito leva à ponte do não-ouvir. Não escutem, mas prazeres congestionados devem esperar. Amanhã. Só amanhã pensando se o tempo foge ao futuro ou se as árvores choram no Tempo & o Vento cantando a antiga canção da essência. A Terra deve esperar as lendas memoráveis sentindo passado & liberdade entre velhas histórias do coração descompassado em dia de vitória movendo ilusões da criação do mundo. Nem um sorriso noturno tremendo escrevendo cartas no oceano desejando amar & morrer ébrio no mar sonoro! Vamos celebrar sua dor& as novas despedidas & as páginas manchadas no lago desespero procurando asas no inferno análogo à soberba contemplando como um feiticeiro histórias orgiásticas em dias perdidos!
||- IMPRESSÕES DO INFINITO
Pequena ninfa exala virtude
Nova percepção é velha chuva
Intrépido céu em força à beira da tormenta
Tempo escasso frente do Tudo!
    Paradoxo abissal em finais absurdos. Doutrinas anti-socráticas poeira do nada embebecido forjado  para a volta. Um caminho é serpente fria salto com Ícaro destoando nobre silêncio ainda que duas palavras atravessem é sinal mágico psiconitróide em míticos fragmentos complexos da grande barriga virtual grande momento, enfim personagens pensantes na corrente capital ilustre ideológica. Nietzsche disse: “ não a intensidade, mas a constância das impressões superiores é que produz os homens superiores”. Dionísio ausente sibilo missionário resquício da grande tempestade transformando nada em músicas eternas músicas pós-Tudo música póstuma aquém de princípios de aura. É grande o Banquete na eternidade alucinógena da erva platônica. Lembranças unidas outras vidas presentes no barulho da dor. A carruagem sem asas foi  o veículo de Dante no purgatório encontrando Beatriz dito anjo de pele sutil com olhos da noite. Ou não. O primeiro grito do mundo foi o verbo, a morte do mundo foi a palavra.

    Acostumei a encontrar palavras atravessando o outro lado realizando caótico passo ao começo do ato simétrico pairando no ar buscando Tudo. Se a palavra antes fim fosse real sem ser palavra psia apenas causadora empírica dos dilemas tristes recortes de outrora pigmentados sem nome em precipício do fim! A ilha colorida geme! É o sinal da passagem da vida filosofal alfa poética plenos estados iluminados na sombra abissal de Rimbaud em crise  de riso & esquecimento sendo expulso da fumaça purgatório vivendo entre o sagrado & o profano com queda para o profano escutando vozes em terríveis silêncios metapsicofísicos abundantes pausas noturnas no vôo da maré. Salve a iluminação mágica fixada na irradiação transcendenastral! Dissonâncias filosóficas,  venham todos! Lamentos proféticos entorpecidos beberei do seu vinho! Indício do apocalipse! Profana histeria caótica levando a contatos xamânicos primitivos míticos em desertos & portais circulares!
             Serei eternamente condenado ao arco-íris do absoluto infinito!

I remember death
not by the pitting feeling of gravity
swallowing my stomach,
or the nausea that ensues
as the vertigo sets in,
or the narrowing vision preempting
liquid legs that spill
and overflow as I am drowned
by the darkness that will never cease
for them
laying forever still
at my knees.

No, I do not remember death
for how it burdens my soul.
These deaths are not mine to bear –
I merely shoulder the toll they exact
for but a few minutes,
sometimes nights, weeks, or even months.
I’ve lost count again and again and again.

They are not mine to bear.
They are not mine to bear.
They are not mine to bear.

I remember death instead by those survived
when one is extinguished,
like the amber lights that cease to spin,
the defibrillator that powers down,
the sweaty brows that unfurl and dip,
and the valiant hopes that wane.
I remember death most by those
resigned to hear the last words
I have to offer.

To the grandchildren on the phone
speeding forty minutes away too late
to share this woman’s last meal.
the charred turkey smell lingers deep
into our hungry lungs as we breathe
in and out
into her for the last time.
I’m sorry, but there is nothing more we can do.

To the son frozen while his father hollers,
rapping and tapping on the walls
just as I rap and tap on your mother’s chest
with waning form and speed.
I can only imagine who you were to her.
Her only child, her world, her life.
And yet,
I’m sorry, but we did our very best.

To the daughter singing the alphabet
while your father lay still just past that office door.
At not even six years old, you don’t whimper
when we all fall silent as your father’s heart
remains even after the shocks.
Would it be torture or mercy to lie?
I’m sorry, but your daddy is never coming home.

To the father blaming himself
for all those years he cannot take back,
trying to break past the deputies
and cut the rope suspending his son,
white in the face, blue in the toes.
I’m sorry, but the damage done is final.

To the concussed mother gripping onto life
in the trauma room next to your daughter,
broken and bruised courtesy of the drunk
driver who impaled your car,
who impaled your little girl.
We tried when we knew we’d fail.
I’m sorry, but we did everything we could.

To the wife running out of her house to find
her husband shot sixteen too many times
staining the grass she tried so hard to revive
in this never ending drought.
A mix of his brightest and darkest reds
seep down from the backboard
and into the brittle roots.
I’m sorry, but there’s absolutely nothing we can do.

It’s not death that eats away at me,
a quart of blood or a pound of flesh
for an ounce of soul.
I remember death, instead,
by the faces of those left alive.
of those left to live
with nothing
but my last words.

I’m sorry, but it’s over.

The different hats I wear:

I'm a teacher

I'm a yard supervisor

I'm a nurse

I'm a first responder

I'm a gardener

I'm a part time mommy

I'm a chef

I'm a waiter

I'm a musician

I'm a singer

I'm a actress

I'm a story teller

I'm a  repair person

I'm a counselor

I'm a couch

I'm a pillow

I'm a tissue

I'm an art easel

I am a teacher and so much more!

Sunny day in June, the tenth to be exact
The horrible day my sister was attacked
Beth was in the house, her friend Mark outside
She was cleaning,he in the yard kept with pride

Beth Anne was on hands and knees scrubbing the floor
When she heard real gunshots, at least she swore
Snuck to the window and peered out with care
On the rocky driveway, saw Mark sprawled out there

Been shot three times in his back,lay in his blood
Beth saw her ex...with a .38 he stood
While terrified, behind the aquarium she ducked
Brad blundered in dressed in hunters camouflage- ****

Her heart hammering in her ears, bursts of short breaths
Saw him through the murky water, planning two deaths
Beth Anne cowered down praying to her dear Lord
He found her, pulled her up by the hair, fired once more

The bullet blew off her ear and traveled on down
Collapsed her lungs, in her blood she would drown
Brad disappeared and the firing just stopped
For Mexico he fled, red ranger with white top

Beth dragged herself the complete length of the rug
Called 911, shed been shot...head ringing from slug
She was determined to live, wouldn't give up the fight
But then she passed out endangering her plight

Came the Greeley police, fire trucks, EMT's
Assessed the situation, perp further he flees
They all worked on Mark, too late he was dead
One smart responder....woman shot in the head

They spreading out rushed the house, found my sis
Beth was unresponsive, victim almost missed
Speeding to Weld County General, sirens blaring
Got her in the ER cut off what she was wearing

O.R. She went with damage extensive
Not much hope, docs and staff apprehensive
For many hours they sawed, pinned, stitched and closed
The ICU threat of infection posed

Her body and face were unrecognizable
Family stood believing the impossible

Appeared an Adonis with blonde hair and blue eyes
Talk of afterlife evidently not lies
Her guardian angel told Beth he was there
Would appear much later, in death they would share

Ahora que me acuerdo, fue así:

Hecho de fiebre, atravesé ciudades hermafroditas
donde las mujeres y los hombres recibían los cuerpos de los vagabundos
y los lavaban en las fuentes,
con el manto de fuego que no cesa.
Una noche saturada de invierno, bebiendo la sopa de la eternidad,
gané mi virginidad y fui otro yo en mí mismo,
porque olvidé cómo responder sobre el misterio de las cosas.

De silencio me armé y salí hacia campo abierto
 a traficar imágenes junto a las constelaciones.

Fue entonces cuando indagué la pulpa del mestizaje,
cuando probé la sangre metafísica derramada en Tebas
-es que esa mañana liquidé a la esfinge
Cerca de una Wasserfall contaminada.-

Pies desarmados, peregriné mi jornada intuitiva,
saludé a las moléculas del fruto y a las sombras de la adivinación,
en un árbol vi la doble cifra de mi vida,
y grité, siendo montaña, la genealogía de mi conciencia.

Cuando la purificación se había ya extinguido
troqué el umbral de hueso por el marfil brillante
y así fue que entré en Coroico, urbe flotante,
cual símbolo, por material de sueño ungido.

Ahora miro con estos ojos destruidos
donde la sal del delirio antes tuvo morada,
(intuyo en esa forma liminar, la espada,
el camino que me arrastró al divino Omphalos).

Escucho, a veces, con saturnal resignación,
la crónica de mi negligencia.