Behold San Gabriel!
the far mountain is
stunningly ascendent
the city's smog
dissipates into a
a welcomed hiatus
white glaciated peaks
bespeak nature’s regency
a City of Angels’ crowned
in a mystic halo once again

Thunderous roads are silent
highway death tolls nose dive
life expectancy for the driven grows
Mother’s cry a million less tears
Tollkeepers palms are left wanting

For the uberites
the celestial scales
of supply and demand
have tipped gas prices in our favor
A litre of petrol costs but a few pesos

cars roaring down side streets
coating curbs with
noxious exhaust has stopped
Street running stick ballers eye
2nd base manhole covers
as safe to steal again

Some have been granted
A reprieve from a harried life
vexations of frenetic ways dwindle
The welcomed respite of downtime
Salves a bruised and battered soul

We’re invited  to dip our toes
Into small pools of leisure time
Escape to a hobby’s fascination
luxuriate in childlike frivolity

Time has opened for families
An evening’s repast
is holy communion
The wholesomeness
of a home cooked meal
Manna from heaven our daily bread
We share a sip from a cup of salvation

Climb up slide down
some shoots and ladders
Gingerly remove a funny bone
Without the red nose buzzing
Spend time in Abuela’s old kitchen
Learn her secrets of family recipes
Passed down from ancient
Borinquen forebears

Challenge creative sensibilities
Let the muse whisper a song
Into your willowy ear
Draw a portrait of a loved one
wash a buena vista watercolor
Compose a poem of perfect simplicity
record the glorious fictions of family history
Place yourself at the center of its epic struggle
Go noodle a tune on the old upright
Dust off that old guitar and flash some new hot licks
Take out the bongos and bang away
The blues are routed for another day

Sing a family circle song
where Daddy sings bass
Take an afternoon nap,
let the cat purr you to sleep
Enjoy the escape
of an afternoon delight
Than walk the dog afterward
in warm eventide twilite

The skies are resoundingly silent
Gushing engines contrail plumes gone
Jets blessedly overthrown by
silhouettes of crows on the wing
Listen to a new meditative lullaby, the
splendid symphony of avian adagios

Plug in to your body electric
Learn to breathe as deeply as you love
Listen to the rhythms of your heartbeat
And fine tune the condition of your soul

Eschew usurpations of politics
And tyrants that cajole to oppress
Seek solidarity in common citizenship
Take refuge in the courage of integrity
And dwell in the unity of the holy spirit

May a pandemic of love consume you
May your crisis open a portal of grace
May the closeness of friends and family
Restore you to a much better place

San Gabriel Mountains beckon
His halo crowns us all
stirred by the trilling trumpet
Wholly affirmed and filled
We answer his call

Bob Dylan: Thunder on the Mountain

Puyallup WA
4/21/20
jbm

Painter sits down
Strokes sun light dipped in moon light upon fjord.
Crystalline blood blooms from valley.
Bird flys high in the sky.
Wind speaks for the earth.
Splish
Splash
The waves crash amongst each other like uncontrollable dominoes.
In the forest
Alone are the spirits
Wolves and deer stand restrained by there own silence as the golden sun rises.  
The painter redips his brush.

How do you answer a five year old
When he's asking why we are alive
I don't have any statement solid enough that he'd be sold
Or why we aren't helping the elderly, hungry and cold.
Explain to a child humanity has taken a dive,
That today, people don't care if you survive
But I'm still strapped for an answer when asked
What happens when those planets align?
Looking into unsure little eyes,
Like "yeah buddy, of course it will all be fine"

It's hard to censor anymore because people want it raw
But then get insulted for what their kid saw
Even the kids shows are spouting crude jokes
Shaggy and Velma are dating
While I sit waiting for a classic mystery to begin
Teach them everything so young and so fast,
Their minds can't take it, gone in a blast.
The clock not missing a tick, the world spins

What do we win if we stop helping,
Selfishly, keeping more than they need
At the root of your thoughts,
I have to know what does your mind bleed
All these things and stuff, I'd give it all up
In a heartbeat, you can watch me do it
Lead by example and keep the rooms lit
But my son keeps asking questions,
So I keep retracing puzzle pieces on my finger
Until the answers for him perfectly fit

My heart is a golden garden
Full blown roses
tight little buds
of oranges
Pinks and Rosy reds

my favorite purple hues
Each one opened at the subtle cues
of careful human touch

Each friend has opened their own treasured flower
a monument, a bright colored tower
to a love that will span through the ages of life
bringing light to my garden
even at night

Gabriel descended
              and he called out to me
So I got out of my bed
              and swam to him across the sea

We met within the forest
              under cover of the shade
I asked why he had beckoned
              he said, Because you obeyed

As we walked, he asked
              what forever haunts my soul:
If you had a preference,
              would you cause or close the hole?

The first to arrive at the other side
              and leave the ones you love behind,
Or live to lose them, one by one,
              the last one to be left alive?

I could not respond, and so I walked
              away and left him there.
I came when called, and my reward:
              a cross I’m too weak to bear.

Returning home as dawn arrived
              met by the sleepy faces
My beloved ones, unbeknownst
              to such lonely and dark places.

I’ve run away, and on the lam
              a nomad known by none;
Those I have left I pray forget
              the madness that Gabriel spun.

Night brings chill, and he returns
              and I, weary, can’t hide
Kneeling beside, he says to me
              You can’t outrun the tide

I’d hoped to circumvent the loss
              in death that he’d revealed;
For if alone, I could not lose
              or be lost when fate wield

The ones I’d loved were left without
              me,  I too lost them all
For fear of death had drowned my hope
              the day the angel called

Darling,
in the event of a zombie apocalypse,
I’m gonna marry you.
I know, that romantic testimonial
isn’t quite the matrimonial proposition
you were expecting,
but I’m projecting a lovely future for us!

You see, when the dead break free,
I’ll come save you.
I’ll be your knight in shining Kevlar,
your cranium-crushing crusader,
and safe in our barricaded bungalow,
we’ll match moans for groans
with the shambling horde outside.

We’ll make love ’til death do we part,
or at least til we start
to run out of supplies,
and if we get in a pinch,
I’ve got a surprise:
see, I’ll paralyze them with poetry,
’cause if there’s anything
a zombie understands, it’s desire.

Meanwhile,
you lay down suppressive fire
and we’ll take out as many as we can.
If in the end we are overrun,
I’ll let them take me
so you can get away.

They can have my brain–
it’s my heart that beats for you.

This is not a poem, this is a life.
I have fallen in love, and I know you've fallen in love (at least I hope you've fallen in love). But, our love was antithetic, it was electric, it was eccentric, it was modern. It was like moonbeams, it was like the pavement after rain. Our love was timeless, but most importantly, it was faceless. It was without impression, it was without imperfection.
I just wanted to remind you, that this is not a poem, this is a life.
I met you, and you met me, but it wasn't face to face. We never walked down the hallways of our high schools and brushed the backs of our hands together. Never would I be able to compare the glint in your eyes to the way the sun shined in our favorite spot last Wednesday at 4:32p.m. We never sat on your back porch, or leaned precariously over my balcony, and nervously leaned into one another. Never will you understand the trembling of my knees when I first heard your voice (this is all becoming very poetic), and never will I know the unabashed heat of your skin; or the cold of your dangerous glare. I'll never meet your mother, and you'll never meet my father (but that's okay, because we wouldn't want that anyways), they are our secrets locked away in a box underneath our separate and never merging beds. I crave nothing more than a love that cracks open my ribs and sends a  hurricane barreling through my heart. Few have tried, yet none (only you) have succeeded. The failed have only summoned a cold winter within these bones, but you struck up a blistering summer and an incomprehensible spring, where my eyes viewed nothing but random march showers.
Sorry, I forgot that you were not a poem, and this is our life.
Only upon assessing the damage your vessel created with your departure did I realize that this is not a poem, this is a life.

(a.m.) 03/12/14