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If god is in LA, he’s on Skid Row
Not the Hills, or Santa Monica, not the Valley either
He’s not hanging from the rear view of your six figure transport
Tell me again how that Jesus piece got you that Rolls Royce
Like it was piety that gave you fame and fortune
Confess your sinless life if he has already given you everything
Was that why last year happened? And the year before?
Instead of saving the world he was helping you climb the ladder?
He can’t feed starving countries, but he grants you immortality?
Most people of the world **** in a bucket
But somehow you heard his voice before them
You needed God to tell you how to be a better person?
Had to read his words to learn right from wrong?
Like, it wasn’t obvious already?
I’ve read the words of God, in many languages
I know more about your God than you do
If he’s more focused on enriching your life
Maybe that’s why this place is so damaged
If he’s in this world, he’s got bigger concern than your millions
If he spends more time with you than those who suffer
Than God is not a very good one
And if your car costs more than a house
Than you’re not a very good believer
colette alexia Sep 2020
Take her to LA
Take her to our favorite places
Tell me do the city lights look different
Now that they’re up against her silhouette

Stopping under red lights
Tell me do you still take the time
To lean over and kiss her like you used to
Or does it just remind you of me and you
Puck Jun 2020
At night as I lie awake I beg
To let me live as many lives
As there are stars in the sky
I want to experience it all but all I know is the ceiling of my cage
Casey Jun 2020
Once upon a day of spring, while I thought, in the early morning,
Over many an empty and ignored notebook paper on my floor—
While I was writing, nothing shocking, there was a sudden knocking,
As of something frantically pounding, pounding at my chamber door.
“ ‘Tis the poet’s muse,” I uttered, “knocking at my chamber door—
I’ll let it in, nothing more.”

Ah, with sorrow I can recall how onto pages the words would fall,
And every phrase was brought to me from a tempest to the shore.
Eagerly I searched the sands;—digging for them with frenzied hands
I would find my poems, but I can—can never find them anymore—
For the wretched but beautiful language that was once my being’s core—
Beyond my reach, evermore.

And the symphony of a distant dirge filled me with a sudden urge,
Enthralled me—thrilled me with lavish courage felt certain times before;
So that now, in spite of what is real, I opened the door with zeal
And asked, “Muse, will I never heal? Am I destined to find empty shores?”
A buffoon was I, for nothing but a whisper far off from my door.
Quoth the whisper, “Evermore.”

“Be that word your leave, fake muse, you mirage!” I howled with grieve—
“Stay no longer in my presence, knock no longer on my door!”
But the whisper, the muse, remains still lurking outside causing me pain—
Incessant knocking, there’s no refrain—more papers strewn on the floor.
I plead with the muse, I beg it to take flight from my chamber door.
The muse just states, “Evermore.”
LA Assignment was to write a parody of Poe's poem "The Raven". Fair use and all that, I don't claim to own this since even though I did write it, not every phrase is original so therefore don't credit this to me.
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
pandemic downtime affords some time to reflect and open portals to new places....
colette alexia Apr 2020
Take me back to LACMA when I knew I had ya
The lights made it feel like happy ever after
Sneaking in to swim in fancy hotels
Making them believe we were staying there ourselves

You would drive miles just to see me smile
Windows down, music loud, worries far behind us
Curled up in your passenger seat
With my head on your shoulder and your hand on my knee

To the lookout in Laguna I found before I knew ya
It never had a better view than dancing there with you
Took me to the Wedge for our very first date
Had a long way to go but we were on our way

Jump the bridge into the water, Via Lido
Then we'll go to the drive in theater
Walk around the island calling houses yours and mine
Park on Cliff Drive if we can ever find it

A thousand steps down to reach that shore
Strolling Abbot Kinney, a thousand things we can't afford
I don't really know what we looking for
But we found love in the Last Bookstore

Valentines Days at Urth Cafes
Cake at Turtle Rock for our best friends' birthdays
Laughing at the things that just didn't make sense
Like how we never, ever felt the Santa Ana winds

Laventina's, In-n-Out, call it controversial
But I'm not going to Del Taco
Inspiration point till early in the morning
Disneyland fireworks had us Soarin'

I've never known another love like this
Someone take me back to Tower 56
Someone take me back to Tower 56
Baby our love is written all over it
colette alexia Apr 2020
Sunset Boulevard
You drove that street like you drove me wild
You looked at me and said baby
Whatever happens, we'll always have it
The West Coast love others only imagine

Newport, we crashed your car
Scar on my knee, forever in my heart
You looked at me, I said baby
Whatever happens, we'll always have it
A love that’s never ending like LA traffic
Diegó P Siemsen Apr 2020
🌘A place to gather hopes and dreams.
A place once visited, a place you don't wish to leave.

🌘A place where we gather as a second family.
One that takes care off you and me.

🌘A place where we wake up to see a new day, a new sun.
A place for a parent's son, what ever he might one day become.

🌘A place for those who wish to look up and admire the stars and the moon.
A place where we set up a campfire in the middle of noon.

🌘A place where you can start a life all over.
A place where you can laugh, no matter what you've been thru and come closer.

🌘A place named after the moon that wolfs cry at after another harsh day, cause they know here.. you can let your feelings out, and let your past die.
A place named after something that connects, something that will bound you to another, new and better life.

🌘La Luna Casa where you can taste freedom land finally calm your spirits.
A place where you can finally find and discover a better way to be you, however you'll fits.

🌘Named after a horrible accident with someone they cherished and now the name of a wonderful place.
There where teens learn how special and gifted they really are, to bring out that which has been fought, erased.

🌘A place where you get welcomed with open arms and taken care of by people that feel themselves..
responsible for you and your actions as if they where your parents.

🌘People that have such good hearts they.. are willing to help teens that had it so hard in life.
And teens that might've never, without them.. could've survive.

🌘And even after all they have been thru like.. losses and crushed hope,
They've never stopped believing, in the hope they gave to us for our life long road.

🌘La Luna Casa is not just the name of a crushed dream or a endless, sad long kinda road.
It's the name of a story, the one you'll be making, a story that will give you and others around you hope.

🌘La Luna Casa means something that will always be written on your road.
It means a home, a new home full of hope.
So thank you Luna for making your parents proud and for giving all other teens hope and a new road.

🌘With full heart: Diegó. P. Siemsen.🌒
there were dandelions on the grass
dear girl, the smell of an Alcatraz flower is fresh on my linen
but sometimes I look back
and wonder if this city wears a too thick a coat
while it struts pantless over the sidewalks of
Macarther Park

there is liturgy mumbled, a woman waving her hands in the air–
Sunday school prayers being learned in Spanish
tri-folded pamphlets on the floor
and gum over the pavement blackened by the cooperative march
of immigrant workers speaking in all tongues and carrying
on their backs, the tower of babel while halted at a red light

heavy cargo trucks speeding down Alameda Street
wearing down the road and the patience of drivers
tents multiplied, and R.V's lining the streets  
the old buildings being torn down and neighboring apartments  getting face-lifts  
more than headshots–
more than a rhinoplasty–
more than the real estate of DTLA–
when you see two kids come out of a tent with their school backpacks on
–you begin to grasp the price

Is this what Keats meant: "A thing of beauty is a joy forever "
even while destitute
the neon pink on their bags seemed like another gift of spring
and their perseverance the paragon of  a psalm of life
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