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

🌘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  
"beautification"
costs
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

si la dia pudiera dormir mientras
el cielo la cantaba su historia,
o si la noche quisiera despertar
con el oro reluciente en sus ojos―

el mundo se marchitaría por sus pecados.
si tuvieran un amor brillante que
no era cubierto por los rituales,
ni la luna viuda que ya espera―

todo se hubiera como infinito.
pero inseparable el uno del otro
en formas que podían destruir la causa

que sostena su belleza inmortal―
que no solo morirían en el mundo,
pero en tiempo, en espacio, y en la memoria.

bartering time for money, wasting it on love
or vice versa

rationalizing choices in white rabbit pocket watch anxiety
a pound of flesh to sell off a soul in limited real estate high yield *******

not a single serving available to nourish the mind
after insipid, ear-bleeding monologue conversations

compiling minutes into days suffered
always searching for that quick high, down to the wire bout of auto-****** asphyxiation

in diamond pressure ulcers born in
self-induced, great expectations
that look like strangers in the distance

the breadcrumbs that resemble the stain of dreams
feed the drama that knows the only truth

the hollow cannot be filled with a diet of Xanax and double shot espresso
dancing through norms on marionette strings

bartering time for love, wasting it on money
or vice versa
when time is all we possess

wondering, if once that currency is depleted,
will your soul finally feel complete

It is raining   and it is Christmas in L.A
the home       of paramount pictures  and the home        of skid row

Each drop multiples         heavy
like the narratives             given
to justify                             why
some deserve to be           out on the streets

on day like this when the water pours and seeps into their tents   bridges cannot hide or cover                         our collective apathy                           (shame) as we cross  
into the next decade    “i am not to blame
if he/ she / they            don’t have a home
what a shame.”

Earthquake weather cracked the sky deep
A cool reprise in midstreaked heat
Alight with the flame of desire
burning with a full pink moon  
Sleeping canyons black from fire

Glowed swelling, glimmering into
Neptune’s fantasies, frenzied
Splintered mad with sweltering gems
Shaking the summer from our hair
Dreams falling like stardust into the ravine
As the earth said “anything can be, anything can be...”

Flickering upon cracked faults
Glisten and catch in the night’s sunlight
Devastatingly seductive, smolderingly bright.

Tragic heroes have tragic flaws.
At least, that's what the sophomore language arts teacher had taught.

Juliet and Romeo,
ignorant obsession.
Macbeth,
unchecked ambition.
Achilleus and Agamemnon,
self-righteous ego.
Tragic heroes slew by the pen for a lesson.

What about the ones that succeed?
How could they possibly have flaws?
We hold them on a pedestal for all to see.
Maybe they truly were perfect--at first.

It's easy to fake a smile.
Nothing has changed, we are the same.
Not every flaw can be seen at surface level,
and they're not necessarily vices.

For instance, loyalty.
Now that'll get you killed.
Put that into perspective,
and we're all just tragic heroes with tragic flaws.