Goodbye , . . .
Yes goodbye . . .
(Blah , blah , blah)

In the shortness of his breath
All desperation was taking place

I walk off
Looking at the far off , into space

The game is over
Nobody . . . no one
Scored and won

We all lost . . .

The then ,
In a notebook
While sitting on the park bench
Where he once was
A poet king
The old man jots down
(A poem about lost youth
Past days and dreams of
better days to come)

Meanwhile . . .

The sun crossed the sky
East to West
And the day was never seen
Or heard from again

on that cold night
i remember us lying in the dark
hands encasing each others
heart beats louder then
the rustle of the trees around us.

we laid there wondering what
tomorrow would bring for the two of us
if the world knew you were mine
if the world knew i belonged to you
entirely

what would happen then?

The truth is-
    she really hates men
    wearing shiny glasses
    and boots
    riding on their big bikes
    like Kings of the Road

But everything changed
when she met at an old park,
someone who writes in simple paper
simple words of encouragement
and lessons based on his life

He was wearing shiny glasses
    and boots
    and black hat
    but never rode on a big bike

She loves his works so much-
   simple but elegant
   sometimes hot, sometimes not
   some are with silly things,
   but most are inspiring

His words feed her soul a lot

So if ever he forgets the way
back to that old park
she will search for him
or wait and pray

Only his words feed her soul a lot...

I am walking towards a park to feel a sense of life and to await my companion. I walk past countless familiar faces and potential kindred souls only to end up here at a red light waiting to cross.
"Why, how and when?"
The park was alive on this cool October Thursday evening, well, almost evening. I walk across the grassy field, under the trees and upon the fallen leaves which decorated this ground. It once was green and now its an unpleasant brown. I walk and I kick the leaves, feel a breeze and I pull my coat around me. Squirrels are hoarding, birds are chirping and a sole singer is singing a song about Moondances and October skies. This grassy area is surrounded by benches occupied by loners who while the day away with pen and paper.

School children, set free from the prisons they occupy 8 til 4 every day - run wildly, some singing, some screaming, some crying and some laughing. Parents are all in otherworldly mindsets filled with questions...
"Why, how and when?"
I walk towards an empty bench and sit there with my pen and paper. Whiling the time away 'til my love gets here hopefully right on time.

A lone ice cream truck playing a familiar tune hoping to hypnotize the children into begging for a cone, or a cup of Italian ices...but even the kids know its too cold and too late for that and he starts his engine and drives away.

I've been a loner, I have been a loser and my heart has been broken, taken out, cleaned and put back in...with nothing but a scar that runs down my torso as proof. But I stand tall and I stand proud - "I do it my way." I smile to myself. I hear in the next bench a couple speaking and the woman begins to cry...


"Why, how and when?"

I'm still not understanding how just 365 days ago things were so much better in life and how just 365 days ago we were proclaiming our love and you promised to stay but now it's 365 days later and I'm laying on a bench in the local park at 5am with a bottle swinging in the air controlled by my hand and that friend who you wanted to protect me from is sitting right beside me gabbing on and on about how life isn't very different from last and all I can think about is yes it is for me.

Hadn't been seen in a while
Reasons why the smile was so much bigger
The tightest hugs I've ever gotten
The shimmer in eyes filled with joy
To just sit on a bench
At a park
Talking
Stories beginning of new conversations
Laughs and smiles
Your attire all black
Black button up, rolled up sleeves
Black tie you removed after a while
I proceeded to steal that tie
Laughing, hugging
Pulled out your phone
Attemted to take a photo together
I refused
The reasoning being I was simply too shy
Even though that friendship meant the world to me
Walked for hours just talking
I miss that
I miss the friendship worth fighting for.

-Kathia Mariana Landeros

The sandbox is filled
With toddlers just starting to yap.
They play, they eat, they cry
Then it’s time to take a nap…

The monkeybars are seen
With older children showing off.
They swing, they drop, they rise
They continue with their stuff.

The slide is now in focus
With pre-teen children climbing up.
They run, they jump, they laugh
They begin to develop.

The swing can now be seen
With adolescents hanging out.
They fly, they fall, they try.
They learn what love is about.

The grass is freshly cut
With young adults reading for class.
They see, they dream, they do
The hours quickly pass.

The path is occupied
With adults out for a jog.
They sweat, they win, they lose
The years become a fog.

The bench is where it ends
With an old woman in a wrap.
She knows, she speaks, she smiles
Then it’s time to take a nap…

Running through frozen fields of morning frost
Blinded by Winter Sunrise golden rays
The crunching of grass beneath every step
My Sanctuary

By this time of the year (In days of old and times past)
we would already be
                                    
                         ­             skipping off
              
               onto deer trails--------                
^^^^^^^^^^in the woods of Fairview park.^^^^^^^^^^
-
at
    the
          bottom
                   ­   of
Stevens Creek runs through
                         those
                                 steep
                                          hills.
-
We will dip our toes in the slow, murky water
(James came to town)
as the thick, sweet smell of my burning cigarillo
(and the whiskey fell into our glasses.)
lingers on the water's surface.
(It was a race to see who would pass out last)
It is here that we are young; No moss clinging.
(and be the one to see him off at dawn.)
-
That old ****-colored truck with the key broken off in the ignition
will take life with every well-used car I'm in. "The Brown Trout".
Marcus called from the 24-hour gas station on Eldorado
to tell you he broke the key in the ignition and couldn't seem to get the ****** truck started. We gave comedy its due.
What could we have done at that point but stumble into the blue?
I recall forty girls & boys crammed into an efficiency apartment that night
as the bathroom vent sapped the room of smoke, liquor stench
and Nag Champa incense, while the dense fog
of budding lust hung in stasis over our heads.
Boys on the exit living out their tree house fantasies;
drinking away boredom and skateboard injuries.
-
Phantoms of the apartment buildings
(Do you remember Dipper Lane?)
at the end of West Main tell tales of past tenants.
(I seem to have forgotten your name again.)
What does it feel like
(Did you hear something?)
to be a home away from home?
(I've been alone this whole time.)
-
It's four years later and the bikini tree has tan lines,
they cut down the ******* walnut at my old house,
and built my ark from its wood.
Supple leaves line the Sylvan Queen's Kermes colored hair
as we sail for higher ground.
Now the stinging sunlight cuts through the cracks in the wood.
-
I'm examining the border of a much larger picture.
Even now, the resolution grows fuzzy.
You are a leaf on the five-hundredth page of my dictionary. Ginko.
I placed you there on a particularly sunny day in July
when the Magicicadas woke up to the sound of Joe Cocker,
and we both learned the language of the spheres.