Of patience, I know only
what sea turtles have taught me:
how they are born on lightless
beaches so the moon can serve
as a beacon to lure them
into the water; how they spend
their whole lives trying to swim
towards it, enamored, obsessed;
how they flap their forelimbs,
a vague recollection of flying -
the right movement in the wrong
medium, as if they knew how
to reach the moon in a former life
but now only remember the useless
persistent motions; how if you cut
one's heart out it would keep
beating in the pit of your palm,
recognizing the cold night air.

by Ariel Francisco from Best New Poets 2016 50 Poems from Emerging Writers

You have no sympathy
as rumours flee
Spotlight's on
and facts act accordingly

Simplicity shows less shadow

Is it more just to be
As the price for the free
holds levels of uncertainty
Value your integrity
It is more to be just

Salty old river

Flowing gently

Downwards

In space

Running off

The waterfall

That is my face

Smiling softly at you,
Because you make me happy,
Laughing with you in the limber afternoon,
My deep dimples,
Enough to make you tumble and tumble again,
You grab my hand, grazing my ring,
And lead me through the flowers,
Our touch as meshed as cotton in my hair,
You’re whistling through the weeds,
A thousand thorns,
Spill off my shoulder,
Scoop the ground,
We walk and dandelions surround us
Naturally

I seek
Purity
Simplicity
Of my heart
My very Being

She smiles at me
As flowers
Calls me
With bird song
Cries with me
As raindrops
Hides from me
As rainbows

"I am as you
Everywhere
And always,"
She whispers
In love, as love
Forever

Pure
Simple
Still
Being

For things I'll never have in life
Fancy car
Mansion
Designer Clothes
Neverending list
Never pay the price
Don't want them enough I suppose

I need you

Like a summer wind that needs the rain

I need you

Like the breath of life for pleasure and for pain

I need you

Like a ticking clock that marks the hours

I need you

Like a humming bird among the flowers

I am your slave

I don’t stand out because my clothes are on point
I am not memorable because my intellect is one of a kind
My speech and my gait wouldn’t be considered the best
And there’s nothing the world I can do better than the rest

My song's just simple enough to be overlooked
My presence often dismissed, rarely brooked
Ordinary are my thoughts, nothing ever so divine
My remembrance but a modest dot in the elaborate design

I am not so lousy either as to draw a lot of attention
Just adequate enough to probably win consolation
While my story may be generic, familiar and trife
I am appropriately average to be living my finest life

I think a lot about the girl
from the camp in Guantánamo
she is a flower among the flowers
a mountain in the mountains, she lives
and never has to go anywhere

There, birds are singing in the palms
a stream flows through the valley
the water shines softer than gold
and she is a white rose
in June and in January

About her, I want to write
sunbeams in the eternal forest
a sparkling song from my heart
in bright green words
and flaming red music

She is my soul, she melts
weapons with feathers and coral
water, with laurel she heals
the wounded deer, the girl
from the camp in Guantánamo