Saturday, October 26, 2013

Bloom


Bloom
My Love,
my Moon,
my Muse,
my wide Night Sky,
my sweet lotus flower
O, sit ol' lotus,
perched upon your pad,
sit & stay with me
a while.

I want to watch
you bloom, under
the rays of the moon, watch
each precious petal
spreading itself
to embrace the Universe.

I cannot bear
to watch you 
hide inside yourself, 
within walls
you would build
to block out
the very light 
that makes you shine.

So be wise
my sweet lotus,
as you wander to ponds
old & new
your head wants left alone
while your heart wants to roam,
but your spirit will carry you
home.

Blood Moon

My latest Moon poem, composed a couple of days after last week's partially eclipsed Blood Moon...


Blood Moon

My moon bleeds tonight,
not from harm,
but because nothing can stay
Full, forever; everything
must empty
lest it burst.

My moon bleeds tonight,
& I worship her
as I always do,
more so, knowing
tonight we dance
in shadows
so thin,
only I can see

She feels
the sliver,
like black
thread dragged
across her body,
a taste of the wane
that is coming.

My moon bleeds tonight,
& She will draw me
to her & I will slide
inside & together
We release
release
the world around us
for the Universe
about Us,
release the heart
& the mind
for the spirit
We have been
neglecting,
release resentment
for Love.

My moon bleeds
for me tonight.
¿Will she bleed
for me, again?
Only Destiny
has that answer.
I only know
the moon
must bleed,
as must I,
as must we all.

Friday, October 4, 2013

Firefly


















firefly

My Muse
is a firefly
& temptation tells me:
trap her,
capture her
in a jar, screw
on a lid pricked
with just enough
holes to let
her breathe—
trap her so that I can imagine
she fires for me.

But she doesn't.

Fireflies fire
from their desire,
to flee, to breed,
to be! 


So I keep 
my firefly free
of jars or nets
or any constraints,
& she flutters & floats
& flitters about
& she burns,
she burns so bright
she ignites the sky,
& sometimes I catch
her just within sight,
on my right,
& confuse her
for a meteorite—
shooting stardust:
memories
of a Universe
more ancient than gods.

My muse is
a firefly, free
to fire anywhere,
& my blessing is
that she chooses
to burn brightest
near me.

Thursday, September 26, 2013

Night Falls













Night Falls

Night falls
& I rise
to meet her,
bury my mountains
deep, so deep
her stars burn me,
turn me, I churn
& erupt
in torrid ash clouds
& magnificent magma.

My Night erupts
simultaneously, 

pouring
forth liquid life,
cooling my fervent fire,
whetting my thirst
in rivers that flow
to form oceans
where only desert—
empty wasteland—
once stood. I would 

be nothing
without Her,
my Night
bearing the water

of Life
to this once
barren Earth—
her air fueling
my fire inducing
her water infusing
my soil seeding
her air until
Creation
has been acheived—
& I am relieved,
knowing She leaves
Me with the arrival
of the Sun,
leaves me
with reminders
of our love,
crawling, swimming,
running, flying—
filling me
until my Night
falls again,
& I rise.

Saturday, September 21, 2013

Eight Blades


Eight Blades


You seek security,
safety, freedom
from the things that ail
the World. Would
that it were so simple,
so easy to escape 

problems inherent 
in probability.
 

I know You feel 
You might have found
a viable option,
the one solution
to making it
through this cruel,
cruel world,
& it lies in the arms
of another,
another who can offer
a simpler life,
a life free
of the concerns
the rest of us
have to face
head on.

Do You truly not see
that what You think
is security,
safety, freedom,
is merely an illusion,
a mirage made
specifically for You?

You will enter that oasis
only to learn, too late,
that you are trapped
in a desert,
condemned
to survive in a jail 

with no walls,
surrounded 

only by dry,
lifeless sand
for untold miles
everywhere you turn,
no water to bear
anywhere you stare,

no Life to share: 
a prison disguised
as paradise.

My Love,
my LOVE,
my undying love,
these are not my words,
these are prophecies
handed down by the gods

your would be jailer 
does not even believe in!

Eight blades. Eight
blades jammed
into the sand, 

into the Earth,
driven deep 
within my heart,
& You stand
fastened to one,
easily able to free
yourself, but only
by choice,

only by Will,
only by the wisdom
You try to deny.

Please, please
my Love,
my One & only
True Love, listen
to my counsel:
the answers You seek
will not be found
by looking
for Oases
that do not exist; only
within our own heart,
within your own mind,
within your own spirit,
never in the arms
of another 

too simple
to understand 

the complexity of You.

You know
I’m right. Denial
will serve no purpose,
except to drag
out  the inevitable
& expand the pain
someone will have to suffer
in the end.


The sooner You free

yourself from this
prison mistaken
for paradise,
this iron maiden

of the mind,
the sooner You can accept
that You cannot substitute
fate for Destiny,
the sooner You can begin
to be the difference
in this cruel,
cruel world,
& not just one 

of its remainders.

Wednesday, September 18, 2013

Alchemy



















alchemy

I’m just the Fool, 
Nothing, Zero,
crying at the back
of the bus, Muse
blowing through
my head because
my muse is so far
from me, drifting,
drifting, still
drifting away,
& toward,
& the pain
weighs on me
because holding up
the sky is no easy task

ask Atlasshrugging
is no option.

So I cry,
the Fool
at the back
of the bus,
& I hide
my tears
behind her mirrorshades,
wipe with a wedding
napkin, hoping
that I might
still have a chance
at that dream,
because that's what fools do:
dream the impossible.

Nothing is impossible
for the Fool whose
muse finds the Will
to drift back to him, 

finds the Words
to awaken him,
finds the Way
to infuse
her power 

with his
power to transmute 
nothing into something, 
Zero to One
to slay a Fool 
to make room 
for the Mage.

Saturday, September 14, 2013

Coke is It

Here's a sample of my new story to be published in the upcoming issue of Smile Hon, You're in Baltimore. I'll be reading the whole story at the Baltimore Book Festival on Friday, September 27 at 6pm on the CityLit Stage, during the Literary Happy Hour. You know that means FREE beer, right? Anyways:


I’m sitting around a small kitchen table with my friend Nicky, Roberto, the drug dealer I’d just met, and twenty-eight grams of powder cocaine. There is a pot of coke on the stove, mixed with water and baking soda, boiling down to crack rock. That isn’t for us. Ricky and I decided to go half on an ounce of dust. It was easier to sell without having to piss off the dealers in the projects and poorer neighborhoods. Pissed off ghetto dealers will shoot you. Powder sells to anyone.

I’m not happy doing this. My mother died a little over six months ago. AIDS. I had sworn never to use hard drugs after watching heroin annihilate her. Selling them is just as bad. Worse. I feel like I’m about to enable chaos for dozens of people.

I’ve justified it to myself. I told myself that it was my only choice, my last option. If this didn’t work... I have two children, two beautiful boys. Fernando, my oldest, had turned two in October. We call him Boo because he looked so scared when he was born. Cristiano, born thirteen months later, had just turned one. He came out looking like Leonard Nimoy, so we call him Spock. I had just spoken to their mother, Maria, and she had nothing to offer.

Maria and I split up a few weeks ago. It was a long time in coming. She was barely sixteen when we met, and I was just some horny, nineteen year old virgin. It didn’t take long for her to have the baby she’d chosen me for. Cristiano, our second child, was no one’s choice.

When Cris was born, Maria went despondent. She paid a minimal amount of attention to Cris. I spent more time with him, and I was working forty hours a week, selling camera equipment for Ritz. When she had recuperated from labor, a very easy labor where she practically shot Cris out of her womb like a cannon, Maria started to let me know that she felt as if she’d wasted her childhood.

I had warned her when we first started dating that we were too young to start a family. My mother had her first child at sixteen, and I was witness to the disasters that can befall the family of a single, teenaged mother. I don’t recommend it. But it was exactly what Maria wanted, and she had chosen me to father her child. I had done my part. I could hang around or go away. The choice was mine.
I chose to stay. I had never had a father around, even though I was the first child my mother had in wedlock. My father had spent some time in jail, and once he got out, my parents just couldn’t pick up the pieces, mostly because mom had started using again, mostly because dad had been in jail. I was eight the last time I saw my dad. There was no fucking way I was going to be that father...


(You know you want to hear/read the rest.)