lagrimas poeta

no quise escribir por las lagrimas
que por no saber del cielo no llore
arroyaron en un muro azul
cuadros de bellezas y de versos
fueron tapices de seda y pirul
olian de algo tan tierno y puro
que hasta ahora no se describirlo
le doy vuelta a la cabeza y veo
las huellas de la alma lloraban por mi
y yo seguia mi rutina igual
ni esperanzas ni dudas habia
la paz que siempre fue mia es mia
todo esto me sirve a explicar
el poesia no es nada de mi
que yo no busque y no ofreci

the tree is brushstroke and brush

the beautiful people

the trees encircle

like vines of their vision

shades of an innocence

the hourglass of the leaf

as green reply speaks

when sun pushes shadows

over the branches

Evening Song

Watching as evening overcomes the sun

Greater than what has come before

Tomorrow is everything unknown since

Power of forever an hour

Time in time’s hands and ever merciful

Give answers to the sufferer’s hunger

Make the means available great hallow

Just as every flower has been given

To altars for the tragic mistaken,

The earth under the passions of spring

The pollen in proportionate gift

Then as redemption the day is consigned

For seasonal oblivion to live on

Destruction for beauty to overcome

Beholding Langston

Langston walks over to the gaze of the lense.

Looks out across a century and leans

Casual serendipity anxious eyes beams

Suited for laughter, the glare ever since

Joplin over rivers born in between

The flow of the letters ancient to him

Renewed by the footsteps, focus to gain.

Seriously bargained to be again.

Watching the riverbanks spelling their pain

To Seats of the desk where writers go blank

The author amused with his elegance

Attained by the gaze of the photograph

Onward their destiny beckoned to spend

Hughes in the open faced alphabet pens

FOR ALISE: SISTER, HERMANA

For Alise  (Hermana , Sister)

A sister is a story and a song.

She sings alive as memory is strong.

Of things that only she and I would know.

For she is everything I am but more.

She is the only one I have of her.

Unlike ordinary people, my star,

A light so bright it shoots across the world.

Very much about us is as old

Though moon and sun would shine for anyone

To love as I love my sister, no one-

As the greatest and the smallest agree

She is the steadfast heartbeat within me.

The way that every person has a soul

The spirit of my sister is my own.

Walden was a Pond a Pond and a Book

Walden was a Pond a Pond and a Book.

It was written in the Dawn of American Gold.

The Age that ccame and Went without Wit.

I think of it Now, how Whitman was It.

A Daredevil for Sheer Lust Adventure...

Harpy of National Supremacist Views.

Engraved at the Foot of the Twin Towers.

When Lilacs Last Bloomed but bloomed Instead. There.

What Walt did for Mexicans, Place a Boot.

Dario at the Talons of Eage.

America without a God or Thought.

Trascendent, my Sons, Emerson Blind Born.

He hands him the Keys to his Homestead, Go.

Get away from the Hypocrites. Take some Time Off.

There at the Banks of the Turpitude's Prose.

Tried what he Might never have Done. Goes Poof!

Balzac, Zola, and Baudelaire

Balzac, Zola, and Baudelaire look on

The scene not so vast it can’t be too grand

A violin in its case plays a song

It travels from general to specific

From language to thought back on to language

Multiple so the vein of a rubric

Parallels for each note of opinion

Higher than ever expected to cry

Tears full of melody answer the words

Beneath the parchment blue ocean and sky

The music of sound rhythm of the world

Singing of its soul to eternity

Under and between until it has freed

What it is, what it was, what it bleed.