wildfire

wildfire

wildflower war
in the fields
cross my room

the leaves of petals
through the middle
of before and now

travelling over
the arrow flashes
beneath the sun

where again
the petal spears
a catchy song

brush over shadows
with shadow alone
shielding love

the hour of time
a mirror of the flower
in the petal's hold

pulled by the stem
the surface
a living hour

ripening pestle
ground in the petal
abstemious stem

flower in the field
field to the flower
beheld by rain

verses of a day
bees in the leaves
shrub casting petals

hopeful as tender
the bodice and plume
vision of beauty

for watchful harness
the water itself
breaks into fuse

the water arouses
a fiery quiver
bay glistened shadow

SENORA

La Brigada por mares navega

Rutas que al corazon sabe a sed

Al corazon solo se pronuncia

Late al amaranta y a saber

Lo que solo el gobierna, vida

El rio de su manto florece

Las vueltas que por ellas se harta

El huerto resulto y la cosecha

Retira de su huesped sistema

Un sicronicmo adios en estar

Fruto de flor es recuerdo a mano

La creacion y el baile de ella

Encuentra creacion a volumenes

Ayer por el futuro fue su sen

ODE TO MAO

ODE TO MAO

The loveliness comes from the enlightened brow

  wellspring a power of cultural revolt

Signed in the hour of its great flower

The tumult aegis the regaling hour

Does the petal interrogate the stem

Would it rather recede or reject the rain?

I doubt were it revealed the pollen’s pain

Was lack where whereby to gather and breathe

And turning to its others to repeal

What they had all enjoined to develop

A circular jewel the necklace’s silk

Upon a road that greated over all

The flower is the order of the wall

A caterpillar climbed to be as tall

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