Reflexion Dolorosa

Al encontrarme con un exceso de informacion, escribo.
Escribo por que es todo lo que se hacer.
Todo lo que da libertad a una voz que no es mia,
sin embargo no es de nadie mas, pues sale de mi.
Con la evidencia presentada ante el jurado,
concluyo que es la voz del universo, bajando la cabeza
hasta salir por medio del pensamiento mio.
Con esta voz me desahogo.
Con esta voz me critico a mi mismo.
Me alago.
Me insulto yo solo.
Te exclamo adoraciones
y maldigo en tu nombre.
Prometo nunca poder apartarme de tu lado,
y juro nunca jamas volver a verte ni pensar
en ti.
Si tan solo esta voz estuviera en mis brazos
o en mis piernas.
para tener fuerzas para correr y mover montañas.
pero teniendo a esta voz en mi mente y en mi boca,
solo logro volverme loco, perder sueño, y hablar tonterias.
Me someto a respirar y suspirar, con las esperanzas de que
el aire fresco limpie de alguna manera mi mente,
mi sangre, mi alma.
Me siento atazcado de sonido estatico, como un televisor viejo,
sin canal, con el volumen demasiado alto.
Y aunque pensar en ti me trae alivio temporario,
recordar lo lejos que estas
de quererme
me trae un desalivio todavia mas grande y desesperante.

Not So Secret Admirer

The tectonic plates tend to shift the terra firma
 inside of me when you walk by.

Mixed with pride, professionalism, and feelings of inadequacy,
 I do everything I can to avoid you while my job keeps me passing by you.
Being near you.
Everytime I am, I feel I get a glimpse of everything
 that I could ever want
 in another human being.

Let me slide gender aside for the space of time
that it takes my mind to recognize

that even if you weren't the most beautiful girl in the world
you carry the paragon

of what human beings should aspire to be
both as physical creatures and as spiritual entities.

The confidence that radiates
from your very footsteps
leaves prints of those steps in my mind.

Let me rewind time and
find the sublime rhyme that
would give justice
to this experience of mine

Because you make my heart go

hip, hop, hibbie, hibbie to the hip hip hop

it dont stop rockin to tha bang bang boogie

so up jumped my heart to the rhythm of THAT boogedie beat.

Only difference is that this IS a test.
One that I doubt I can best.
Believe that this restlessness

takes hold of all of my insecurities and fears.
And forces me to come face to face with myself.

I have no choice but to hold myself accountable
for the person that I am today.
For procrastinating my life away.
For not feeling ready today
 to step up to the plate, look right at you and say....

What would I even have to say?
Hi? I hope you're having a good day?

Because people like you make my day great.
You are so mindshatteringly breathtaking
that after months of barely writing anything
I have the unflinching need
to write a poem about things I could

never dream of saying to you out loud
but that need to get out
and be spoken and heard, even if its just through spoken word
so that I dont scream and explode. So I breathe and emote
and do my best to be true
to...whatever higher power
or inner power I feel accountable to.
I know its somewhere.
This over-soul,
this god that I pray to.

This watchful parent that I carry inside of me,
that fills me with gratitude for things like you
and with the need to improve
when I....need to improve.

That is what you've connected me to.
And most days I wish I was stronger,
and colder,
and too hard to be affected in this way by you
or the few other things that make me feel this way too.

But its who I am.
And I cannot walk my journey in another man's shoes.
I'd be lost my whole life if I let myself choose
to live life as somebody else.
God knows I've tried,
and I'm constantly tempted.

But once in a while I find my faith resurrected.
And I practice integrity.

That’s why I'm here.
Instead of a night shift I'm working the mic.
Because even though money and raises are nice.
They dont give me release like I need to survive.
When I coexist in this world with angels like you.

I sing you a poem, and not-so-secretly, admire you.

Inspiration Begets Creation

There need to be moments of creation that follow inspiration.

The gluttonous side of us wants to keep filling ourselves with more of whatever inspired us: music by a certain artist, paintings, books, films, theatre, poetry, food, sex, drugs.

We get a good feeling (or one we perceive as good) and we want to gorge ourselves of this.

But if we quiet our own background noise we will hear our heart and our soul and our mind and our body tell us that it wants to not only express the feelings aroused by this inspiration, but create something.

We desire to give birth to a dance, a ritual.
A dish.
A poem.

But most of the time we cannot even hear this longing, much less satiate it.

We wonder why we go through our day feeling a certain hunger and thirst for something we cannot quite identify.

We gather this energy and let it be stagnant like putrid blood that decays and stinks and spreads disease.

This energy causes us a great negative anxiety.
A depression.
Violent sways in our mood.
Confusion.
Tedium.
Instability.

When all we need to do is exercise patience and create.

Put aside the need to consume.
The urgent lust for too much of a good thing.

And so, while a part of me would rather be reading more and more posts by one of the wisest teachers whose work I've experienced, I take a moment to express.
To create.
To react.
To leave my footprint in the energy current of the world,
and thus
the universe.

Sometimes

Sometimes I just need to write to right my wrongs
Emotions too strong for broadway songs.

I shake and quake, tempted to act fake but too scared to tempt fate.

The best thing I can show
is the will to let go
of the steering mechanisms in my mind
as I try to find the truly sublime. A source of healing and light
inside the war that I fight: with myself, with the world, with my family and friends.
The end never ends and the oak never bends.
It just lets itself shatter when the wind howls its chatter,
unable to let flexibility of mind step in instead of stubborn obsession with control.

My heart beats faster. My blood pumps blasts
of  terrible evangelical hormonal chemicals
into the streams of my consciousness
dreams of monotonous routines
stepping aside to make way
for reams of paper

filled to the brink with savory

Ink that expresses what all other communication fails to sink

into the heart of humanity. At least as I perceive it.
I dish out my insanity, but theres no one to receive it

and translate the beauty from out of the chaos.

Its nobody’s duty, but still I would pay awesome

sums of money, sweat, tears, and blood

for someone who can take my fears from my gut
and lull me to sleep with a soft tender hand.
so I don’t wonder if tomorrow the power to stand
will be in me or not. My will’s in a knot;

noone here to untie me.
Im no Houdini though the thought passes by me

to pretend to be someone I’m not in order to further my plot

for world domination
so I can stop being the one caught

under the soles of your shoes.
I’m slanging the blues

In a black and white world
with no color, no hues of greener grass
on your side of the gate

is this our reality or is this my fate?
to be gasping for air, for just a chance to prepare

A life for myself? maybe one I can share

With somebody who'd care
when I’m glad, when I’m scared?

Somebody who’s there

With whom I can be bare.

Excerpts from an Old Journal: Headphone Sanctuary

The throbbing of the speakers pounds in my ears
and the force from that source pulverizes my fears

And I breathe
And I feel
And I open my eyes

As my lungs expand like wings helping me rise
Above the anger and envy that strive
to take over my life

Like a god upon the hour of his awakening I become
Universally aware.

And I See
And I hear
And I comprehend

It feels so sweet.

Haiku

i am a lost soul

howling at the azure moon

yearning for something

Excerpts from an Old Journal: Love Poem in Two Acts

ACT I

This is part love poem
part song with no melody
just rhythm                                          with talented back up harmony
It is part nervous rant
IT is part proof to myself that I have something to say.
It is part proof to you that you have something to listen to.

Just like I am part proof that my Ancestors were once alive

Just like this poem is part proof that it was worth it.....

ACT II

The fibers on the couch and the cushion of its pillows help me relax as i look at you

Beautiful

The sight of you, the feel,
your texture in laughter
and the tension of your stress.

The tightening of your muscles.
Your heartbeat,
drums pounding through tender silence,

the sound of you.

Like the smell of you.
Misplaced flower.

Visited by an urban bee
 who simply observes and admires,
despising the distance as much as his desire.

My inadequacy keeps me from fully discovering you

I love all your beauty and all your sadness.

Excerpts from an Old Journal: "No Man is an Island"

"No man is an island," that truth has been spoken
how long will we ignore the bruisedm, beaten, and broken?
You've got to uplift, make the world a better place
dont worry about the money, or the gender, or the race
of the person in fron of you, just realize they're alive.
So if you're not afraid, then receive my poem's vibe.
What is this negativity in all the world movements?
We've got to step back and take a look at the blueprints
of our lives, open your eyes, take a look at our youth,
they're buying babylon's lies and forsaking the truth--
faith, hope, love, & charity: these things are realities,
core elements of a genuine personality.
Cultivate your soul! See, we seek to rely
on each other. to make it through the storms and survive,
lift up the hands that hang hopelessly down,
"nobody's an island," so quit clowning around.
That truth has been spoken, shouted, and uttered,
"NO man's an island," did i st- st- stutter?
If you're focused on yourself, then you're bound fro depression.
Looking out for one another never hits a recession.
So invest in the rest, in the people all around you.
put their best to the test, and they're sure to astound you.
We were sent by the soul of the world to inspire,
my poem and I are igniting a fire.
Cuz i was sent by the soul of the world to raise my voice
to them with ears to hear, to them who'll make a choice.
"no man's an island" that truth has been spoken,
so STOP IGNORING THE BRUISED, THE BEATEN, AND BROKEN!!!

From an Old Journal: A Much Delayed Trip

A much delayed trip
on a road leading home
The once sunken ship
no longer alone.
The first bites of freedom
The first steps of truth
an old, ancient kingdom
made of ancient roots.

Enjoying the moment,
breathing the air
looking at things no one
ever knew were there.
Hoping for something
I think I will see.
Wonderin if finally
there'll be wholeness for me.

Waiting in Line

waiting in line
a step at a time
wanting to make dollars 'stead of nickels and dimes
having to wait
makin' me late
no excuse to leave cuz I already ate.
but I keep myself  waiting in a slow-moving line
just to fight for things I feel are rightfully mine--
so I breathe and I stretch and I pop my neck
and try to stand in one place e'en tho' it puts me thru heck--
so wut do I do?
i got the no transcript blues,
& I'd do whutever to whoever just for nicer shoes.
u gotta fill out papers if u wanna make that paper
but I'm late for the job I do have and this line'll make me late-er