Colores (Dolores) (Dólares)

Un arco iris
        de colores (dolores) (dólares)
Después de una tormenta
        de vientos (lo sientos)
Lloviendo frutas
        distantes
                lejanas
Sinfín de frutas
        el fin de frutas
                de rutas
Cuando venga el águila
        Que guarda el tesoro
        ¡Qué ardua un toro!
        Muerto, sin oro
La araña tejiendo su tela
        ––rediciendo la red––
        ––informática sin información––
Ahogando, con su hogar,
        bajo un arco iris





[un poema sobre California, inspirado por Diego Rivera y John Steinbeck]

Untold

...Setting a stolid face...

Why again––
Why did I fill each step with care
Evading your gaze
Eyes only on the path
Sidestepping your shadow
Through the open haze
Seeing through you
Like empty air
Taking from you
Thus
Us

How again––
Have I lost you for so long
Taken into the energy of oblivion
The adrenaline of a lifetime
A windswept windchime
Compassion, passion
Every melody
But your song
A hundredfold
Finally
––For me––
A bell tolled

...Within your infinite embrace...

A Sprinting Feeling

As sprint to sprint,

So feel to feel,

A lifetime perched upon a reel,                           

And breath to dying breath gives way,

As ashen air from shattered clay,

Ungentle light a bidden blade,

As broken seal by solemn spade,

Exhausted skies by thunder heave,

As tarnished steel the rager reave,

Immortal from the mortal flee,

As faulted stars strike dark decree,

As feel from feel,
So sprint from sprint,
A lifetime birthed of foul flint.





Because who can tire of such poetry as this? Just a spurt of energy in the endless chasm of life, in the infinite vacuum of that which is not, in the unfathomable void of––

Lingua

These walls that close us in,
Disparate cells devoid of sound,
A prison to twist the soul,
A jail to shatter the thought.
Where nothing seeks,
And nothing is sought.

Reeking of the lightless stars,
Scorched by the lava of Libras and Leos,
Melted into a dormant crater,
Into a lifeless sky of ash.
A deafening storm,
But a silent crash.

Where music drops into static,
And color slips into smoke,
Flaring rifts to part the flames,
Stabbing secants through the ring,
And even as starlight ebbs, 
Arcs apart so somberly sing.

What once rang true,
So through and through,
Resigns to death,
With dying breath,
And leaves behind,
A world confined,
A nescient drought,
When words run out...





For what remains when thought is naught? What remains when all is consumed, when the world becomes everything yet nothing? Thus, appreciate language for what it is––and what it isn't. And wield words well for the betterment of all. #wieldwordswell maybe? (also this was originally completely white but it isn't for the sake of mobile users who lack the weapon of command-a)

The Watcher

A distant ray breaks through the mist,

A sweep of dust on empty air,

Embracing arms of black come forth,

To welcome the uninvited there.

The welcome mat is rife with rock,

Spotlight-lit, a navy black,

Untrodden crags beneath come forth,

From every wave, a jutting crack.

Yet above it all a soothing light,

From tiny star: colossal glare,

A prayer of the nighttime rite,

Or a searching, sifting stare.

The shadows enter one by one,

To open sea they bid farewell,

And one by one, like weary moths,

Are swallowed by the dancing swell.

A darkness both literal and tonal, both external and internal, from both the above and the below, searching, sifting, dancing...

Terrestrial Slumber

Shifting seas beneath,
Waves on waves roll underfoot,
Dormant power sleeps,
Under a blanket of rays,
Dancing shapes aglow,
Breathing light into the wind,
Uncertain colors,
Flickering: a phantom surf,
In silent vigil,
A mirror shattered and drowned,
A slain canopy.

Well that turned dark very quickly...I suppose it wasn't sleep after all... Anyway, I hope it was thought-provoking; it was inspired by the rolling, dappled shadows of a tree outside my window.

A note: this poem is formatted in a five-ku, a new type of poem I invented that expands the 5-7-5 syllable system of the haiku into an 11-line poem. As its name suggests, a five-ku has five 7-syllable lines, the others containing only 5 syllables.