Category: Uncategorized

Do you hear that?
The sound of the cows mooing
The chickens clucking
The ducks quacking
The goats baaing
The pigs oinking
The animals are all hungry
The farmer comes
He fills the water up and the food
The animals are happy and full
The only sound you hear is the wind blowing softly

I can’t see the sun
I think I miss you too much
I think I stared for too long
as you eclipsed above me
glittering, to make me see
you’ve sprouted fruit like a peach tree
to hand one out to me
to branch out into space
become the solar system’s devotee
to imprison me
in the grief of losing
what I wouldn’t have lost
if I hadn’t been refusing
and my voice is beat
stinging from solar heat
I can’t sing a song of deceit
to convince you I’m incomplete
The moon is so blessed
but it shares no blessings with me
You only travel down to earth
to weep into the hearth
burning the pictures of you
when the sun was still in view

The year cycles from
Winter to spring and then back—
Love can be like that.

You bring me roses
Just by being in my life…
At last, I’m lucky.

Nature has a way,
They say, of finding a path…
As I did to you.

Hug me close as the
Leaves fall like raindrops or tears
And I will feel warm.

Spring, summer, fall, winter—
We see seasons of nature
Mirrored in Man’s eyes.

Grief is an echo
a sound that circles back
slipping through hollow trees
or the hinge of a door
that sighs but never shuts.

It lingers
thick as wood smoke clinging to walls
sharp as rain on sunburned ground.
An open window offers air
but the breeze carries nothing
only the hollow weight
of absence.

Grief is the weight of loose ends
a shoelace dragging in mud
a sentence left mid-breath
a jar of honey gone hard in the cupboard.

You press against it
try to hide it
slip it beneath the floorboards
where its hum still finds you.
It stretches
casting long shadows
changing shape when you re not looking.

One day it places a feather in your hand.
Light unbroken.
Not a gift
but a reminder
that something fragile remains.
That you remain.

Grief doesn’t disappear.
It softens
folding into the faraway sound of a train
or the smudge of breath
on a winter window.
It leaves its mark
quietly
not fading
but no longer a weight.

An overripe peach is sweetest, softest and
before you nip into it, hold it to your mouth, and
brush the peach hairs over your lips.
Where the stem ends, open it up with the tip of your finger.
The roundness like two shoulders to
rest on.
This is the treasure I’m seeking.
A rhythm of bite and suck from the tenderness
of its flesh, the juice of its fruit, the bite of its pit.
A sensation of taste and aroma, one that stains
the lips with a subtle and insatiable scent.
This is the anatomy of a stone fruit.

I say let’s count:
How many times a day, a night,
a year a heart beats.
I wonder in how many of those it meets
A happy place.
Thus it I would embrace
Even if those were very few.
Or else I should learn to sew
Myself a different life contour?
My sweet rainbow, my sweetest lullaby
I stopped today to tell you why
I’ve missed the days when you and I
We were running in this world
Tell me, should I feel old?
I say let’s count:
How many times a day, a night,
a year my heart beats
On the thought of you…
Then I would learn I do not
Have to change a thing!

In Costa Rica’s lush embrace,
Where the sun shines bright and the rain falls with grace,
Lived a man named Daniel, with a heart of gold,
A Latino with a remarkable story to be told.

With every step he takes, confidence radiates,
A trailblazer, a dreamer, never one to hesitate.
Daniel, a compass in a world that can be unclear,
He always shows love and concern for his family, far and near.

His handsome features and compassionate eyes,
Reflected in the beauty of clear blue skies.
With eyes that sparkle, like stars in the night,
And his smile shone so bright, a beautiful sight.

With a wisdom so deep and a spirit so bright.
He’d help anyone in need, day or night.
His gentle touch, a soothing balm,
A comforting embrace, a calming psalm.

With a love for life, pure and true,
His compassion is a gift that takes away the blues.
His spirit is gentle, yet so strong.
A melody in life’s sweet song.

So let us raise a toast to our dear Daniel’s might,
A warrior, a muse, a guiding star so bright.
May he continue to shine, with his spirit untamed,
As he dances through life, forever unrestrained.

His heart, a wellspring of kindness and grace,
A shining example, in every place.
May your days be filled with laughter and bliss,
May your dreams soar and never miss.

—For my mother

while night scoops down to transform silt in the veins
spilling into day a slow drowning in songs from the waters of life
stretched fraying before day breaks
to dying embers of temporariness
wind blows like candle flames struggling,
calling with moans bodies of water found at home;
an odorous loneliness confers the darkness
etched in-between the broken lines in my face are alive.
the shelter-less river a spongy bait
of human ruins mislaid at the shore
offers a chastity of charity to bury loss…
dangling upon the wingless moon of nights—
carrying thrice my remains like an aura—
searching the language of color
coughed into the tears of thunderstorms,
clomping raw emotions into leverages of sand.
photocopied here a wet purpose of sacred water
reflects love
with a voice reposing gravity.
here, drink
drink of the sounds wafting into the hungry clouds
walking distress into god’s ears,
whispering what becomes of night
when the moon is put to shame in the nape of a thunderstorm.
a decorated death wind returns the echo of my wails;
standing before a mirror’s shadow praying,
tongue-shattered, I do not break:
a billowing tone rose a sun over my head as hands
touching the attire of my scarred morning breaths
brimming into freshness, night’s mouth.

Remember things always, especially if it hurts.
Your experiences are worth the heartache.
Life goes on, despite what happened.
Every mistake is an opportunity to learn.
Everyone who hurt you has taught you a lesson.

Indescribable pain will eventually fade.

Forget-me-nots now grow from the corners of my mind.
Overgrown memory gardens filled with little blue flowers
Reminding me to give myself grace–
Grace that I deserve. It wasn’t my fault.
I learned a lot from the demons she left behind.
Vanquishing them is a waste of the experience they offer me.
Even the loveliest flowers may someday wither.

You’ll never be able to change what happened then,
Only the person you become because of it.
Understand the opportunity you’ve been given. Grow and learn. We all deserve better.