Category: Uncategorized

Soaring to my destiny
And it’s nice to know that
All at once you are with me
And you’re the only one I’m thanking
For all the love in my heart

Orange souls
Rosetta stones
And desert roses on a melting road
Spirits fly over head and hold me forever and ever

Nothing hurts more than a love that never began
When you lose more than just being friends
A sad clown can weep for a fool
Who gives away so foolishly
A heart that hasn’t earned the right to bleed

If I’m led and melt in the cold
As our breath preaches the lies we sold
I shout away at the dark of the moon
And weep into an empty room

Don’t leave me unless you really mean it
Don’t touch me unless you need it
Dont love me just to beat it
Don’t hate me just to feel it

crossing the tracks
among blue limecitylights and their skinny
cracked brick buildings still testing
time. I
noticed the railroad steam
doesn’t blow anymore, or their anvil
hammers shutter
less with their past echoes, but
with Sassy Ann’s at the
corner
I know Miss Sara will belt out her voice above
the late train’s blowhorn anyday. And

I still am mesmerized past the Tennessee line.

So, we
smoked
to ease our minds – a while, and let
Labron scream & fly
shaving his callused fingertips
along those thin-metal strands of
silver sheath,

to let us waltz on our bare
bended knees —
crawling
to end up on our hands:
dirty.
who cares
for I want to sleep
on these drunken blue streets.

Let me tell you about my blue haired baby
How her pink leathers drive me crazy
How she wears a diamond death’s head stud upon her tongue
How the Metal band she leads
Has a drummer nicknamed BLEED
And her left thigh tattoo reads, I eat my young

Orange lipstick, neon hair
Spiked green leather underwear
Some folks may find her tastes a trifle strange
Blood red eyes, all wild and scary
Complexion like a dead canary
Underweight, on the run, bumming change

My baby rolls her blades or skates her board
To score free donuts “THANK THE LORD!”
Every Sunday midnight mass in Tompkins Square
Tabbouleh hot dogs, that’s her trip
Oreos with a salsa dip
And nothing beats a chocolate egg cream flavored beer

When we make love, sometimes my baby goes away
Huddles up deep, deep inside herself, but that’s okay
Cause we don’t just “do it” that’s not a song within our dance
And whatever scars she bears from her father’s loving touch
I try with kisses, whispers and embraces to heal as much
Cause my blue haired baby deserves a true romance

Her life’s a fall without the crash
So much time, so little cash
Her punkadelic soul burns dark to light
And with her slam dancing by my side
Life’s just a Harley barley ride
Our hearts ablaze up, up and out
Into the sweet and bitter Lower East Side night

A creative mind, a creative feel.
A touch of crafting and creating.
Stitched with a silk thread embroidered.
Boxes made of tin, stashed on shelves
Containing a mixture of contents rich.
There is the shine of card, newly gleaming
All with a glow of a mirrored sheen.
The stamps inked and marred with designs,
Celebrating and honouring something great!
Be blessed this gifting and for their receiving.
Be thankful for the wonderous touches of craft.

I’m pitching a script about a journey
discovering new lands. A clever captain
but he’s shipwrecked. A remarkable
love-and-murder story illustrated
by the captain and his new navigator;
he is English, and she Polynesian.

(Quick back-story about a Polynesian
woman who sets out on a journey
inspired by dreamed maps, a navigator
who steers to a fame-hungry captain.)
Same old love story, easily illustrated.
His insanity makes this one remarkable.

Native canoes are truly remarkable;
trees thanked before use, Polynesian
design, local rangatira illustrated –
leaf, tree, thicket. This new journey
worries the shipwrecked captain.
Can he really trust his navigator?

He’s lost his heart to his navigator.
She steers by stars through remarkably
open seas, subverting his role of captain.
In his mind history shifts, Polynesian
society beams him visions; a journey
through death, through fire, to life, illustrated.

His designs hatch into life, illustrated
dreams lie, show him his navigator
on a dangerous, double-crossing journey.
In a cataclysmic shift of passion, remarkable,
the once-beloved, once-worshipped Polynesian
is seized and tortured by her captain.

He’s no longer sane, her captain.
He kills her. And he eats her. Illustrated,
shocking. A woman, native Polynesian
in an alien world, brave navigator
of life, her way of death remarkable.
Imagine a movie of the whole troubled journey;

a lovely Polynesian navigator, wooed
by the shipwrecked captain; their remarkable,
sad, and morally illustrated journey.

—
http://www.amazon.com/author/mercedeswebbpullman

How can I still want you when i Know you’re toxic?

But when I’m not near you I can’t help it.

Hearing from your sweet voice makes my heart skip a beat.

For you…

I’d drop everything..

But…

would you do the same??

No..

you just leave the line to ring…

Unresponsive text messages and nights of the unknown.

Makes me question…”who you were with?” that you can’t answer your phone.

I know you deal to get by…

And liking you could be my demise…

Feeling so high when I’m with you I know I’m addicted.

Am I not enough for you to even send A simple text message.

I’ll forgive you again because in the end..

We are only just friends.

But..

boy you really got a hold on me..

And right now it’s hard to control these feelings.

Bear sets up a spike camp
closer to the fire.
A high meadow where lupine still bloom,
A meander between Ponderosa pines,
stately elders with corrugated bark
fragrant like caramel.

Bear fells a pine, limbs it, saws board lengths,
lines them atop crossed timbers
tables at waist height
so jumpers don’t have to crouch to eat
after digging fireline for hours, nights, days

Bear carves seats with backs
from the trunks of downed trees,
places them in conversational groupings.
Chainsaw aria.

On the west side of the meadow,
he ropes together bark-covered limbs
to make shower stalls.
Rigs bladders of water above them,
sunshine and gravity do the rest.
On the south end he drags away
elbows of deadfall,
elk scat, and stray rock,
to make
sleeping quarters on smooth ground.
Sets up a book exchange in an ammo box.
Free library in the woods.

At the center of spike camp,
he builds a bulletin board
where incident news gets posted.

Downwind, a good distance away,
Bear sets up an outdoor toilet
with its own graffiti board:
paper, Sharpies,
wood and carving tools.
Spike camp is better than home.

He was lying
from day one.
I was blind
all this time.
Regret the day
that I saw that guy.
There are wounds
in my heart;
they’ll leave scars for a lifetime.
Everything has its price
and I was charged
way too much.
For something that I never
intended to buy.
Four years of nothing but lies.

I carry with me

A package of tortillas

Made from the hands of my aunt

Those traditional loving

Flat pieces of flour

Which cover my soul

With the most delicious scent

I put on top of it

My sorrow of loss

My mother’s kisses before

Going to school

And the last hug I gave her

On her departing sleep

I can’t forget the guacamole

Inside what will be

my most delicious taco

And the idea

That being Mexican

Is eating tacos

Because there is no other way

Either taco, mariachi, sombrero

Poncho, margarita, and Cancun

These elements define me

They flavor my tortilla

With the ideas from outside

But what Mexico really means to me

Is the smell of the wet soil

In a misty morning in Cuetzálan

Walking in the paving stones without even seeing my legs

The eyes of the jaguar in the jungle

Yellow as the dawn in Oaxaca.

Canela and piloncillo

In my morning coffee

What it truly means to hold

Someone for more than five minutes

The essence and spice of hearing te amo

And the candles

That light up our hearts

Inside the cemetery

Where we left our hearts

Where we lost our souls

Where we believe still

That we will re-duplicate

That embrace

I take a bite of my tortilla

And see her eyes

I hear her voice

And the sound is so sweet

Like honey dripping

Down my spine

How I miss you my land

How I miss you my womb

And the butterflies

Who follow my walks of the world

Hand in hand

With cacao and water.

By Tessie Herrasti

It takes form as weakness
Its shapes vary in sizes of all kind
It grows, it flows, and gets nourishment from the weak
It affects the young, old, and the people we cherish
It can penetrate through the bones
It hovers around cells
It can cause heartache
It is your worse headache
It can cut off body parts
It can cause blindness
It sometimes cannot be seen
It can temporarily disappear
It comes in stages and is ageless
It stops for no one
It waits forever with no time limit
It doesn’t discriminate
It runs rampant through bloodstreams
It affects the graceful and is elaborate
It waits there for just the right time to standstill
It kills