You were born in grace facing the
Fire tree entangled with the wind and the sun
And pregnant with imaginations of the crossing
Lights focused on the...
As the car was winding down Zigzag roadOne sizzling afternoonI gazed at smoke billowing, spiraling up the sky from a distant mountainGreen turning brown...
A glimpse of a full moon
On an early Thursday morning.
You look at the living room
And discover
A presence long gone.
And there is nothing
You can do.
Nevertheless
My...
It is not poetry that kills but life.(by Jerry Berryman)
True, I am against yourCharged, pure silk silkenAnd crumby softI need polyester for strength, But only...
Mornings do not rise
Above this leafy prison.
Time hangs midnoon
Over sharp sugarcane leaves,
Striking against the downpour
Of cruel sunrays.
All the sounds enclosing
Are the rustle of the peering enemy
And the striking of our espading
Against the earth's unflinching deadness,
Whose parchedness is under our tongue
And whose flame is...
“You’re free to dream,” is what’s often heard
For wishful thinking seems to be done daily
And nobody had to pay a dime to keep it in their minds
Or really is it so?
The price of a dream never comes cheap
It has, and always has been,...
Aimless and astray—“I won’t go far”But most times, I am lost in the intricate streets and manmade blocks
Not knowing the way back to your bosom
I am the leaves, bloodless even with the stomping feet of menand most often I am the leaf that...
I walked barefoot on the Pacific beach,the sand a chill, the sun a dying coal.Waves whispered secrets to the rocks,and there it was—a spiral waiting in the breath of the tide.Its surface shone,etched with lines curling inward,like a road curving toward a hidden...
Here my mother, who must have been
in her early forties, sits on a stone ledge
at Fort San Pedro overlooking the Guimaras Strait.
The sun must have been strong, as she smiles,
trying not to squint against the glare,
as her left arm holds my then six-year-old...
One last time, my forgotten friend,
poise your calloused hands
and dig your battered heels into the dirt.
Left behind by the new world.
The others, glam dolls and pulpit idols,
have all long gone.
I watch as you reach the top,
as a slow, hazy blues chord from a...