You are sweet
you are caring
your hands are soft
when you bathe me
dad loves you very much
you are my mother
I love sports
I broke my ankle
I want you to read to me
I do not like
when you argue with dad
you are my mother
I have two daughters
I have four grandaughters
I am happy
I miss you
I have always missed you
you are my mother
I did not want you to die
so young
I was only seven
I needed you
to see me grow
you are my mother
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
HUMAN BEING
My problem is
everyone mistakes me
for an onion
not a sapient
old dead poet
Why can't I be mistaken
for for a trumpet swan
dancing in the mist
or a bellydancer
having the best hand
at the poker table?
I know I barked
like a dog
devoured bones
played tether ball
and drapeed my leg
around fire hydrants
But if you check
my bibliography
you will find
I once hit
like Joltin Joe
played the horn
like Loui
danced
like Astaire
sang
like Hank
dripped
like Pollock
wrote like
Kerrouac
A human being
before
growing in the garden
as an onion
everyone mistakes me
for an onion
not a sapient
old dead poet
Why can't I be mistaken
for for a trumpet swan
dancing in the mist
or a bellydancer
having the best hand
at the poker table?
I know I barked
like a dog
devoured bones
played tether ball
and drapeed my leg
around fire hydrants
But if you check
my bibliography
you will find
I once hit
like Joltin Joe
played the horn
like Loui
danced
like Astaire
sang
like Hank
dripped
like Pollock
wrote like
Kerrouac
A human being
before
growing in the garden
as an onion
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Historical Figure
A revolutionary poet
to free Cuba from the Spanish
cultivating a white rose
symbolizing innocence and vulnerability
offering love
to both friend and foe
everyone being equal.
Should not this be normal?
the way it should always be
free
free
free
a basic foundation for life.
It seems strange
this desire to escape
from oppression and
hate
is called revolutionary.
Jose Marti
killed
in the war
for Cuban independence
a revolutionary
a great poet.
Opposite Sides of Bench
Sitting on a bench in Havana
drinking rum
we talked about poetry
he read cultivating a white rose
by Jose Marti
I read swamp king
by Sid Marty
Marti writes about
light green and flaming red
Marty writes about
wild roses and grizzlies
I like beat poets
the harmonization of opposites
he liked opposites also
revolutions and love
we both read Hemmingway
for whom the bell tolls
and
on fishing
agreeing that
baseball cuban style is romantic
football american style the opposite
it seemed we were opposites in many ways
but we attracted kindred spirits
bonding over poetry
showing growth and decline
are not opposites
and opposite forces obey
a common destiny
over a bottle of rum
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