STRUGGLE

                                                                    STRUGGLE


there is a struggle going on
in some distant land
a place where good and evil
take the final stand
the evil fight for their cause
with their dark forces
but the raven has the power
of the last flight

as the horns surface
from below hell
will they crush the good?
only the future will know
or will the raven triumph evil?
before taking up in flight
will light break through the dark?
you decide

HAVANA RUMBA

                                                                HAVANA RUMBA


amongst the crumbling infrastructure
funky street murals and psychedelic art
where dazzling has replaced the dismal
interlocking drum patterns,  rhythmic chants
powerful enough to awaken the spirit of Orishas

moving to the pyrotechnic explosion
of music and poetry
enticing like hurricane Sandy

magic steps transformed by the spirits of Sunday rum
in Hamel's Alley
a surreal experience of raw creativity
celebrating Afro-Cuban culture
he dances barefoot unnoticed
moments of being


      Callejon de Hamel (Hamel's Alley) in Havana..every Sunday afternoon

Miss Lonely

                                                            MISS LONELY

Today Miss Lonely comes to me,
wearing a silk blouse, lorgnettes and buttons,
and a rose in the waves of her flounces.
Today the mutable miss is friendship
and slowly strokes my heart
with her thin petal of frost.
So, today, I politely ask you to walk with me
through the garden to the flowery courtyard
of that rose the parents planted.
Today dreams are like mold on the side of the wall,
painting the chasm of love,
melancholic, faint, dim sky.

She moves towards me, she moves ever so slowly.
She moves in a bright dance, the stage.
I give over my respect and now I soar.
Hawk, it shakes the boat slow like the net,
in the soft wind, child of the blue.

Yes, melancholy, mute lover,
yesterday's faithful lover.
Yes, melancholy, blessed lover,
your enjoyment always takes me.
Yes, melancholy, woman of existence,
lips which come back like the tide.
Yes, melancholy, flower of my mouth,
speak who can love me.

Today Miss Lonely comes to me,
wearing a silk blouse, lorgnettes and buttons,
and a rose in the waves of her flounces.
Today the mutable miss is friendship
and slowly strokes my heart
with her thin petal of frost.
So, today,
yes, melancholy, lady of existence,
lips which come back like the tide.
Yes, melancholy, flower of my life,
tell me who can love me.