My Body

My Body is a power house of awesome,
surviving shame, I broke down the door of destiny
came across the threshold of history
burst forth into this world.
My body carried me through ghettos,
across mountains tops
scrubbed raw, shown brown
through water and sun
kissed, darkened to supple leather
never the darkness to part,
I became a vessel of splendor
ecstasy discovered through folds of darkness
braced by limbs of strength, flesh sweet
poured upon pillows, floorboards, hills.
My body is a channel of desire
liquid, raw - I danced before all
existent, climbed, burgeoned
girl to woman, night until dawn.
Robust - ready for the journey
travelled upon roads with tears but not stopped
thumbs out, hair ablaze, I walked
innocuous in gifts of wisdom
I grew a universe inside me
flooded the world anew with energy
burst forth with blood vitality.

Be Bold

You need to see me before I’m old
Take the journey, be bold
Look into my eyes
See the love.

Don't Blow It

I am Cancer, made to feel every pain, creak and shrill
that passes through my heart or yours, it lays on my tongue,
like a pill hard to swallow, bitter followed by sublime
I cannot fathom anything less than the waves that crash
upon my mind they come creamy and fevered, aligned
to the stars, currents, tides, a forward and reversing motion
and I sometimes am the ocean, sometimes the buoy.

I could draw a line upon the sand, corridor off where I stand
pretend I do not hear the voices which bring every emotional hand
I’m played like a well-known tune, oiled, spoiled, born in June
hearts pump upon my sleeve, hot and boiling with passion leaked
in my ear, upon my door, told as if there were no more
people who can understand are rarer and rarer in this pop stand.

 

Coy

Long glance, short stare through long side parted hair
from under brow, eyes appear, look my way disappear
through subtle flits of darts and dashes
looking through mirrored dark glasses,
play it cool, stand afar, pretending you don’t adore
or wonder if what you read is the truth within my head
do my words match the seams of my dress, my body, my bed?

Mysteries may unfold, are my words responding to yours?
A new tune, thought, picture led and fed into fire, this souls spoils
silence speaks volumes, louder than bombs or words, more truth
less than shy, more than a friend, only ever seen as an acquaintance.

Gravitate towards the mystery. Be drawn into the machine
one more on the tight rope, to dangle off with little hope
of ever knowing what might have been, step on down to feel the heat
pretend you’re watching just my feet. I will be looking for the strings
that tangle up your coils and things that catch in your throat, midair
leads to nothing more than a stare.

 

Lily

Lily of the East Los Angeles Valley, fragrant flower bloom
into the night fire red did you run to houses of ill repute
to dance and sing upon the hands of cousins, laughs, men
who swung you round the night lit sky with silks and flowers streaming high.
Oh mother of Saint Edward be free from the pain of life and your own misery,
which fed and bolstered your bitter roots to keep you acting without truth.

The words and answers we all found were lying there upon the ground
where your roots were firmly planted, the light dim as you chanted
prayers to virgins unlike you, as you swelled too soon.
Gave your life to babies and men, who never even thanked again
the sacrifice that was your life.

Deep in the cityscape, you built a garden on concrete steps,
to plant upon this precipice a life of love and joy of tune,
to give you one last bit of peace, a song, a dance, in balmy June,
this is my work that I will endure, your roots taken flight
I will be your midnight bloom.

The Darkest Moments of My Life Are Tilted By the Brightest.

We may think that no one listens or watches, but what about you? How many do you watch, listen to or care about? Black holes, black clouds, black hearts abound, but every time I look around I see a glimmer of light shining. The darkest moments of my life are tilted by the brightest. I need not test this theory anymore. How many times have you or I stopped, shut-out or turned our back on someone trying to listen, learn or care about us? How easy it is to twist and turn someone's truth into our lies and falsehoods instead of listening, learning, believing their truth the way we hope, pray and shout to the heavens that someone, anyone will believe ours?

Maybe you have heard the answer, maybe you have seen the guide to the way out, but ego stood in the way and stopped you from hearing and seeing what you are hiding from, what truly depresses you, what is the cause of your crazy. We are fallible beings with snot and tears, worries and fears, struggles with hope of redemption. So many turn away from what is uncomfortable to hear and see about ourselves, but every turn is the beginning of a circle and before you know it you have run yourself right back to where you started.

My Peter Pan, My Wanderer, My Geek

One day you will wake-up and see that I have peaked,
what you thought of as strength was just my bravado masking my meek.
You are a giant among men, you are solid in your heart and truth,
I never meant to hurt you, these words are my proof.
I loved you as my Peter Pan, my wanderer, my geek,
now you are on your own path, no longer your life bleak.
No mere man can compare to the glory beam that is your heart,
Your child like wonder, spontaneity, a start of who you will one day be,
I see it now, as well as then, for this love I took my vow to you my friend.
I promised to never veer or peer at another, to hold you as my lover and not just a brother
in arms, I crave your billowing strength, yet scorn and hide from your repeated mistakes
to pull away and deny all that I am, means to me I am not enough, which is a slam
to my ego and self, I want to be your only divine, the look of a diamond in your eye.

What a Mess

You can only play Dorothy Parker for so long
before everyone leaves the table at the Algonquin.
To be left sitting there holding court for one,
stark raving mad, a drunkard undone,
the most maddening of fates for the poet
you write, you speak, but no one comes
to your aid or your funeral
sometimes it is all one
sitting alone at the table, you shun the very souls
who feed you and your passion.