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.

Spineless

Buried deep in the shelves of knowledge
each of you flip through my mind.
Like titles and classification on the spine
I see you in words left upon the door.
I was a tender flower left alone on the desert floor.

“Time to eat,” said the creep
“time to dine, on mine.
Whose teeth are these,
whose tail so sleek?”
Almost gone but not quite,
“Sugar sweet so young so fresh
let me place my hand upon your dress,
look closer it might still be a snake
Gliding and sliding near to thee.”

Face to face, unusual traits, the quest to digest
your lungs, your skin, teeth and hair
bridges and tunnels, hot shots, predators on the forest floor.

I am Miss Mania

I miss mania
Men always want all the toys
Fuck you and silence.

Set Me On Repeat and I Would Earn That Rumor True

Set me on repeat and I would earn that rumor true,
I would do all the things they say I did, with you.
I would earn every burning stare, every smile from men
standing there. If only, if only, I could play the fool,
then I would not feel a tool a pawn in your dysfunction,
the phlegm of your consumption.
How blind I was to what transpired until I saw the looks of mirth by men,
women rimmed with fire, disdain, secret smirks, come again.
Rumor changed the shape of vapor my eyes placed around
you, veiling the flaws, the truth and beyond.

One Day Away

Lover of night whisked on a wind of salt air divinity,
away with me now to a metropolis of
briny sea and a moment of freedom
liberty from rules, love, marriage, infamy.
The waves that traverse from land to bridge
move as one, billow and bleed
from sea to you to me. Dance
a beat, prance and careen through
winding streets, anonymity.
Secrets shared on trellises of gabled greens
wound in tendrils, away with you, this moment, free.

The Right Words

I will say the right words you want to hear,
make you feel special and like I am near
to your heart or your dreams, is all it seems,
in one layer, but underneath is more
I will tell you my dreams, my desires, schemes,
I will tell you what will enrapture you.
You will reveal to me shades of your heart
unknown to others who sit right beside
the space of your form, shudders from the storm,
left in the wake of torrential heartache.
The bombs that I drop will never stop this
exchange of visions and woven it seems
all life is one, but today the light shines
a way to create shadows, lay right here.

Birth is the Beacon of Feminism

If the personal is political then birth is the most radical act a woman can ascertain. Grunt, moan, pant, sing to the world “Here is my body in strength and vulnerability, my breath alone fuels the lungs of the child inside me.” Sounds heard only in the ecstasy of sex and the epiphany of birth, raise them on the wind.  Possess your body in all its glory, own it from top to bottom front to back, claim with pride every stretch mark, brown spot and juice that flows from nipples, sex, mouth, eyes. Woman is creation, delivering new pure humans on the doorstep of earth, through the very vessel the patriarchy commands we hide with guilt and shame, never to be spoken of. The vagina is the doorway to the world, to life itself.  Radiate with strength and vitality, ripen and stretch taut without disintegrating, birth is the beacon of feminism.