Sunday, June 19, 2016

Yo letreo este verso a mi Padre

Yo letreo este verso a mi Padre
Que sea de su forma buena y bien
Y suene de sus pasos y los pies
Bajo su Imagen empieza a Ver
Que resuena su palabra en Voz
Lo dulce, lo sabio, lo celeste.
Hoy entra el monte a sus Alturas
Envuelta el nube sea su rostro
Plateado de visperas el momento.
El monumento sonrie se ve
Entre sombra y sol su ventura
La lleva y pesa a la soledad
La une al amor y la mansa
De susurros al alma, Poeta.

Monday, February 1, 2016

Beholding Langston, From his Portrait

Langston walks over to the gaze of the lens.

Looks out across a century and leans

Casual serendipity anxious eyes beams

Suited for laughter, the glare ever since

Joplin over rivers born in between

The flow of the letters ancient to him

Renewed by the footsteps, focus to gain.

Seriously bargained to be again.

Watching the riverbanks spelling their pain

To Seats of the desk where writers go blank

The author amused with his elegance

Attained by the gaze of the photograph

Onward their destiny beckoned to spend

Hughes in the open faced alphabet pens

Wednesday, October 21, 2015


For Alise  (Hermana , Sister)

A sister is a story and a song.
She sings alive as memory is strong.
Of things that only she and I would know.
For she is everything I am but more.

She is the only one I have of her.
Unlike ordinary people, my star,
A light so bright it shoots across the world.
Very much about us is as old

Though moon and sun would shine for anyone
To love as I love my sister, no one-
As the greatest and the smallest agree
She is the steadfast heartbeat within me.

The way that every person has a soul
The spirit of my sister is my own.

Monday, July 20, 2015

Marti, Dario, Arthur, Tennyson

Forgive these wild and wandering cries,
Confusions of a wasted youth;
Forgive them where they fail in truth,
And in thy wisdom make me wise.

Marti and Dario enter the poem.
Father and Child, the kite string unstrung.
Blue as the firmament on which they form
From reeds of the wind, fire from the sun
Weave the golden pestles in silk thread foam
Driving toward the precipice in its dawn
The fall that never happened withheld none.

Forgive these wild and wandering cries,
Confusions of a wasted youth;
Forgive them where they fail in truth,
And in thy wisdom make me wise.

--"Come to me Stallion Muse Hero Son,"

"I do not write from a bed of roses."

"My verses twist and ignite into flames."

L.A. Tennyson "In Memorium"

Marti, Obras

Dario, "To Roosevelt"

Thursday, July 9, 2015

Night Bows Beneath the Stars

Night returning bows beneath the starlight.
Grows to enrapture the sun’s departure.
Its journey proceeds meanwhile curtains
close by degrees of shadow retrieval.
Draped across the window veils of silk
Is the sky itself and its great power
To magnify everything by its glow
A fire within the flame’s open heart.
Platter of heaven, elaborate art,
Placed on the Temple altar of mercy
Truth is the source of all mystery
It flexes at the start of the evening.

As though a dream beginning to happen.

Monday, July 6, 2015

Deus Asterisk

Of silence in the Asterisks of Emily
or parchments sung to Wind alone
nor Audience but Echoes of a Homily.
to Bless with Love’s Outrage and its song.
disrupted from the Easements noted stars
dashes and the culminating Arches
Nebulae on the Iris of the Heavens
Tail of a dorsal Fin and Gale
Wind of every Warrior’s Greetings.
To War for every Righteous Reasoning.
To Stop the Hand that Strikes the Clock to Ruin.
The Sapphic is an Eleventh Hour
Sonnet though a Sonneteer she Wasn’t.
Though Antecedent Island baked with Love.
In Medias Rex Deus Machina Dove

Details of the Petal's Form

the details of the petal’s form
are greater than the sun’s even pattern
where in the peril of beautiful turn
the crown is of its crowning a poem
a construction over something unknown
that lives as a power achieved in a bloom
the scissors of a skill carved to blossoms
from nothing but air, seed, water, and earth
Source of a power of life over art
so art is freer and starts with constraints
or breaking from rules to whatever waits
by word a rose has no name as flowery
but that one which consists of harmony

the whole earth as a gentle sine qua non