Sadder than Shakespeare's Death, the Wanderer

On a spring day at the death of Shakespeare
Stormed through the quiet tundra Doc Williams.

Against his advice I strike my sonnets
Don't can't take me away from my illness.

I write my own medicine into it.
a yellow flower blooming in letters

They are a part of a song left unsaid
If love was within it went unnoticed

Though pleasant enough an afternoon was
Everything sort of seemed a disaster.

Nothing seemed serener in centuries
What I remember of you, Wanderer

Is how you come into the poem Moaning:
"Where have all of my people gone Away?"

Good Friday

In the depth of deep and broken sorrows
as things go unsaid and others lunge on
or from the phylus a flower blooms
through the tough in the thickness of moments

as though a whole world sped upon wings
to announce of a forest in each thing
a portion of a new and old song, spring,
its talons rise the wind you can see in

beyond the point of distinguishing now
is the tune of melodious honor
extinquishing the winter of horror
and alights on Persephone's bower

as a sparkle a meteor showers
crossing the platinum evening hour.

blind love: Ariel

blind love

April 10, 2014 at 2:55pm

PublicFriendsFriends except AcquaintancesOnly MeCustomClose FriendsFamilySee all lists...east coastWritersDreamACTivist.orgUc riversideUCLAMinKwon Center for Community Action 민권센터SAG-AFTRAEl Sereno, California AreaSchool of Hard KnocksArtistCalifornia State University, Long Beach, CaliforniaUCRSan Bernardino Valley CollegeUniversity of California, RiversidePomona, California AreaBeaumont Senior HighLos Angeles, California AreaAcquaintancesGo Back

I'm neither here nor there alive nor dead
i occupy two different dimensions
red skin and bone pink and spotted
my name causes loss of breath Edith

The gift of war ever peaceful at peace
there are no terrors don't visit on me
i bring the key to the door of truths
i believe would never need evidence

if some such as the meek ringing with verse
even metaphor rushes eaglelly,
a lights to a high point alerted beak
Wings drawn to the trunk and talons secure

first I would listen to the wind what says
why does it would it could it should try
I'm nothing to go magic on geez.
leave me with my self admiration

poor piteous me Shakespeare, nunnery
inhabited by martyrs of errors
I'm too dumb to be credible and so
Look at what passes for a language,.

You get me but pretend not to care
between two points a line to draw

I Am the Voice of the Wind said Wind

I am the voice of the wind, >>  here I am

like a reed carved of wood alvioli

and breathing through the tongue of an iamb

as the silk that emit from a snail

softer is the force of a hurricane

than the lament with its reddened cloud stuff

it evanesces with turpitude, though

and its legacies are written in snow

they are redolent no more than a day

that before the sun sets, my innertube,

look, see, I speak of the sky, my Onus

is to inflate it each moment it lingers

while mightiest universe is Outlined

soundless and omniscient blown from my Mind.

To dream to awaken inside a World

To dream is to waken inside a world

fully is is filled and all fruits it bears

so Pomona with a basket in her arms

plentiful as moss is a whole forest

suffices to answering her whispers

gathering new strength she reaches forward  

 and loosening the footsteps of a word

breaks from meaning the bitterest question

I am alone in the harvest of hours,

where have all my people gone to wander?

blossoms and tendrils hope springs forever

skipping and leaping back from the descent

to expanding darkness, bipedal, bent,

and gives of its soil its firmament.

Coyote in the Chaos

Coyote is peerless in the chaos

color of many earthen oven paints

a coat of electric fur eloquence

horizon in the sunset allures again

near the boundaries as breaks into tears

thrusting apart a star from the fiber  

covered in dust shakes rapidly freer

beginning at the end but to return

as a symbol of chances undeterred

for failure after failure to triumph

first take the shape of a tiring trump

dangerously dangled from arch’s hump

wild among the cattle with hazards

beheld and surpassed crying and cackles

Rosa del Invierno

desde un principio lo imagino

en un plazo largo sucede adios

entre el ayer y el tarde azul luz

tan enorme no es el manto del cielo


me doy un paso y regreso, son,

un rigido vestido del gesto

frecuentame eco no abandones

mi nava une el mal y lo bueno



si es un baile a la existencia

lo unico es conocer el alma

y ver por sus ramas a la ser luz

habito en enero una rosa


sin canto en el invierno, raiz,

enterrada levanta la cabeza

Feignglitch's Law without Love Love Doesn't

When Feignlitch formed and worth was surrendered

Little birds with their songs tweeted out

broke from the silence a continuous

chatter raked minute apostrophes wrought

where world under the nearness of a poem

Zephyr encounters no entropy

instead it is all the time aftermath

going and spending of laid wast hours

no oh to surprise or see as sacred

but in the nest of the waking birdsong

roosting the key to the answer at once

Whatever makes sense because it doesn't

takes waste from its bitterest waste and want

as though not a measure of anything

in the moment from tomorrow that's now

the flower that bloomed bright in the future

to lose a language is to lose a tongue

being or not without happiness how

far went oucasted and was blown to dust

as love without law without love doest

Deported Dreamers in the Criminal Justice System, Beyond Criminalization toward Rehumanization

http://www.scribd.com/doc/216487503/NIYA-Deported-Dreamers-in-Criminal-Justice-System

Bishop of Tucson, Octave with Sonnet

The robe of the Bishop not flowers

divides at the hem and disappears

beckons to history and to tears

but left without a sound or a care

the ringing of the bells doesn't hear

nor woe of a woman living in fear

onus after onus will appear

while the father looks on from his chair

hasn't been around now for centuries

though succor haphazardly  is earned

like I am and must be a poet

no matter what price I pay for it

though I never asked is inherent

the crown on each finger of anguish

and make subordinate by verses

the forces of spring of kindred spirit

bringing by their annoyance a rhythm

break it whether you know how to or not

and shadows let them fall as they do.

take heed my subject and sonnet listen

Falter when it comes to violent end

toward the original intent bend.

Alpha Beta California

Me: Beta? Hey kids what does Beta mean? 
R: It means it's not in its final form yet.
Me: All I know is there used to B a store called Alpha Beta.
R:  Alpha means just beginning to be made.
Me: Okay.
N: Old people are hard to explain things so.
Me: I know I saw a young man about 27 trying to explain something on the phone.  He was so sad, he was so heartbroken, not even mad just hurting.

R and N: (eyes open and with irritating disbelief, --mine or theirs not sure-- that infertile pause again  (  -- qua?-- what?--  ) then their certain eyes saying (  -- ummm -- ) kind of mercifully pitiful

Me: SO I told him, "I know it's hard."  It hurt him a little more but I also saw the woman in front of me, her shoulders dropped, Not sure if that was ( --ok?--) to recognize someone was hurting from miscommunication.

Then I pull out my phone and try to double-triple check I sent the e-mail.

"Over the WIFI please."

My device is now a cauldron of emotions and a blank sheet of metallic glass,  no longer a phone no longer a computer,

And I low-turtled it out of there deciding that if it couldn't be printed it didn't deserve to be printed.  F the State of CA, in other words, it failed me why must i succeed for it?

But beyond my blame of the blamelessly at fault, I decide not to mention my faillure when upone returning home, the kids seem to me disappointed at my appearance but glad to have me near them the same.

Love and Youth on the Border, 1, 2, 3

1. Where Love and Thought are Woven

One day as I woke up in a Thumbdrive

a 16 plus 2 Sonnet (  Line count Foot)

permeated the space of a moment

that lasted forever in my own mind.

I never thought of leaving left not once

I  sustained what I wrought was replenished

Insubtrusive, oh IDK, a verb

that I now call a Noun "why?" just because

I go to the line where I lost my love

I lament it no doubt as I must, though,

I let it go and return to my thoughts

what thought had woven in and driven out

My love is gone and will never return

And like a willow tree back in Beaumont.

which dripped down its vines as a tribute

proportions of beauty tumultuous

2. The Will of the Wall, Otay Bridge

so sad to see the grated wall supine

like a worm that persists in stone cut dry

as it no longer serves any purpose

but to be an inert object to life

though it is an arc it suffers the strain

though it be of metal is still a brain

it is alive with its substances

of its fabric it is conscience as well

it is not what it never was that makes

a difference to its or even to us

we persevere uncaring of ritual

we live as we do for our survival

and none who lives wants to sample of death

but what about the bridge itself? Its shell

that alone makes it worth more than nothing

it’s as if it has a will of its own

3. Tunnel to my Youth, Wilshire Blvd.

The tunnel is an arcade through it pass

the largest networks for transit of goods

teeming with destinations like wild

just to imagine it blurs the message

you once loved to eat certains foods when young

when every new taste was so delicious

you wanted to go to each restaurant

you never found so many reasons

staying at home was boring and squalid

better to live off Wilshire Boulevard

wake up and head straight to the bakery

then take out a pen and write a few words

you'd sit there and stare out the window

whether or not it sounded beautiful

you wouldn't throw out the bit of paper

to save what could have been lost forever

it's as though it had a will of its own

Tunnel of Youth, Wilshire Blvd. 3

The tunnel is an arcade through it pass
the largest networks for transit of goods
teeming with destinations like wild
just to imagine it hurts the message
you once loved to eat certains foods when young
when every new taste was so delicious
you wanted to go to each restaurant
you never found so many reasons 
staying at home was boring and squalid
living on Wilshire Boulevard back then
wake up and head straight to the bakery
to take out a pen and write a few words
whether or not it sounded beautiful
you'd sit there and stare out the window
you wouldn't throw out a piece of paper
saving what could have been lost forever

The Will of the Wall, Otay Bridge 2

so sad to see the grated wall supine
like a worm that persists in stone cut dry
as it no longer serves any purpose
but to be an inert object to life
though it is an arc it suffers the strain
though it be of metal is still a brain
it is alive with its substances
of its fabric it is conscience as well
it is not what it never was that makes
a difference to its or even to us
we persevere uncaring of ritual
we live as we do for our survival
and none who lives wants to sample of death
but what about the bridge itself? Its shell
that alone makes it worth more than nothing
it's as though it had a will of its own

Lost Love Springs Out

it is Ez to wake in a Thumbdrive

16 plus 2 Sonnet (  Line count and Foot)

I note that you can't speak FB on TWTR

I never thought of leaving em not once

so long as FB is my publisher  

I don't get paid I grow decisively

Insubtrusive, oh IDK, a verb 

that I now call a Noun "why?" just because

My love is gone and will never return

As was a willow tree back in Beaumont.

which dripped down its vines as a tribute

to Beauteous propoertioned blue scales

I lament it no doubt as I must, though,

I'd let it go to Hell and return for thought

to the very line where I died and returned

a second time was no issue at all