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