Summer Poetry

6/12/17

Three years ago

I was lost in the streets

of Barcelona.

Baring it all on the platja

speaking broken spanish

to confused mostly kind

Catalonians,

the Arc de Triompf

loomed red in a dying sunset

grandmothers on the bus

their loving sagging arms around

babies and children

on playgrounds

interspersed in the city

Gaudi’s fingerprints

everywhere, those

aqua fossils of nature,

Sagrada looking like a dream

patches of a quilt

from stretches of time

how did I find myself

in this reverie?

A flicker of quantum physics

I’ll visit your ancient colorful gothic

runnels one day again.

I can taste the langosta

and chilaquetes as if it were

yesterday.

From Pictures of the Gone World by Lawrence Ferlinghetti:

As I am faced with death in my family this summer, I’d like to dedicate this poem to my Uncle James Valdez and Grandma Cordy Valdez:

Ceremony

4/17/17

It is in this space that I fail

intended for a chance pass

with a soul who can see my humanity

words and works not meant

to be commodities

but precious eggs

fertilized by experiences of love.

How objective can we be in this

constant society of spectacles?

I can be inspired by the full moon

the glow of dusk

the shy acquiescence in a smile

an animal’s quiet beauty.

Do I need mass media?

Does it make us more informed citizens?

Or more conformed citizens?

Can we not see what it is a means to our end?

When did we find comfort in formula?

Where is the balance and unconditioned drala?

I suffer from the absence

of true connection that comes

from absolute senses untouched

by false realities.

The beauty of a ceremony

is that it has been tried before

but the right ingredients and events

unfold spontaneously,

whispered by a medicine woman

like potent incense trailing up to a

starless night sky.

Riviera Maya

3/21/17

Los pájaros el la mañana

son muy sonoros

negro, feliz, libre.

Ellos me dicen, bienvenidos!

Me turno a mi amor en la cama

le beso en su frente y

cierro mis ojos y escucho.

La espuma cae sobre las rocas en la playa

se parece una baila.

La sal en el aire y en mi piel

todos crean mis sueños

como una madre crea amor

por sus hijos.

Mis manos, mi cuerpo nada

en el cálido mar, agua turquesa

me rodea.

Me sentí tranquila, cansada pero

contenta, áspero pero suave,

como una concha lava del olas

del mar, cambió, bonita, único.

__________________________

The birds in the morning

are very sonorous

black, happy, free.

They tell me, welcome!

I turn to my love in the bed

I kiss him on his forehead and

I close my eyes and listen.

The foam falls about the rocks on the beach

it looks like a dance.

The salt in the air, on my skin

all create my dreams

like a mother creates love

for her children.

My hands, my body swims

in the warm ocean, aqua blue water

surrounds me.

I felt calm, tired but

content, rough but smooth

like a sea shell washed by the waves

of the sea, changed, pretty, unique.

Be the snow

2/23/17

I want to walk among the

snowflakes and just be.

Adopt floating feelings

not fleeing just seeing.

Follow their directions into

new resurrections when

the wind picks up

ushering fractals into

space or ground to melt.

Let me melt like them into

this sphere and feel the love

so temporary, the heart knows.

This snow is telling,

quiet flurries that mirror life.

Don’t wish it away,

here & now, let’s stay.

Bike Ride

mckaylake

11/8/2016

As I ride past McKay Lake

a whir of burnt yellow

soft orange, cerulean glass

ripples, reeds reaching

for the sky, petrichor and

warm pockets of air

surround before cool

drafts numb my cheeks

I think: I am enveloped

in an embrace.

Autumn leaves dance

my eyes graze

memories decayed, crumbles

soon a reservoir of

contemplation will blanket,

blessings light as

snowflakes, kisses up ahead.

Remember the Noble Truths

Dancerpost_yoga

Let go of the desires

oh all of the heartaches they sire

send them to sea ablaze funeral pyres.

Longings to make them proud

treasure me in the crowd

a full moon face with no clouds.

Childhood strings of attachment

put all these tears in a basket

turn them into daisies, joyous facets.

Ideas of what I should be

untangled to set foot free

so that I can be happy being me (remember there is no I only we).

Emily Dickinson and New Beginnings

Sun_Tree_Colorado

This spring brings wonderful gifts, not only the gifts of nature but new beginnings in my life, a new house and a new academic commitment.  As I was browsing through my books I came across ‘Final Harvest’ by Emily Dickinson, a book of poems I hadn’t opened in a while.  I was struck by the eloquence of Ms. Dickinson’s pithy vocabulary and unique rhetoric through syntax and style.  This poem resonated with me and decided it was worth resurrecting with my blog.

emily_dickinson_poem

emily_dickinson_poem2

If something makes sense to you then do it if it feels right.  Your endeavors will always come back to you no matter how long it takes, when the time is right it will happen.  That is what I’m taking away from this time in my life and in essence this poem reflects these feelings for me and with succinct splendor.