Friday, December 30, 2005


Spanish green eyes
An ocean
Of life
Fertile vegetation
The desert
Is fading away

Monday, December 26, 2005


The constant
Water drops
Hit the surface
I listen to
The steady drumbeat
In the dark


When I died
I saw
What I loved most
Like pulverized idols
Before the Creator
I thought
It was the end
Of everything
It’s just
The beginning

Thursday, December 22, 2005


Death speaks to me
In a falsetto tone
I am buried
Under the ashes
Of my destruction
In this darkness
I see a growing light
A flame of love
Of resurrection

Wednesday, December 21, 2005


The warm wind
The most
Beautiful mysteries
The moving leaves
Become your hair

Monday, December 19, 2005


I write
With my heart
Now more than ever
Every time my
Heart beats
I think
Of you

Friday, December 02, 2005


Fernando is
An ambitious kid
And he wants
To start a
At work
He’s a Meat Clerk
Henrys Market Place
Chula Vista
He said he cut himself
He showed me
His sliced finger
He also told me
About the time
He fell and landed
On his knees
But he managed
To save the tray of shrimp
He never reported
The injury
Now he tells me
It hurts
Write something
He said
About people hanging
As if were
From a cliff
Holding on
For dear life

Sunday, November 27, 2005


Commercial hymns
Fanning the
Consumer frenzy
Hypnotic marketplace
Subliminal ambushes
Of trade

Thursday, November 24, 2005


I wanted to
Be more like
The hawks
Or falcons
Or whatever flies
In a cool
And gracious way
But I am
More like
A hummingbird
Inhaling the marrow
Out of circumstance

Monday, November 21, 2005


The store owner
Said to me
“Peace brother”
He said
“This is retail”
But I know
Peace is not
For sale
Where there is pain
There’s no peacefulness
Peace is a fruit
Of friendship
And I know
Friends don’t exploit friends
Friends don’t let friends
Become the working poor
Friends don’t insult friends
What a precious word
I can only hope
I can only wish
Ron speaks from
The bottom of his heart
I think a pay raise
For ALL his workers
Could be the beginning
Of the path of peace

Friday, November 18, 2005


In the desert’s night
We saw the fire
Capricious spheres
Levitating and smoking

The sky became
A spectacle

A distraction
To the prayer
Of my heart

We passed truckers
Who stopped to watch
We carried on
Our way.

Sunday, November 13, 2005


I got on
An airplane
Up in the clouds
I did not see
Any angels
I found them
On land
Healing the hearts
Of those who grieve
I saw them in the eyes
Of those who
Hold steadfast
To hope

Thursday, November 03, 2005


How are you doing?
She asked
It hurts
I answered
The marketing symbols
Were all around us
Like mosquitoes
On standing water
But I do have faith
For a better tomorrow
A painless morning
Where healing
And justice
Are one
I believe
With all my heart
That goodness
Will prevail
And the
Angels of illness
Will flee in terror
You see,
We are about
To reach
A beautiful place

Wednesday, November 02, 2005


Under the sun
Many consumers
Most of them
Tried to purchase health
I helped them
The best I could
With their search
All those shattered souls
My heart brakes
The most
For the ones
With cancer
Then I remembered
My knee has
Become a dichotomy


Crossing the
US—Mexico border
Is a paradox
I read a sign that says

Pledge to Travelers
We pledge to cordially greet and welcome you to the United States.
We pledge to treat you with courtesy, dignity, and respect…

When the green light
Turned on
And I drove pass
The x-ray machines
The inspector shouted:

“Go ahead,
but when the world comes to an end
we are not going to help your people”

I love
My country

Monday, October 31, 2005


You need
To pick up
The pace
He said
It hurts
I replied
That’s why
I go slowly
When working
On the shelves
Pushing the RX
And thinking
Of something beautiful
Modified duty
Inside each can
Organic rights
In each of
Those lovely bottles

Saturday, October 29, 2005


A distracted shopper
Dropped a can
On the store floor
Green liquid spilled
Around our feet
At first it smelled good
But then it stank
Like vomit
I sat there on my chair
Under modified duty
And I thought of negligence

Friday, October 28, 2005


In the night sky
It sparkles
Blinking smiles
Of friendship
I see his light
Over my house
Like a satellite

Tuesday, October 25, 2005

OCTOBER 24th 2005

A suspicious
Looking fellow
Came into
My workplace
And said he was
Looking for people
Causing trouble
The ones on
The black list
He added
Then he pointed
At me and said
“Look, he’s afraid
Of being taken for a ride”
To which I replied
“Look, I am shaking
In fear”
As I moved
My arms and
My legs.

Wednesday, October 19, 2005


Yesterday I had
As I laid there
Listening to
The metal banging
I thought about
The sunset outside
Descending on the Pacific
I fell I sleep
And I dreamt of
A better world

Sunday, October 16, 2005


The alarm clock
Robbed the rooster
Of its obligation
With electronic mantras
Piercing the day of the Lord
Aggravating my fatigue
And my pain
Deprivation of peace
Through employment
Without spiritual benefits

Friday, October 14, 2005


It has wheels
Not wings
The doctor said
Sitting work mostly
The days roll by
On black
Plastic rings
My knee is an
Open mango

Wednesday, October 12, 2005


…I tell you the truth, it is hard for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven. Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God. Jesus Christ.


When I slipped & fell
On animal blood
I was down there
On the floor
It felt like
I was in Hades
All I could see
Was someone’s
Bloody boots
And I felt impure
Like the wayward
Prophets of ancient times
Infected with blood
Sacrificed to idols of lucre
Deities that live in
Those dreadful buildings
Known as banks
I had no time to think
About cleansing rituals
Guillermo’s hand
Lifted me up
From the filth
A working man
Helping his fallen brother
Speaking to me
In the language of compassion
¿Estás bien?
¿Estás bien?
¿Estás bien?

Sunday, October 09, 2005


Todos ustedes
Angelitos hermosos
Inocentemente indóciles
Beban el valor que añejaron
En sus corazones
En las barricas de sus recuerdos
Reminiscencias de ternura
En gravitaciones fetales

Porque es la única medicina
La única recuperación
De nuestros días
Disfrazados en noches
De las flechas de esquizofrenia
Que están clavadas
En los anhelos del éxito
Y en los sinsabores de un engaño
A control remoto
A todo color

Ustedes que aún no están
Entumecidos con espejismos farmacéuticos
Y las presencias de hombres tenebrosos
Que se esconden en rascacielos

Porque la doctrina del miedo
Es nuestro pan diario
Y la demencia es el fruto
De la cobardía
Más allá de la serenidad
Está la paz
Y un silencio estremecedor
Que sacude las lesiones de la mente
Y recoge los pedazos regados
De sentimientos destruidos

Ustedes que casi no están muertos
Que casi están vivos
Ustedes que están aquí

Friday, October 07, 2005


The doctor looks
Like a supermodel
One of the thinnest
Persons I have
Ever seen
Blond hair
And blue eyes
With a degree
To heal people
She told me
About the time
She had a MRI
And how it was
Not too bad
Nothing to be
Claustrophobic about
I asked her
If she felt like
She was inside
A casket
She said no
And asked me
To lay down
And examined
My knees
Then she wrote
Another RX
For pain medicine
And handed me
The piece of paper
Nice to meet you
She said
I replied
Then I left.

Sunday, October 02, 2005


The Lord is my protection
I should not want money
He makes me to lie down
In green & pesticide—free pastures
He leads me beside
Still & unpolluted waters
He heals my soul
From the defamation of
My greedy adversaries
He walks with me in the paths
Of freedom & love
For His name sake

When I walk through the valley
Of the shadow of death
Under the snares of rich merchants
And the crosshairs of
Their hired guns
I should fear no evil
For You are greater
Than their evil motions
And You are with me
Your fairness and your friendship
Comfort me

You prepare a table of victory
Before me
In the presence of my enemies
You anoint my head with poetry
My cup runs over with feeling
Surely goodness and mercy
Shall follow me
All the days of my life
And I will dwell
In the house
Of the Lord forever.

Tuesday, September 27, 2005


Sometimes when
I make love
I think about
A baby
Coming out of
My wife
And I wonder if
This time
She will be
A daughter
Will she look
Like me
Or will she have
Blond hair
Like her

Sunday, September 25, 2005


Those trendy particles
Look like
Dog food
Inside the
Plastic containers
The people from
The academia
Eat macadamias

Thursday, September 22, 2005


Steady pain
Modern daily bread
Distraction of kindness
Merchandized beauty
A synthetic honesty
Invitation for
The cataclysms
Of the
Rich & poor
A paradox at
The cash registers
Invisible blows of silence
And victory becomes
A trademark

Saturday, September 17, 2005


I can see the best
Encounters of
Our time
Injured by
The madness
Of marketing
A disaster for
The human soul
The levy of sanity
Has broken
And reason has
Been flooded
Impure waters
Of greed

Wednesday, September 14, 2005


The store owner
Hands me
A fair portion
With his right hand
He cut it himself
With an awkward knife
From the bakery department
And called me by name
“Juan” —he said—
“Do you want some good bread?”
Thank you Ron
—I said—
I touched his hand
As I grabbed the morsel
And ate it
I looked at him
In the eye
As he said
“It’s kind of chewy”
I wondered if
He feeds
Bread covered with “poppy seeds”
To all his injured workers
Just before their drug test
Hoping for a positive result
I remembered when I worked
As a translator
At times I translated
Medical material
It was then I learned about
People flunking
Their drug screening
Because of
Baked goods
With poppy seeds
Today I learned
These are ingredients
I can use for poetry

Friday, September 09, 2005


Writing a poem
While waiting
In line
In a bank
Musak coming out
From the walls
And the roof
My pain dances
On paper stain
With blue lines
Made in China
Human tenderness
Struggle of survival
I write these words
For those dear
Children of God.

Tuesday, August 30, 2005


Warmth of
Apocalyptic winters
And cool wind
To the urban
Lakes of fire
When I see you
My heart heals
When I kiss you
I get medicine
That is better than
The pharmaceutical witchcraft
That poisons
The global village
When I taste you
I find immortality
Is childlike.

Sunday, August 28, 2005


My friend
Is a hero
I can see the reflection
Of his pain
In his eyes
Those sad
And friendly
Blue eyes
That have seen
The end of foes
And of a part
Of himself
He never speaks
About war
But I can read the story
In his
300 meter glance
Melancholic measurement
Of death
And of life
His life
And I think
How he survived
The existential shrapnel
And now he invites me
To his house
And offers me
Food and drink
He has the greatest
Of wounded hearts
He never speaks
Of the battle field
And the ocean
Is a mirror

Tuesday, August 23, 2005


Employment is like
An uncharted map
Or like
The common cold
So ordinary
A misfortune
Far too regular
When I entered the cooler
I saw meat & fish
All around me
Waiting there
Ready to make
People sick
I walked and slipped
There was blood on the floor
I looked up to
The surveillance cameras
I thought that if I died
They would sell my flesh
To affluent retirees
Who spent their
Summer of love
In Woodstock

Tuesday, August 16, 2005


My children play
One says
I’m a soldier
The other says
I’m the man
That can’t walk good
They pretend to
Be jellyfish
And they playfully
Try to sting me
As I read something
I can’t understand
The ocean & the beach
Looked better
When we were
About to leave.

Wednesday, August 10, 2005


A happy looking man
Securing the borders of
United States of America
He likes scrutiny
His bald head
Makes him look like
Robert Duvall
The only difference is
The inspector carries a pistol
A badge
And the dull blue uniform
He asked me if I have
Any weapons
Of Mass Destruction
To declare
As he opened
The back door of my truck
Then he smiles
I just looked at him
And then looked at my watch.

Monday, August 08, 2005


As I ate the hot soup
My wife cooked for me
With all those
Perfectly blended ingredients
She mentioned she talked
To my mother about
My writings
As they drove
To the airport
She confessed
She actually enjoys
Reading them
They traveled
Northbound on
Interstate 5
My mother said
She used to look
Under my mattress
For poetry I would
Hide there and
Then forget about
When I was in
Elementary school
I wonder if she kept
Those poems
I might get the nerve
To ask her next time
I see her.

Sunday, August 07, 2005


Letters of fire
So meaningful
Transmission of energy
At the speed of light
Into walls
Of apathy
The house burns
Illuminating the spirits
I am not cold anymore

Thursday, August 04, 2005


They wander around
Without peace
Even in outer space
Exporting turmoil
From planet earth
It’s heartbreaking
They need
Machines to fly

Tuesday, August 02, 2005


A beautiful blond girl without legs
Had a crush on me
But I had been busy
Nursing Bob Dylan back to health
He suffered from an upset stomach
So I bought him some Alka-Seltzer’s
Since he let me crash
In his apartment while I was in town
I avoided the legless blond girl
As much as I could
Till I was confronted by
Her friends and relatives
And I could not find a way out
I looked to my left and I saw Hank
Better known as Bukowski
Last I heard he was dead
But he looked very much alive
I asked him if I should kiss her
He said to me:
There’s nothing better for the
Predicaments of the world
Than a kiss

Sunday, July 31, 2005


Kilo of tortillas on the table an
Igloo of emotions
6 empty cans of tecate beer bring
Altitude to the heart
Deltas run trough my arteries
Oasis of love in the sunset


Healing is out
The door
Away from the
Surveillance cameras
And the negligent attitude
Of gathering revenue
Hindering of medical treatment
Infection vs employer
A fight for the life
Of the worker
Life drips away
While on a time clock

Thursday, July 28, 2005


The harvest
Of the comatose
You don’t let them die
Because there’s a profit
To be made
Greedy wizards
Cloning and
Manipulating the DNA
Please don’t take me
To a hospital


Everything is a part
Of something small
The housewife has
A lost glance
In the marketplace
The most dangerous
Places in town
Because the work ethic
Is an invention
Of the generators of wealth
The employees
Lay their lives on
The stores of menace
For low wages

Monday, July 25, 2005


The workers
Eat together
Gathered like
Canned sardines

Sunday, July 24, 2005


The jornadas became a journey
And the bus was better than a Boeing 747
Because I met a hoodlum
In search of peace
With his shaved head
And his LA baseball hat
Going back to the desert
To that familiar place of motherhood
He said Los Angeles
Is a Motherless place
He asked for my profession
And I said I was
A broker of simplicity
And I gave him my red lighter
He got back on the bus
And it disappeared
With the elements of distance
I stayed at the San Luis Station
Watching the serene
People around me
I was smoking
I begun walking
And asked a taco vendor
For the Frontera Motel
And he said the whole
World is a motel
And all of the universe a Frontier
I kept walking and
I saw a taxi driver
Talking to other Taxi people
And I asked him to take me
To the Motel Frontera
And he said to
Put out my cigarette so I did
I got in the car so old
So practical and beautiful
And we drove in the midst
Of the night and I was cautious of him
And he was cautious of me
And I wished the LA gang member
Was in the car watching my back
And the tension melted
With his out of tune AM radio
Whispering trivia questions
About presidents’ war and history
And we both gave our best answers
Our best shots to the questions
And not to each other
And he got them right
I got them wrong
And there was a feeling of friendship
When he dropped me off
At the motel’s driveway
The clerk asked for my name
And the city I came from
But her voluptuous lips
Added softness to her questions
And I answered her
She handed me a TV remote control
And a key with the number “12” on it
I got in the room and I lit a smoke on the balcony
I turned the TV on and watched
Some music videos and most of them
Were bad videos with pitiful soulless songs
I got out of the room and introduced
Myself to some women that looked like
Some sort of writers because of their
I want to get the hell out of here demeanor
They were in the courtyard
And one of them said I looked
Like a critic that has written more
Than 100 books and I did not know
How to respond to that
“I’ll take it as a compliment” I said
Then I went to the bar next door
And sat on a stool and ordered a beer
When I paid the barkeep said
Thank you “mijo”
I had a couple of beers and tried
To write a poem but I couldn’t
So I went to sleep
The next day a timid girl
Brought breakfast to my doorstep
And it was good
I walked down to the courtyard
And saw a guy who looked
Like a student and I asked him
If he was part of Jornadas
He said yes and I asked him
For a ride and he said to
Get in the VW bug
With Mexico City License plates
And then more people came
And got inside the tiny bug
And I remembered some of their faces
They were performance poets
The ones that are happy when people get upset
And we drove to some university
In the desert and the parking lot
Was like many sand dunes

Friday, July 22, 2005


Morning breaks
The night visions
The sun irradiates
My eyes

Monday, July 18, 2005


The night fells
On its face
And the sand
Is full of fish

Sunday, July 17, 2005


You don’t know it
But the storm is
Fast approaching
A tsunami of love
Kills the lovers
Send out an S.O.S
And make sure
Your heart
Has a liferaft

Friday, July 15, 2005


Eternity has been forgotten
In a dental office
There’s nothing sublime about this
Treatment for barter
I give them my time & money
And they mess with my open mouth
Using spooky instruments
Against my gums
I have an epiphany about
Whether or not I should be a poet
I am suspicious of the chemicals
They are injecting in me
My heart tells me
It’s too late to stop poesy
Because I have already
Fallen in love
With such difficulties
And dread sets in
It sits on the stool next to me
And it smiles
All I can see is a row
Of bleached teeth.

Wednesday, July 13, 2005


Some agents never learn
This one got away
Before I could
See his
Government Issue nametag
He was relieved by
A minority official
Someday I’ll see him again
Doing what he likes to do best
Harassing foreigners
And asking women to get out
Of their cars
So he can yearn
After their bodies
Slowing the lane on purpose
And making people
Late on the appointments
Of their lives
Next time I’ll write
Something nice about him
So he can google his name
And read about himself
On a border patrol poem

Monday, July 11, 2005


Waiting for my wife
To call
I feel she might
Do just that
Because the clouds
Are not pleasant today
Their color of gray
Nurtures the heartache
Of the world
And the temperature
Is more than enough
To make the planet
A boiled egg

Sunday, July 10, 2005


He handed me
A piece of paper
And promptly
Went back to work
It read:
“Woman after woman
It’s never the same
Chasing a ghost
That seems like a dream
You try to disregard
There’s only regret”
His second poem
He’s making progress

Saturday, July 09, 2005


A little dog
Lost his sun
He wagged his tale
And turned
The switch on
In his room


A little caterpillar
Lost his computer
He walked backwards
Then he stopped
For a minute
And he found it
On top of his hat

Friday, July 08, 2005


A soft wind
Opens the door
God enters
We eat
Bread together

Good news are not
An everyday occurrence
But when they come
They are like
A cold beer
In the heat of summer
Like a hearty breakfast
After a fast
Like making babies
After an extensive separation
The effect of such wonders
Are ongoing

Wednesday, July 06, 2005


The bridge moves under
I am in my truck
And around
Are hundreds of
Other cars
Above the canal
Scarce & contaminated waters
Flowing beneath us
Sewage of our days
Flow of guilt
Emanation of illness
Like the city
The ground moves under
Like a symptom

Tuesday, July 05, 2005

I agree

Monday, July 04, 2005


And we had a gig
In a house overlooking
The Willamette River
And we sounded okay
But the drinking audience
Thought otherwise
We were told we rocked
And we watched
The fireworks
As we played
And those were
Great visions because
Of the booze factor
The hostess asked me
Into her bedroom
She was a nice girl
But she was drunk
And when she was not looking
I grabbed my guitar and amp
And quickly walked away.

Sunday, July 03, 2005


She said
My mouth is a mess
I think she
Was referring
To my molars
I can still say
I love you
In more than
On language
And it was
With this mouth
My distressed mouth
That we had the most
Charming conversation
And it felt as if
We had found
A friendship
That had been buried
In the sand
Of an island

Saturday, July 02, 2005

Yes, abolish the debt in Africa
But also in Latin America
And the Middle East
And all over the world
Where Visa & MasterCard
Have polluted the hopes
Of humanity
Make the bankers
The servants of the poor
Make charity
The world’s currency

Friday, July 01, 2005


One little kitten
He was homeless
With no food to eat
And no water to drink
And he found his house
Went inside
But his parents
Were hiding
And he said
Ah ha!
And looked for them
And he thought
They were
Under the bed
So he said
1, 2, 3
And then he looked
Under the bed
And he found them


Sitting with
My two boys
And one said
I love you
And both
Of them smiled
And they
Told me a story
About a little mouse
Who lost
Its dresser
And found it on
His parents
Coffee filter

Thursday, June 30, 2005


Con sus horizontes
De humo
Sus carreteras
Infectadas de accidentes
Galería de murales despreciables
Laberinto de calles adornadas
Con basura
Sus túneles de graffiti
Catacumbas actuales
De los perseguidos
Debajo de los
Múltiples y decrépitos
Letreros de Hollywood
Ciudad enemiga
De las infancias
Aquí las estrellas
Necesitan los trucos
De la cinematografía
Para poder brillar

Tuesday, June 28, 2005


The CHP was on to him
But he kept
The accelerator pressed
Zigzagging in traffic
The black & white dichotomy
With flashing lights
And ungodly sounds
Right behind him
The congested freeway lanes
Brought the chase to a stop
The gunman got out
Of his police cruiser
Grabbed my friend
By his throat
And begun choking him
As he dragged him
Back to California
Back to the future
Back to Disneyland
Back to the wasteland
Back to the land
Of the chock—hold
His pride
Blinded him
With rage
The last milligrams
Of prudence
From his badge
He was asphyxiating him
In Mexico
And then there were shouts
Dark, fat & short customs
Were screaming in Spanish
Holding their pistols
And then all made sense
He took his hands off him
And raised them up
To the heavens
As if he was praying for his life
And began to walk backwards
Back to the way of the cowboy

Monday, June 27, 2005


The car was on fire
The elderly motorist
Put his oxygen mask on
And continued
Behind the wheel
Behind those ugly cars
Behind those abhorrent dreams
Behind in that
Wait of frustration
Behind happiness
Steadfast to his
Burning chariot
His life on the Line
As the firemen
Tried to rescue him
From crossing the border.


Saturday, June 25, 2005


I left the world
Of professional translation
Because I got weary of interpreting
The riddles of my patrons
Their problems
Became my problems
Their quest for greed
Was too much to bear
I found out that instead
Of being a helper
I was being an obstacle
To those most in need
Because of this
—and by default—
I had to also leave
The 1st world lifestyle
The house, the cars, the vacations,
The white collar salary
And all that comes
With such commodities
Now I can interpret
My own enigmas
My own dilemmas
The mysteries that I discover
Day by day
In a not so trendy life
I can read into my children’s eyes
More than ever
I can feel the presence
Of my wife
I am not numb anymore
I got reacquainted
With that heavenly princess
Named poetry

Friday, June 24, 2005


I sell seafood
For a living
I hand people
Salmon and red snapper
Swordfish and halibut
Cod and catfish
Shrimp and crab
Tilapia and shark
Lobster & scallops
And my customers
Ask if they should pay me
I tell them to do so
At the cash registers
Up front
And that‘s fine with me
Because I don’t like
The smell of money
And the clients comeback
And they bring me gifts
Sometimes liquor
Other times precious stones
Or coupons for free pizza
Or their phone numbers
Or they invite me
To their houses
So I can have dinner
With them
Most of them are lonely
They eat alone
They live alone
And that’s the
Trademark of
The mightiest
Empire in the world
Its wealthy citizens
Live in alienation
Lonesome kind souls
Embraced in opulence

Thursday, June 23, 2005


I see you coming
Out of the bathtub
More beautiful than ever
It was
12 years ago
When I found you
In my studio
Your gorgeous body
Glowing in splendor
In the water

Wednesday, June 22, 2005


The corridor
Of deliverance
Daily aches are
Nothing untrue
It’s just the
Weight of time
Gravitational reflections
Of eternity
You heart is beating
Just an omen
Of your days

Tuesday, June 21, 2005


A big sun
Larger than usual
Brighter than any color
I’ve ever seen
A living sun
Beating like
The heart of the sky
Sun of alliance
Touch of brilliance
A blinding
Gentle face
Fire is love

Monday, June 20, 2005


For Penjamo’s son.

I hear the cars racing
Engines purring
Like cats on steroids
In Portland
I could hear
All the way to
The international speedway
From my front porch
As I drank beer
Or played guitar
Or just sat there
Doing nothing at all
Here I listen to them racing
On Popotla boulevard
From my desk
As I tried to write
And then the cops come
And chase the racers
And cars crash
People die
Then I am told
Of funeral services
For my friend’s son
And I sit here
Looking at the keyboard
Drinking & smoking
Listening to the engines
Vibrating through
The darkness
Of the ocean

Saturday, June 18, 2005


Vacation is staying
At home
All day long
Reading and resting
In bed
Eating and drinking
And sleeping
Waking up and
Falling a sleep again
And playing with children
Because play is medicine
And knowledge
And the best education
In the global village
Those who exploit
Destroy and ravage
The earth
Should ensure this reality
For all the poor people
Who built them
Freeways to affluence
These exclusive paths for
The very few
With plastic surgery
Because they could not stand
To look themselves
In the mirror
And think their ugliness
Is on their faces
When it is in their souls
And they can’t sleep at night
So they ask their wizards
To create powerful drugs
That knock them out
And make them forget
The pain they legislated
To the human race
And then they try
To push this same venom
To all the healthy children
In the playgrounds
Of the dying cities
In their empires of radiation
The heavens and the earth
Where created into paradise
And they are working hard
In killing that oasis
And their own offspring
And the gracious
And wild creatures
In the oceans and
The rivers
And the jungles
The icebergs
And the deserts
The mountains
And the valleys
And all those other
Places we can’t see
But we know they are there
But their not able
To kill it all
Because goodness
Is stronger than wickedness
And the vast majority
Of people are good
And only the very few
Are evil
So every time
We kiss someone
With all the strength
In our hearts
We are winning the battle
Against those very few
Who try to intimidate
With their wars
And their loans
And their universities
And their Satellites
And their V12 engines
And their special effects movies
And their stars
That need spotlights to shine
And their newscasters
And their manipulation
Of weather patterns
And their taxes
And their phony scribes
And all the other ambushes
That we can’t see
But we know they are there
Peace is better than war
And because of this
I tell you to stop
Your addiction to death
And come to us
And we will embrace you
As a long lost brother
Who has found his way back home
And I will never stop
Praying for you
So come to us
You are loosing anyway
Come to the winning side
Of affection
And get some rest

this is an audio post - click to play


How powerful
Are the severed
Handcuffs of greed
In the lives
Of small
Moneyless angels
Who invite
People like me
Into their households
And share
Food & drink

this is an audio post - click to play


When I feel
The ground move
I know you
Still exist

Friday, June 17, 2005

this is an audio post - click to play


If it makes you ponder
Then think of this
Goodness is not a product
It’s the cry of a baby
Saluting pharmaceutical pushers
Space infected
With the most
Complicated minds
Of the world
Our tears
Are like acid rain
Floating around earth
No sinking emotions
Because kindness
Is better than
A profitable sale
And it knows
How to fly
When darkness becomes
A family gathering
With warm winds
And the laughter of children
Reflected in the moonlight
Then I will believe
In this rage of yours
For the time being
We’ll wait for
Happy moments
Owed to the planet
By angry people.

Thursday, June 16, 2005

this is an audio post - click to play


In the
Toll houses
You need to pay
To go on through
On the road
You need
The money
From banks
In the houses
You need
The affection
From all
The people
You helped
While you were
Down there
Living foolishly
But with a lot
Of heart

Wednesday, June 15, 2005

this is an audio post - click to play


Fishing in Mexico
Is frugal
I am talking about
The locals
Who stand on
The beach
Not with expensive
Fishing poles
But with beer cans
For reels
For weights
And smiles
For bait

Tuesday, June 14, 2005

this is an audio post - click to play


Sadness is
The symptom
Of a
Sophisticated world
Usury of the heart
Winter of emotion
Kidnapping of meaning
At the expense
Of the
Vast Oceans
Of dignity
Fear is
An erratic kiss
And you
Are the answer
To loneliness


My lovely wife
Brings me drinks
As I write
And she kisses me
And tells me
To write more.

Monday, June 13, 2005


Inside that
Smoky bar
With all
Those friends
The table
Tolerated our
Future insecurities
Inside empty
Bottles of liquor
And the affluent
Blue—eye girl
Was rubbing
My leg
Under that
Same table
And I smiled at everyone
And everyone
Smiled back
Because there was
Nothing better to do


I arrived in the city
Penniless and with
No place to stay
So I called Walter
His mother
Told me he was working
On a movie set downtown
I got there
And saw him on a corner
Sitting in the sidewalk
With his model girlfriend
Being cool
Looking hip
Eating & drinking
And he got up
And gave me a hug
She did the same
Don’t worry Juan
We’ll help you out
And they gave me cash
And something to drink
And we talked about
The poetry workshops
That seemed so long ago
He told me about the
Time he went
Motorcycle riding
With Mickey Rourke
And his long walks
In the desert
Chewing peyote
He was happy
She was happy
I was happy
And everything
Felt alright

Sunday, June 12, 2005


This morning
I woke up
With an earthquake
Without electricity
A glimpse of paradise
And the end
Of radiation
The fire department
Had to bring down
The corpses
Of the thieves
That tried to steal
The power lines.


Better you
Than me
I caught her
And her
Venom smelled
Like cinnamon

Friday, June 10, 2005


As he was
Cleaning cars
He saw a guy
In a wheelchair
Struggling with one
Of the border patrol guards
His chariot was not
Fast enough to
Flee to Mexico
It was human powered
No gasoline needed
His crime was
Selling bubble gum
On the wrong side
Of the border
They lift him up
Wheels and all
And took him away
To the concentration camps
Were the poor & disenfranchised
The crippled
Those brown
Short people
Are called
Potential terrorists


I was awaken
By the aroma
Of beacon and eggs
After a long night
Of trying real hard
To be a writer
My two boys
Were putting
Their breakfast
In my mouth
I smiled
They just stared
At me


Urgent care
Was not awful
This was
My favorite one
The healers
Clothed in white
Were happy
They stitched
Through his tissue
Nice people
My baby
Didn’t cry

Wednesday, June 08, 2005


Look he said
His 90 year old hand
Pointing at two
Old women
Looking at a tree
They’re afraid
Of the mulberry


She talked
And talked
When on
And on
About how good
Fruits and vegetables
Are for one’s health
Asking me if
I knew that
And she told me
About the time
She met Elvis
And that now
She’s a vegetarian
And only takes
Designer vitamins
And all she said
Seemed somewhat right
But her garrulous ways
Invalidated her energy
So I lit a cigarette
And she promptly
Left me alone

Sunday, June 05, 2005


Life is ignition
Days of dynamite
The energies of love
Pierce throughout
The wonders of summer
Your smile is
Like an explosion

Saturday, June 04, 2005


I wanted to help
To say something
To write something
But I was
So debilitated
A sun made of moments
Was sinking in the ocean
And my bed
That comfortable coffin

Thursday, June 02, 2005


To Driana.

The guitar was
The only instrument
The devil
Could not mastered
He conquered
All of them
The piano
The accordion
The horn
And all the others
With the guitar
He could never
Reach the end
He discovered
It is infinite

Tuesday, May 31, 2005


Freedom of emotion
In every kiss
A pathway
Around the universe
Wine of compassion
This morning
I was a resurrection

Monday, May 30, 2005


Éktor clutched
The mike
Like a front man
The speakers
Cried out
With poetry


Los accidentes
Son doncellas hermosas
Que adornan mi cuerpo
Frente a las puertas del hotel
Tropecé con
Acentos golpeados
Mi pluma también
Tiene cicatrices
Adornos de mis días
Soledad con vestido tradicional
Sobre mis piernas
Misterios divididos
Como fotografías
Adioses en blanco y negro
Canciones aéreas
Y carcajadas fuera de tiempo
Espasmos proféticos
Burlas desinfectadas
Con lágrimas secas
Los rescates se ocultan
En habitaciones sin número


Sometimes people
Get mad at you
But I love you anyway

Sunday, May 29, 2005

P. B. Shelley
You are Percy Bysshe Shelley! Famous for your
dreamy abstraction and your quirky verse,
you're the model "sensitive poet." A
vegetarian socialist with great personal charm
and a definite way with the love poem, you
remain an idol for female readers. There are
dozens of cute anecdotes about you, and I love

Which Major Romantic Poet Would You Be (if You Were a Major Romantic Poet)?
brought to you by Quizilla

Friday, May 27, 2005


Turn off
The bombastic music
And listen to
The birds sing
Turn off
The electric grid
So they can continue
On the high voltage wires

Thursday, May 26, 2005


I contemplated
Dead people
On the highway
The rays of
The sun set illuminated
The car wreck
And the blue ocean
Is majestically solemn

Art too is just a way of living, and however one lives, one can, without knowing, prepare for it; in everything real one is closer to it, more its neighbor, than in the unreal half-artistic professions, which, while they pretend to be close to art, in practice deny and attack the existence of all art - as, for example, all of journalism does and almost all criticism and three quarters of what is called (and wants to be called) literature. I am glad, in a word, that you have overcome the danger of landing in one of those professions, and are solitary and courageous, somewhere in a rugged reality. May the coming year support and strengthen you in that.

R. M. Rilke

Wednesday, May 25, 2005


My brother met
Norman Mailer
He was overwhelmed
By the living legend
As he signed his book
All that my sibling
Could utter was
Norman Fucking Mailer!
The writer grinned.


Once I got published
On a zine called
Letras Libres
I submitted a poem
And it got accepted
All I can remember about it
Is that it made reference
To life being a smile
With rotten teeth
I wrote it
On rainy night
Looking outside the window
Of a brewery
I wish I could have a copy
So I can begin to decipher
The reason they liked it

Tuesday, May 24, 2005


As we walked the streets of Portland
The night coated with rain
To the meeting place
That hang out where underage punk rockers
Would congregate and do the mosh pit
Supervised by a attractive guitar player
She was looking for a singer
And my friend was up to the task
So I went along for moral support
I knew the city and my mate
Was from out of town
I’ll show him the ropes
I thought to myself
We got there and she was waiting for us
The most beautiful punk woman
I have ever seen
We introduced ourselves
And she liked us both
We talked with her on the wet sidewalk
Once in a while she would
Look inside to make sure
The kids were not breaking any bones
As they danced in a most peculiar way
I went home to my wife
Ritchie stayed and sang with her

Monday, May 23, 2005


My days as a court interpreter
Were brittle
I saw many lives broken
Like shattered glass
Their freedom was hijacked
Because they were poor
And the rich walk away
Into the arms of
A sympathetic planet
Society applauds their
Daring escapes
Their lawyers attack
Like expensive pedigrees
Death as punishment
Awaits the underprivileged
Those who were born
Under the wrong ancestry
It made me nauseous
To interpret the
Fate of these miserable
Human beings
To tell them they were
Going to live
In a house made of shadows
With a language that should
Be use for love
And the restoration of smiles


Agent Guzman
Asked for my citizenship
He’s a big man
With a small heart
My passport
Was in his hands
I think he was not
Reading the document
Just pretending to look at it
I decided to answer
His question
US citizen
I said to him
In the midst of smog
And hundreds of cars
Waiting in line
Behind us
What are those machines for?
I asked pointing to
The x—ray devices
I had just driven through
It’s top secret
If I told you
It would not be
A secret anymore
He said
Do they cause cancer?
I asked him
I don’t know but
That’s why I don’t
Cross to Mexico
Because you might get cancer
On your way back?
I asked again
It’s top secret
He said.

Sunday, May 22, 2005


Dance beautiful nostril
I’ll be happy in you
With the games
Of blameless children

Friday, May 20, 2005


As I drove
With my friend
We entered the
Border community
Of Playas
We saw
Through the dividing
Metal fence
Landscaping workers
Restoring the park
Next to the beach
It had been abandoned
Left to die
With the ugly
Game of politics
Amigo Crosthwaite’s column
In a San Diego newspaper
Touched some sensitive nerves
Some place far away
In a government office
A decision was made
And change was
Taking place
The power of the media
Crosthwaite said
His hands on the steering wheel
On the windshield
The majestic Coronado Islands
We were driving into the sunset
Better than a Hollywood flick
Far greater than any piece
Of kitsch merchandise
The power of the press he said
I saw this
Battle won with
The power
Of the word


I went out
To hunt rabbits
In the moonlight
I got bitten
By mosquitoes

Wednesday, May 18, 2005


The kid that cleans my car
As I wait to get
My daily X-ray fix
My radiation passport
So I can cross
The international border
Clean is one of my
Favorite friends
And he’s got
A big heart
And it is spotless
Like the car’s are
When he’s done
Working on them
He told me
About one of
His fellow auto cleaners
How he got beaten
With a telescopic baton
By a US border agent
For cleaning automobiles
On the American
Side of traffic
He took the
Punishment in submission
When the border guard finished
And placed his attention elsewhere
As they often do
The Mexican worker
Playfully pushed him
Like a clown in a circus
The guard fell
On the pavement
Among the motor oil stains
His colleagues tried
To arrest the comedian
But it was 3 meters to late
He sprinted to
Mexican soil
And it seemed that
The whole world laughed.


I sat at the table
Waiting for my turn to read
And this short story writer
Was reading some
Of his work

He was next to me
And he had a mike
Close to his mouth
And a captive audience
As collateral

The guy was good
He knew his short stories
Very well
And I was concerned
Because he would be
A tough act to follow
I really enjoyed
His work
And the audience did too
All that immaculate Spanish
And I only had
Bilingual poems

But his left hand
The one closest to me
Was shaking uncontrollably
As if he was a soldier
On his first battle field

I felt bad for the guy
So I took a drink
From my paper cup
It had beer in it
The other writers
At the table had booze
In theirs
To the media and
The folks sitting in the theater
It looked like coffee

And I thought to myself
Grab you hand
So it shakes no more
And you will shoot strait

And he did just that
He finished his reading
In one piece
Then came
The roar of applause.

Friday, May 13, 2005


Sometimes is always
Habituated rituals
Of hypnosis
The Matrix
Is a fairy tale
Flies are more pertinent
To your common sense
Don’t forget
How the policeman
Ran away from us
With his flashlight
Beaming on the
Sandy beach
In all directions


The border
Such a disgusting place
But the wait
Is like
Bitter medicine
Kind of
Like waiting
In purgatory
And commuters
Ordinarily upset
Daily despise
The flavor
Of patience

Thursday, May 12, 2005


American pit bulls
A necessary evil
Protectors of the rights
Of the underclass
Rescuers of minorities
Of the abused
And exploited
You make your fortunes
With the sufferings
Of others
But without you
There would be
No compensations
Only bona fide slavery
And all that injustice
The poor swallow
So I drink to
Your health
May you keep winning
All the battles for
The underdogs
So the rich can
Pay the poor
At least a portion
Of what they are owed


San Diego California
Marine Core land
I see
All these kids
Walking on
Prosthetic limbs
And the
Paralyzed Veterans
Of America
I wonder
If the desert
Is on their minds

Wednesday, May 11, 2005


La llama
El principio
Del cigarro

Monday, May 09, 2005


She told me
That I have
A very good
I said thanks
And then
She asked
If I study
Japanese in college
And I said no
But I added
That I am
Fond of Basho
And his haikus
Her face glowed
And she said
That’s beautiful

Sunday, May 08, 2005


When death
Fails me
It touches
Those near me


As I drove
She came
Into my mind
And I knew
I had to
Write it down
But I was
Almost there
And I didn’t
Want to make
A note while
Behind the wheel
In a matter of minutes
I said to myself
I will embrace her
With pen & paper
She was fresh
And pretty
Waiting for me
To make of her
Lines of reality
And when I
Parked the car
And sat at
My desk
I could only see
Bourgeoisie strangers
Hypnotized by
Video games
She was gone

Friday, May 06, 2005


The rain
Sounds like
The engine
Like your love

Thursday, May 05, 2005

Gustavo Sainz

…y la poesía es un estado de Gracia, antes y después de la cultura...

Tuesday, May 03, 2005


I can see small faces
Turn to sunshine
Medicinal smiles
I love you
Because hate is
Too ordinary
An everyday toil
Today I care for you
I feel for you
Because we are
Dying heroes
In a place of greed
So we are fading
And is better to love
Because we don’t
Have much time
We are combatants
Of tenderness
And our kisses
Are our missiles
The children we create
Far exceed
Nuclear bombs
And we both agree
That making love
Is better
Than ambition
So we place our hope
In the fire
That burns inside of us
That flame
That brightens
The stars
And we’re used
To suffering
And sometimes
We see truth
In pain
But through
Our mouths
We feed each other
And life
Gets better
In spite of
Broadcasted adversity
On the air.

Saturday, April 30, 2005

Juan Pablo ¿Un poeta menor de edad?

Friday, April 29, 2005


Café Internet en Baja Malibu

Never the less, the owner of Baja Video, Marco, is kind enough to let me use his internet café.


Hello everybody!

I am sad to report that my connection has been down for some time now. The Baja Wireless folks (our internet provider) said we should have full connectivity by next Tuesday. In the meantime, I will write the good old fashion way. Pen and paper.

Take care,


Tuesday, April 26, 2005


They write
To save the world
And themselves
Through the meaning
Of symbols
Written codes
I considered
The poets
On that burial ground
That day
The dead
Also had
Something to drink
And at that time
All of us were
A marvelous family

Monday, April 25, 2005

Your Linguistic Profile:

65% General American English

20% Yankee

10% Upper Midwestern

5% Dixie

0% Midwestern


The bus
Broke down
In the night
And the Rumurosa
Had cold winds
TV screens
Go black
But there is
A full moon
The passengers
Are upset
They were
Watching a movie.

Tuesday, April 19, 2005


The lesions
On the body
Are painful
Midnight is near
The mind
Makes a rapid
Review of its history
And the dark sky
Is so beautiful
I want to
Go there
And visit
And when
I get
Further up
Embrace it

September 1988

Sunday, April 17, 2005


God & language
Are the same
A communication breakdown
Is a Godless moment
Sleep & death
Are equal
When you sleep
You are in
A short death
When you die
You are in a
Deep sleep
My bed is
A most
Comfortable coffin
My truck
A very dependable hearse
Love motions
Do not cease
I see a man
Kissing a skull.

Friday, April 15, 2005


Cars cross
The US border
And it smells
Like carne asada
Human barbecue
Welcome to
The land of cancer
The scans
Detect what you had
For breakfast
They see
Your skeleton
Technological rape
Homicide in slow motion
Why do you do this
To the citizens
Of the world
And your own
Sons & daughters?
Do you like
To watch humans disintegrate?
Then you sell
More pharmaceuticals
At the cost
Of a second mortgage
Listen to me
Take down
Those diabolical machines
Replace them
With healing flowers
Until you do this
I will cross myself
Before entering
My own country.


I remember
It was
Last night
The moon
Had only
One eye
She had
Lost weight

Wednesday, April 13, 2005


The children
Play with adobe
The son
Of Toro
And Rosa
They scream
At each other
With their
Playful tones
Adobe follows them
On his 4 legs
A beautiful moment


He tells me
He will be in
High school
Very soon
He cleans
My car
Better than anyone
I think
He will be able
To clean the minds
Of the lost
The hearts
Of the greedy
The eyes
Of blind

Tuesday, April 12, 2005


Have you ever
Shot a coyote?
He asked
Glancing upwards
I tried to see
What he was
Looking at
And I said
I used to hunt
For them
They’re very difficult
To find
You can mostly
Hear them yelping
But you don’t
See anything
Just that peculiar sound
The day I bagged
My first buck
I saw 2
Trotting nonchalantly
On the prairie
They were
Within shooting distance
I had my 30’06
Ready to fire
And too much blood
On my hands
So I let them go.

Sunday, April 10, 2005


My girl and I
Fooled around
In the car
Just before the reading
And we walked
To Cinema 21
A block away
And got in line
I had purchase
The tickets
In advance
Then Allen Ginsberg
Walked by us
Stop and looked at me
He said nothing
I kept my silence
He was sporting
A dark suit
He wore rim glasses
He looked like a scholar
And not like a dissenter
That’s him
I whispered to Angie
Then he entered
The theater.

Saturday, April 09, 2005


I am awaken
By the playful words
Of Lukas and Diego
My beautiful wife
Makes breakfast
The light of the sun
Enters through the window
Touches her body

Friday, April 08, 2005


I see his life
Losing compression
Leaking away
From his body
But his soul
Is golden.


Are the natural
The original
The real
And truthful
Special effects
Better than Hollywood

Thursday, April 07, 2005


I need someone with a car to drive me from Rosarito Beach, Playas de Tijuana, or San Diego California, to Arizona Western College in Yuma, so I can attend a writer’s convention where I have been invited to read my poetry.

We would depart on the evening of the 19th of April and we would head back the afternoon of the 23rd

The driver must not be afraid of crossing the border, since part of the event will take place in San Luis Río Colorado.

I must be allowed to smoke in the car and we might need to stop for a drink or two on our way there and on our way back.

As payment I can share with the driver the secret of the healing properties of poetry.

And some gas money too.

Please send all replies to

Poetically yours,


Poets are mostly voters and tax payers, but the alienation of the poet is a common theme. Among poets there are also probably higher than average rates of clutch burnout, job turnover, rooting about, sleep apnea, noncompliance, nervous leg syndrome, depression, litigation, black clothing, and so forth, but this is where we live, or as Leonard Cohen put it, poetry is the opiate of the poets.

—C.D Wright

Wednesday, April 06, 2005


I play the guitar
An indicator of
Writers block
The notebook screen
Stares at me
And I stare back
A blank page
Is always spooky
I play
Some odd riffs
And I remember
The bands
The gigs
The faithful fans
All 2000 miles away
I feel a pinch
On my bicep
The tiny bug
Likes my flesh
I brush it off
With the guitar pick
It lands on the desk
It runs through the labyrinth
Of cigarette packs
And lighters
Pens and tiny notebooks
I begin to feel a rash
I try to get it
With my fist
But I miss
I try a plastic pen
And it keeps
Running away
Then the green lighter
And it stops
I look at it
It lays there
It doesn’t move
Cut in half


I am so tired
And the night
Is full of stars


Take your gun
And shoot it
She said
Holding the
For a close-up
I fired
The 45 bullet
Hit the TV
The screen shattered
In the national forest


Dreams are not
That important
There just a part
Of the mind’s landscape
An interior decor

Tuesday, April 05, 2005


With one hand he pointed
His radar gun at me
And with the other
He signaled me to a stop
I pulled over
He parked his motorcycle
Very close to my vehicle
I could see him
Through my rearview mirror
He looked awkward
When he got off his bike
He walked to the front of my car
The passenger side
I rolled down the window
Using the controls at my door
You were speeding he said
As he shook my hand
I know I answered
There was an accident here
A moment ago he added
The white mustang? I asked
Yes, he replied
I saw it near the toll booths
It looked awful I said
You have to follow me
To the station to pay
The fine
Is there another way? I asked
Yes, pay me. He smiled
Then he went on
At the station you will pay
More than 1000 pesos
Where do you work?
I told him I was a slave
And he laughed
Are you going to work now? He asked
Yes, I responded
He asked me how much money
I had with me
And I took 18 dollars
From my wallet
2 fives and 8 ones
It looks like I’m
Going to live you
Without lunch money
I tell you what
Give me 10 bucks
He grabbed the 2 fives
You can pay me the rest
Next time
Be good he said
I drove off
Then I smiled

Sunday, April 03, 2005


It is better
When you’re not angry
At the world
Healthier when
You don’t settle
With hate
Breathe in
Breathe out
Close your eyes
Go to sleep
Little lamb
Wake up
And go to sleep again
Get up and walk
Don’t look in the mirror
Don’t touch
That expensive bottle
Of fragrance
It’s okay
Maybe not
Very good
Very terrible
Something like that.

Saturday, April 02, 2005


I kiss the sun
And the sky
I kiss my children
And my wife
I kiss the chalice
I kiss the plants
I kiss my pain
Life is a kiss
A good kiss
A bad kiss
A kiss of love
A kiss of betrayal
I am still learning
How to give
A good kiss
Through the mouth
Enters nourishment


Bishop of Rome
You’re not sleeping
Definitely not dead
The TV screens
Don’t want you alive

Friday, April 01, 2005


Thousands of butterflies
On the road
One lands on
My windshield
Takes a ride
On my old truck

Wednesday, March 30, 2005


I tried writing at home
In the company
Of domestic feelings
Such a short attempt
Sometimes a man
Needs to go away
And work
The cabin outside
Called me again
It’s the breathing
Of a muse
Warm and nurturing
The words run different here
Like the open sea
With no stops lights


Oh sweet Jesus
Your mercy
Is like
A deployed airbag
In an auto crash

Monday, March 28, 2005


Primo and I
Drive around town
And he points at police cars
And inconspicuous vehicles
With fire department bumper stickers
And 2 meter antennas
They’re the same
He says
What is the same?
I asked
The cop & the firefighter
The ambulances
The hospitals
They all are one
He answered
Then I remember
How a driver
Of a search and rescue vehicle
Angry at me
Because I ran I stop light
Honked his horns
And radioed a squad car
That followed me
All along the boulevard


You stumbled
On your journey
Of desire

Saturday, March 26, 2005


It is poetry
That opens understanding
Door ajar
To the treasure room


I see a seraphim
Sleeping on the bed
And I am happy.

Friday, March 25, 2005


I see the clouds
Traveling happy
Silent symbols of you
Delusion is
On the other face
Of the planet
With an eye infection
And I see the sky
And I am comfortable
Controversial delete

Thursday, March 24, 2005


Icons in my front porch
Morning visions
Of health
Chevron Texaco
Stalking you
Like a
Rich tycoon
Seducing you
Beautiful handmaidens
Of mamá earth.


So much brutality
Of the spirit
The mind dictates
The wants of the body
Such farce
Avarice revamped
The intellect is
The stepbrother
Of the soul.

Tuesday, March 22, 2005


I brake
The side view mirror
The car
Invading my lane
Comes to a stop.


From a friend
More painful
Than a 3rd degree burn

My LA cousin, Adrien, chants:


The only peace
I see
Is when
You take
Your piece
And put it
To someone’s head.


I saw him
Being lifted
Unto a stretcher
And the paramedics
Dropped his heavy
And flaccid body
On the pavement
They pick him
Up again
A policeman
Asked me to leave
I did
Every time I drive by
That highway
I look out my window
And see his blood
On the groves
Of the road.

Monday, March 14, 2005


I moved in the darkness of morning
And wondered where I
Needed to go
I saw a monk walking
With a candle
In his hand
I asked him if this was
The way to church
He did not say anything
He just nodded
And continued walking
He disappeared on
The corridors
I pressed on
And I saw
The two protectors
Of the monastery
Looking at me majestically
One on each side of the doors
I was in the narthex
It was Saint Anthony’s
And Saint Nectarios
Side by side
Larger than I
They looked at me
Like saints do
With their eyes
Looking within human souls.

Sunday, March 13, 2005


I wake up
And feel
A whole
In my stomach
I see it
It looks
Like a zero
It is cleaner
And neater
Than a shotgun blast
I touch it
And something moves
The hairs of
The tarantula
Tickle the skin
Of my fingers
I smash the spider
Against the wall
And go back to sleep
On the next
Doctor’s appointment
I am told
I no longer
Have an ulcer.

Saturday, March 12, 2005

My friend, Coptic poet Mathew Shenoda, has answered a question I asked him more than a year ago. The question has to do with the role of poetry in today’s world. His response is the following:

“The mission of poetry in the world today is first to express the truth, to soothsay and second to take the knowledge of that truth and create a visionary space wherein another world is possible. Poetry is counter-madness”

Mathew has a new book out:

Somewhere Else
Poems by Matthew Shenoda
Introduction by Sonia Sanchez

Rooted in the traditions of the Coptic community, this compelling debut collection widens the political conversation surrounding ethnicity, pan-Africanism, and pan-Arabism.“These papyrus-dipped poems launch the Eastern desert into the ‘Forever-West’ where we all dwell. Listen to Shenoda’s ‘giraffe tongue’ unwind—incantations reclaiming the Coptic earth and its peoples, stories and sufferings, a grandmother and grandfather’s lessons of war, death, rebirth, love and peace. This book holds the keys to our present global predicament—each word is a star in our night.”—Juan Felipe Herrera

“While reading Matthew Shenoda’s Somewhere Else, I become acutely aware of history insisting on the verity of knowledge. History is more than memory. It is hope and experience. And it is the passion of life. And for Shenoda, it is the connection to the Nile of story, song, music, dance, and the power of language between Egypt and America. Great poetry you can dance to!”—Simon Ortiz

“The history of Eg ypt and the Nile River Valley are strikingly evoked in these tightly crafted, most times short, terse poems, with lines full of surprises, as in: ‘I am somewhere/between home & home,’ or ‘in our bodies a rooted history.’ These are strongly political, beautiful and peaceful poems and they constantly remind us: ‘Holy things/Do not die.’ Somewhere Else is a wise, eloquent book.”—Quincy Troupe

Paperback Original
ISBN: 1 -56689 -173 –6
Coffee House Press
List Price $14.00

I can’t wait to get my copy.

Friday, March 11, 2005


When I died
I saw demons
Condemning me
For all my evils
It was excruciating
I also
Sensed the prayers
Of my 4
Year old grandson
Like morphine
They took
The pain away
The devils disappeared
As my daughter’s boy
Down there
On planet earth
Crushed a scorpion
With a rock.


Escucho la voz
De mis niños
Entre el tráfico
Juegan con
Un caracol.

Thursday, March 10, 2005


I considered
How the rifle
Was heavy
On my back
Just like love
Necessary for
For a fruitful

Wednesday, March 09, 2005


When it rains
Radio signals
Travel farthest
Alongside migrating birds
Sensuality stops
For a moment
And television broadcasters
Proclaim death
On the highways.

Tuesday, March 08, 2005


Jesus Christ
Bless the food
Of your servants
Protect us from
Invisible pesticides
And diabolical hormones
Render useless
The transgenic
Poison in our
Children’s bodies
May the acid rain
Become like
Sweet wine
May sugar
Not be
A drug
And may your blood
Cleanse the
Arteries of
The modern world
For heart attacks
To cease
Together with
The radiation
Of all the
Microwaves in the planet
Make barley flourish
May coca—cola disappear
Cast down
The cell pone towers
Symbols of disease
Obliterate the power lines
That burn the flesh
Of our people
Our cities
Oh Lord
Have become
Shrines of addicts
To created light
May depleted uranium
Be erased from
The food crops
So that every time
We partake of the
Fruits from the earth
We might think of you
In the name
Of the Father
And of the Son
And of the
Holy Spirit

Monday, March 07, 2005


Flies around
The food
Are an omen
Of the madness
From hoarding


It’s time
To go to bed
And the fog
Comes from
The ocean
From the
Capricious Pacific
With its
Underwater earthquakes
Ah the uncertainties
Of middle class TV

Sunday, March 06, 2005


La poesía
Es la única energía
Que puede salvar al mundo.


To Ricardo and Carolina

Watching a school
Of dolphins
While we wait
For our dear friends
Then following them
To their home
In a secluded vineyard
By the countryside
It is drinking wine
With the winemaker
It is eating cheese
And bread
Pondering in the
Inevitable end
Of all things
And being asked
To spend the night
In one of their
Rustic cabins
And I try
To remember
When was the last time
I like this place so much
To no avail
Just faint and uneventful memories
Of fishing boats
And drunken tourists
It’s is not knowing
If this will be the last time
I would see my love ones
It is standing close
To the fire
Because the night
Is getting cold.

Saturday, March 05, 2005


When I kissed
Saint Mary Magdalene
I felt the power
Of her love
She is not dead
She’s clothed
With immortality
She remains a secret
For those
Seeking her
For gain
And avarice.

Thursday, March 03, 2005


The bedroom
Had 2 beds in it
I took the one
On the right
I felt someone
Looking at me
Through the window
I closed the blinds
Then I closed my eyes
And went to sleep
I had a dream
In it I saw
A wonderworker
Smiling at me
His smile was like the sun
And we were
On a beautiful countryside
I was overcome with ecstasy
And could not speak much
I just asked a few questions
And he would just smiled
He answered with
A radiant light
Of silence
And I knew I was
Being healed of things
I did not know
I was pleased to see him
Because he had left
The monastery
One day earlier
And I know he likes
To visit his guests
In dreams
Then I awoke
The sounds of knocking
At my door
Accompanied by
Short foreign words
It was still dark
I knew I had to get up
And go to
One of their temples

Wednesday, March 02, 2005


The monk said:
Now we’ll go to
The men’s guesthouse
And started walking
Once again I followed him
It was late at night
And I was getting tired
I wanted to sleep
It was hard to keep up
With the agile monk
He walked fast
And I did the best I could
Another 2 storey building
And he said:
This is the guest house
He opened the door
And invited me enter
Inside the ambiance
Was pleasant
Almost like a resort
There was a living space
With comfortable sofas
Next to it there was a kitchen
And sign that said
Restaurant food
Is not allowed
You were encouraged
To cook your own
We have three rooms available
The monk said
As he looked at a notebook
I asked which one I could take
He told me to choose one
I asked which one he recommended
He said the one I select
Would be a good choice
Three rooms next to each other
I entered the one
In the middle
And said good night
May you rest
Said the monk

Tuesday, March 01, 2005


I drink my coffee
Inside my beat up truck
I poured it out
Of my beat up thermos
A man
Driving a Jaguar
Stops and looks at me
The coffee
Tastes so good
It is so hot
And it’s even better
With the cigarette
I wouldn’t trade
This moment
For his Jaguar.

Monday, February 28, 2005


The truth
Is far away
From the
Silver screen

Sunday, February 27, 2005


I never imagined
I could be so happy
Living frugally
And I hear
The neighbor
Singing corridos
With his acoustic guitar

Friday, February 25, 2005


As Lukas drives shotgun
For the first time
He looks at the dashboard
And says
It’s like a plane
It’s night time
And he tries not
To fall asleep
And I remember
My father
And his mysterious friends
One of them
Had a private jet
And we flew
From California
To Arizona
They let me sit
In the cockpit
Next to the pilot
And I tried
Not to fall asleep
But I did
Just like Lukas.


Is waiting for your death
Some have tried to kill you
I hope you make it
I like you
And I am not even
Roman Catholic

Wednesday, February 23, 2005


As Diego
Chews the strawberries
I remember my grandfather
How he used to
Pick us up at
And we would walk
To the market
And he would
Buy us fruit
We walked home
Eating mangos
And when a
Car did not stopped
As we crossed the street
He yelled at the driver
With his beautiful
Tequila voice
“Chinga tu madre”
He chanted
His words traveled
Like a flock of birds
Reaching the inside
Of the Volkswagen
My brother and I giggled
Like small children do
He laughed too
It was my first encounter
With poetry

Tuesday, February 22, 2005


I said to the doorman:
A couple of months ago I spoke
To a monk named Akasios
I made reservations with him
And he answered:
No one said anything to me
My wife looked at me
I looked at my wife
He carried on:
But we can see if there are
Rooms available
Did you bring luggage?
I answered I would get it later
He asked us to follow him
We entered the monastery
Walked through its corridors
Very soon I realized I was lost
And would be hard to get out
If I had to do it by myself
We stopped outside a 2 story building
And the monk said:
This is where female guests stay
I said good bye to my wife.

A veces los poetas también son profetas. Me tomé la libertad de traducir un fragmento de Ron Silliman.

"Pienso que los poetas jóvenes —los que hoy tienen diez años de edad y aún no saben que se convertirán en poetas —no serán tan pasivos con su destino. Alguien —y muy pronto— tendrá que clavar una estaca en el suelo con un tremendo efecto polarizador. Cambiará el entendimiento de lo que están haciendo y de cómo el trabajo de una persona concierne con el de otra, y cómo ambos poetas se relacionan con su propio material, etc. No tengo idea de cómo se pueda manifestar dicho evento polarizador, ni de de dónde pueda venir, sin embargo ciertamente no vendrá de ninguno de la generación de los mil novecientos cuarentas a la cual pertenezco. ¿Será un nuevo lirismo? ¿Será un nuevo anti—lirismo? No tengo la menor idea"
Ron Silliman.

Sunday, February 20, 2005


She approaches me
Her face has
The stain of cancer
Her breath
The pant of death

Agradezco la colaboración de Éktor en la traducción de mi poesía “Gridlock” A continuación el poema:


La ambición es una
Congestión pletórica
Raudales de almas sórdidas
Como los suburbios
Un experimento refractario
De hombres banales
Ultrajadores de la humanidad
Su veneno
Nutre a la clase media
Incita en ellos
El amor
De Abel y Caín

"En poesía, como sucede con el milagro, lo que importa es la intensidad. Nadie sino el Ser Único más allá de nosotros, a quien no conocemos, podría sostener en el aire, por pocos segundos, el perfume de una violeta. El poeta puede —a semejanza suya— sostener por un instante mínimo el milagro de la poesía. Entre todos los hombres, él es uno de los pocos elegidos a quien se puede llamar con justicia un hombre de Dios."

José Gorostiza


When I was
About to make a U turn
We saw sign that read
St Anthony’s
Greek Orthodox


The entrance was a Mediterranean arch
I stopped the automobile near it
At the entrance there was
A tall and thin man
Wearing a black cassock that reached
All the way down to his ankles
He was so still and quiet looking at us
My wife and I looked at each other
Not knowing what to do next
I told my wife to wait in the car
And I got out and walked towards the monk
Gravel crunching under my feet
I stopped next to him
The monk looked at me and I looked at him
Peaceful stare in the night
The entrance light was above us
This monk had very fair skin
With red hair and a red beard
And serene blue eyes
When it was obvious he was not going to speak
I introduced myself
My name is Juan
I extended my hand towards him
He shook my hand and told me his name
A Hellenic name I can’t pronounce nor remember.