My Words

Understanding the World through words

Month: November, 2013

Janukah Alegre Sta Ki

20131127-084716.jpg

Freedom to Worship
at ones discretion

without prejudice
or fear of persecution.

The re-dedication of
our Holy Temple,

Once it was
taken back from
the clutches of
tyranny and
oppression.

Janukah linda
i alegre
sta Ki:

We remember
the strength of
the Maccabees.

Who rose up
on the day
of our need.

Out numbered, their
faith is recalled-

on these eight days
as a sovereign Nation
Amongst
all.

Advertisements

a Birds Life

20131125-183120.jpg

This is one of my first Poems that has survived.
——————–

I have a bird named Pinto
He was named that because
of his spots.

Pinto used to have a
companion
named Charley

It was a love hate
relationship.

Those two birds
bickered all the time.

One day, Charley flew away.

Never to be found again.

Since then Pinto has
become a living
alarm clock.

Pinto hears things
and tries to imitate
the sounds.

I wish I knew
what he was
trying to Say?

Maybe Pinto
is speaking to
Charley?

Life Moves On

20131123-152517.jpg

My children’s delightful
screaming and jesting,

background noise,
while I grapple
with the future,

Like an overly
wound up clock.

The insecurities
of the path
I’m on, is
deafening.

Competing with
the music of
my family’s
daily song.

Finally, I
succumb to
the moment,

if only for
a twinkling.

The
rotation
of the
thin hand
on my
analog
watch.

I enjoy
that moment,

the movement
of that
Particular
time
in my
life.

Shards Of Love pg. 35

20131123-125159.jpg

I love
Licking
the words
from your pages,
María.

Your insights
and characteristically
facetious tone
when dealing with
academic facts
are the
sweetest candy
to my piercing
Brown-eyes.

I savor your
words in my
mouth.
Turning them
over like
a slow
roasted
lamb.

If only my
faculties
could
remember
them
all.

Instead,
I have
re-read
them
from time
to
time.

Just to
get my
Intellect
full
one more
time.

When you
ironically,
describe
what constitutes
Moving-
from
medieval
to
modern
times,

I just
want to
kiss
your
Delicate
and Subtle
mind.

I’m Not Cold

20131123-115628.jpg

I’m not cold.
I’ve got a hat
And scarf.
Be it 41 degrees?
It matters
not.
What matters
is my
fashion sense,
that they
match
in color
and tone:
Khaki,
Black
And
coyote
brown.
Colors
that are
warm
and
well worn.

What can I say about life?

20131121-174229.jpg

Memories gathered like
a squirrel’s winter feast.

People’s feats seldom
experienced, except when
it comes to pain.

I’m hunched over and racked
with the stripes of living.

Yet, no one notices
because I stand
tall when I
take my usual
beating.

It burns me to see
the privileged shopping
from day to day.

Within sight of the
poor and hungry.

People who’d give anything
for a warm meal and the
privilege to know when
the next one will show up
on a cold winters night.

These are some of
the insecurities
running through
my mind.

They age us, make
us helpless.
In a society that
never has enough.

The blight of life.
Things seldom discussed
because they’re all to real.

Things we don’t want to see,
mention or deal
with.

We’d rather sit
cozily by a fire
while lullabies are
softly swallowed with
every sip of our
hot Swiss chocolate
and marshmallows swirls,

as if nothing
has happened
in our own life?

Or in the life
of others?

The Last Rose

I want to mention you my crimson love,

You’re resilience is not overlooked!

Yes, I’ve notice your beauty, proud

standing tall amongst the shrubs.

Parading your beauty, the

final one in these cold days.

I’d given up on seeing anymore roses

this season, until you proved

me wrong. I wanted to remember

you, but when I came back you

were gone. Someone decided your

beauty was theirs for the taking.

Now, all I can do is remember you

in this elegy. You were the final one.

It’s Raining

20131120-141622.jpg

It’s raining outside
And the window
Is fogy and damp.

Sounds like a million
Drums are
Striking at once.

It’s deafening,
The pluvial music
Brings a certain
Spiritual calm,

Dampening all the
Needless noise that
Travels through my head.

I love the sound of rain.
I relax—as it puts my
Mind to rest.

When I hear the
rain,

I want to curl up in a
warm blanket

Open up my
Favorite book and
Read where I last left
off.

Back Nine

20131103-111017.jpg

I’m turning 50,
I’m reminded of a half.

Half of a life span,
half of one hundred.

I’m privileged to have
lived as long as I have.

Many in my generation
died before they reached
fifty.

Even the following
generation there are
so many that are already gone.

With wars and diseases
claiming it calamitous toll.

I told my wife
it’s time to play
the back nine.

On the front nine,
one hopefully learns
patience, endurance, and the
things that matter in life.

The love of family and friends.
Perseverance and making
every move count.

You learn that time is fleeting
and that every word matters.
You learn to hopefully
say things correctly.

There are
endless possibilities
playing on the back nine,

Like a well stocked
bookstore,

Bookmarked between
Homer and Aristotle.

Half of what’s found
there would keep me
busy all my life.

If I had a plea,
If I could ask this
of my Lord, it’s to
to see my
children’s children,

What a privilege
that would be.