Friday, November 16, 2012

compromise

scrape together justice with razor blade and mirror
freedom places handcuffs on your mother, sister, friend

he's got ideas
she's got ideas
and shaming's s'posed to lead to tolerence

       would be nice,
oxygen in every crevice
      would be nice
oxygen in every tongueless mouth

but one tube's 
shy to feed us all
when a hundred pet causes
are standing on it

put explosives in your windows
 so they learn to be doors

annihilate your doors
 until they're open to the world

until you can see beyond
your own
ambitions

and overestimated ways










Saturday, November 10, 2012

although
laughing
and
dancing
in late hours
with her
red dress
stirring
up jealousy
from those that saw her
            happy

she would return
alone
even while together
with him

she would awaken
with questions
in her heart
about what would be said
of her now






10 Things You May Not Know About Your 'Christian' Neighbor

Stereotyping groups is always crappy, and you especially feel it when you are one of the group being stereotyped. I grew up being stereotyped as a hub-cap stealing, ganja smoking, ignorant, illegal immigrant because of my Hispanic ethnicity, and that was only a little bit painful. As a 'Christian' I have now experienced a few more stereotypes that actually hurt even worse and I'd love to address them briefly by stating a few truths about myself and at least a few others who are brave enough to call themselves 'Christ followers' in a world that despises such people:

1. We don't all judge you. Some of us are a lot more concerned about all the crap that we don't have figured out yet and are quite preoccupied with taking care of that.

2. We don't all think that homosexuals are going to hell. While some of us still believe that same-sex behavior is not pleasing to God based on the Scriptures that define our morality, we also realize that a LOT of what we do is not pleasing to God (adultery, premarital sex, drunkenness, gossiping, etc) and we actually don't think we are any better or more deserving of heaven than anybody else. We recognize that we will all struggle with sin continually and that all of us needs forgiveness and grace. 

3.We are not all Republicans. Some of us care a lot about environmental, educational and social issues and are often torn between the two parties or even, gasp (!) vote Democratic. Some of us have even dared face the fact that Jesus wasn't a Republican or Democrat, too.

4. Most of us realize that the church is a mess. Of course it is! It's made up of flawed people from a hundred different backgrounds and perspectives and they are all trying to somehow help other people. We know that church leaders and members mess up all the time and the only thing we claim as perfect is God Himself.

5. We are not all ignorant. There are actually some really great minds in the church. I look at people like Isaac Newton, Galileo, and Copernicus who had an appreciation for the Divine. Piper, Strobel, Lennox and Ravi Zacharias are a few modern day scholars on that level who, although incredibly intelligent, still believe in God. So it is actually possible that some of us have used our brains to think things through and have still arrived at our unpopular conclusions about Christ.

6. We were not all raised in "Christian" families. Many of us come from backgrounds of drug addiction, sexual immorality, abuse, or atheism. Some of us have questioned and rejected the same philosophies as non-Christians and still come out on the believing end.

7. Not everyone who calls themselves "Christian" actually knows much about the bible or is even trying to follow Christ. Some people call themselves "Christian" because their parents are "Christian" or it makes them feel like a good person, and those people really aren't sure what they believe. So when they say or do something that offends you...don't assume that all "Christians" believe or feel the way that they do.

8. Some of us actually wish you would be friends with us because we like playing the same board game or listening to the same music. We aren't always trying to 'evangelize' rather than appreciate you but we sure love talking about what matters to us when we get the chance...probably just like you do.

9. Some of us feel equally horrified by the atrocities of the church over the centuries, from the holy wars and Andrea Yates, to the very existence of the Westboro Baptist Hate Group, etc. We have incredible faith that whatever 'god' these people are supposedly following is definitely not Jesus.

10. Not all of us listen to Christian radio and walk around saying "God bless you" and "hallelujah". Just sayin...

Saturday, October 27, 2012

and this napkin


love you so much I'm split wide open
aching through the parts of me
that make you look so ugly

you were the one that sewed me up
when my stitching came undone
but my clumsy songs
just make you seem
unworthy

I want to make you look beautiful
I want to make you look like all you've been to me

I want to make you look beautiful
but I've just a broken crayon
and this napkin

Saturday, September 29, 2012

fireworks

oh, dear changing season,
you have summoned a slumbering pen to wake
and find her lungs,

with your smeared explosions
of

honey-
fuschia-peach-

and
citrus-scarlet-

hot

 (as liquid crayon
bursting from scraggly brushes)

,with your
hillside all afire
but never burning up

,shouting as to Moses
about Supremacy







Saturday, June 2, 2012

it means something
if it never meant
anything
to you

it means that she is not to be trusted
and that no one is

it means that fiction will always
be a wolf in realities cheap clothing

it means that
the warm tea of a memory
is nothing but sorcery

and you
and that
and he
and they
will never
surpass
the tendency
of mirage-ability

and that she should hold her heart closely
carefully
away

no matter how sweet the kiss of today 

 

Monday, May 14, 2012

Peanuts

this time
when I hugged you good-bye
I wondered as I never had before

about Final moments

Over avacodos
I laughed
at the showing off
of a jalapeno seed,
but
elsewhere
      ached
about
a Number
of days

wonder
wonder
wonder
about how many moments
left for you

to wrestle another salmon
down the bank
with felt soles and
full waders.

You spoke to the veterans
at the hotel breakfast
of a sea horse ship
buckled and bucking,
and had to wince at that briny plate.
I wanted to take it away,
keep you
an extra day.

In afternoon
the sea foam
and wet trails
pleaded my case,
that you not stay
so far away,

beggared rushes
flowing desperate
to persuade you
to love it here
with me, Sam I Am.
Hurts too much,
when you get on the plane,

especially
now
that silver sideburns
have introduced
this
smarting question

of minutes
even seconds

before padlocks clench
in ways that
I can't argue with.

Let's no more talk about our family tree.
I'll sip my coffee and coconut
and
let your
Earl Grey wisdom

infuse

the scalding waters
of
my yearning heart.

I'll never be ready to lose you.




Sunday, May 13, 2012

thick

Today, you're
cottony blue, unpressed without me, sleeve
wrinkled sweetly my nose
and  reminded me

Of
          
heavy walks with young feet
           in sand dunes deep, and
           how the girls chased you.

Of

how,
           Thankfully,
           it's my silver glitter
           clinging to your whiskered cheek.

We were early daisies then,
ablaze but delicate,
thirsty for tenderness and Sun,

and This afternoon,
when you lift my blossom head,
to inhale the fragrance of us,

those nectarous memory sprinkles
           excite
small fireflies, living ever inside,
Made only stronger by the tides
we've climbed above
since then.

splinters survive

not that I wanted to
but many rotations
brought me to the
peek-a-boo places
where i saw wisps of your brown hair
on a barrista at the Coco Moon,
and the etching of your jaw
bounce by the window
on the face of
a back-pack man.

I want

to drink my coffee peacefully,
without
this

infant              ache
curled around my shoulders,
without
this
scraping hollow
gash within my chest.

the moon knows you somewhere,
and I need not think such thoughts,
but you just keep
walking out in front
of what I should have
left
behind,

pressing past
that cursed rear view
mirror,
ever weak
to keep and capture

something
such as you.

Wednesday, April 25, 2012

be gone
singy
same songiness

there is life for words
once they've crawled outside of crates

there is rhythm
where rhyme has ceased

and meaning
when
phrases breathe
from out of iron bars

blanket of snow
love from up above

unwind yourself

               unfold

and dare to float
unhinged
like e.e.

in his majesty

bursting            out
of
the cliche
 

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

sweet purging

there was that time
where, detangled she spun on
cold linoleum,

clammy hair
dripping
down porcelain,

an effort to disgorge
the cancer of you
from her ailing ribs.

her father, in the door frame,
blurred through tears and helpless there,

           his heavy shield, found weak
           against this
           glass explosion
                     within her,
           the fragments rupturing her skin,

whispering shoulder promises
that he knew she could not hear.

you are not to blame, child,
for your love of the poisoned cup,
or the inferno in her gut.

Later in dreams she would find
that she needed you
        
to drown
her

Foolish
wont for love.


Monday, April 23, 2012

where you are not king

she will sing.

You might,
With your strong arm
smash a lesser embryo

but not she.

she.
will.
sing. in your face
like a scream,
defying all the worlds
you hold in your hand

and when you press down slow
And she is aching,
her beautiful rage
will only grow
into flames
you
Can't squelch
with
Your waterless ego
or your calcium
critique

her bones flex
beneath your forceful palm-
your insignificant
Attempt at
her ruin.

Sure, she might cry once
but her heart is dry of you.

and the desert
creates a song of lace
that binds around
your
Haughty
head

Saturday, April 21, 2012

simple

I would rather have

art pencils
than diamonds

worn photos
than new leather

paper scraps
than shiny shoes

coffee stains
& You

 

this Saturday

I am 30.
And I just jumped a car, myself, for the first time.
So proud
I told my hairdresser,
who waits to blow dry
so we can keep chatting.

afterward,
lost in magazines,
my heart alive
with inspiration
i forget about
16 shelves
of toys
and orange bowls
to remember
something with substance

Art.
and Me.

beauty
&
meaning

I am 30.
and so
Glad to still be growing.
so glad that I am glowing
          within

imperishable

you are
the unwanted
ephemera

the un-erasable
un-trashable
day
that I can't throw away

      it never fades,

the ticket for a ballet
wished unseen
the postcard
to a place,
                 obscene

won't you please
resist
from
tucking yourself
in the bed
of my
       
Memory
 




Saturday, March 31, 2012

The potent marker is
damned
by the
continuous weight of
Real Life

becoming a dull
scratch art knife,
simply
scraping away
at a stranger's design.

Yet...
             in bathtub and hot tea moments
ink e x p a n d s within its fervent chamber,
remembering the fiber of the
pregnant point in time

Scribbles
snap
          a splash

             of meaning

amidst
a world
of monochrome
Floating sphere of joy
ever out of reach
you're a
mouthful of hope
but I'm clenching iron teeth

Braced, paced
level with the facts
That every glimpse we have
of You
will never last

Me; a craving tree
with hallow trunk
wrestling with the earthly truth-
of fading flowers

sweet cream

hungry and
haunted
gestures of love so often eluded

by fear of exposure,
And a soiled soul's
enclosure.

thorny coils choke the
cry within the throat
concealing
the famished
Dove
so aware of all her
blood-
guilt
iness
and

stains

crowbar fingers and
sweet cream of syllables
"let me love"
drenches
shredded heart tendons

and thickened layers
delicate
tumble from skies
and yearning eyes;

beneath the prickly veil
a humble
child
cries
so grateful
to know
she is
truly
alive

Monday, February 6, 2012

guns like roses

my fingers gather dust
from days without sun
sitting in a chair of tears
spinning, spiraling, a patchwork of
fears
about who you are
and where you'll go
with that leavenous message on your sleeve
with that feigned trumpet of humility
that blasts apart
the truth
with guns like roses

Guns like roses
sweetly stealing
surety

from the pockets
of starving
orphans