Un amor que no fue amor
Se me acaba de perder.
Las notas brindan con lágrimas y fuerza.
La nostalgia pelea con lo que existe, ahora.
El enojo de nuestro amor se ha perdido.
Extraño la pasión, su sonrisa y peso.
El son tropical suena feliz, pero entiende.
La alegría también siente el golpe de lo que fue.
Nada debo reprocharte
Porque nada te pedí.
Los años pasan, el tiempo mata.
Aunque el enojo se acabo.
Con esta vida nueva que existe entre los dos,
Volveremos a esa energía?
El pasado nos miente, y el futuro se ríe.
Este amor que fue, sigue siego.
10 October, 2010
Equinox (Autumnal)
Autumn is brown, like a brown paper lunch sack.
It crunches and smashes the year down.
Time slows, before screeching to a halt in Winter.
Autumn has things like school returning to session.
Also, harvesting grains and squashes.
People start to walk slower, wearing scarves.
Autumn uses just a few months but they each taste differently.
September still tastes like beaches and hot dogs.
October is spicy and scary; witches’ brews and candy corn.
Autumn makes people fall in love because the days are sunny.
The nights are just cool enough to hug for all the hours.
By spring time, the lust cools and people waver.
Autumn sounds like Spring, only backwards.
Animals travel, leaves fall, gravity wins more every day.
People rake and pick up bales of hay.
Autumn is when all the poems should be written.
Since all the senses are seduced by the shortening days.
Spices ache on the tongue and winds howl through the trees.
Autumn is jovial yet painstakingly clear:
Life dies and then we sit in hibernal silence.
Autumn is the last chance to cheer for the last ticking seconds.
It crunches and smashes the year down.
Time slows, before screeching to a halt in Winter.
Autumn has things like school returning to session.
Also, harvesting grains and squashes.
People start to walk slower, wearing scarves.
Autumn uses just a few months but they each taste differently.
September still tastes like beaches and hot dogs.
October is spicy and scary; witches’ brews and candy corn.
Autumn makes people fall in love because the days are sunny.
The nights are just cool enough to hug for all the hours.
By spring time, the lust cools and people waver.
Autumn sounds like Spring, only backwards.
Animals travel, leaves fall, gravity wins more every day.
People rake and pick up bales of hay.
Autumn is when all the poems should be written.
Since all the senses are seduced by the shortening days.
Spices ache on the tongue and winds howl through the trees.
Autumn is jovial yet painstakingly clear:
Life dies and then we sit in hibernal silence.
Autumn is the last chance to cheer for the last ticking seconds.
Space Race
Mercury is (now) the smallest planet in the solar system.
It has the most eccentricity and is super dense, like art students.
Juxtapose.
Venus has an atmosphere made of sulfur and carbon dioxide.
The rain bounces back and forth between the land and the clouds.
Ping-pong.
Earth has things like walruses and palm trees that have coconuts.
The diameter is forty-or-so-thousand kilometers, equatorially speaking.
Biosphere.
Mars probably has martians that wear Roman helmets.
It is made out of rust and shines in the night, naked to the eye.
Cronicles.
Jupiter is large and gassy and stormy and has its own adjective.
Its red spot is almost as old as Shakespeare’s sonnets.
Jovian.
Saturn could float in a really big bathtub if there was one.
Nine rings, made of light and sound, surround its bulging equatorial belly.
Carbon.
Uranus is dim and has a slow, plodding orbit, icy and cerebral.
Its axis is crooked; the poles live on the equator.
Embarrassing.
Neptune is named after the God of the Sea.
Though it has no ocean, it ebbs still, and looks blue and vast.
Silent.
Pluto used to be a planet but then got dissed by science and math.
Sometimes it gets closer to the Sun than Neptune.
R.I.P. 1930-2006.
It has the most eccentricity and is super dense, like art students.
Juxtapose.
Venus has an atmosphere made of sulfur and carbon dioxide.
The rain bounces back and forth between the land and the clouds.
Ping-pong.
Earth has things like walruses and palm trees that have coconuts.
The diameter is forty-or-so-thousand kilometers, equatorially speaking.
Biosphere.
Mars probably has martians that wear Roman helmets.
It is made out of rust and shines in the night, naked to the eye.
Cronicles.
Jupiter is large and gassy and stormy and has its own adjective.
Its red spot is almost as old as Shakespeare’s sonnets.
Jovian.
Saturn could float in a really big bathtub if there was one.
Nine rings, made of light and sound, surround its bulging equatorial belly.
Carbon.
Uranus is dim and has a slow, plodding orbit, icy and cerebral.
Its axis is crooked; the poles live on the equator.
Embarrassing.
Neptune is named after the God of the Sea.
Though it has no ocean, it ebbs still, and looks blue and vast.
Silent.
Pluto used to be a planet but then got dissed by science and math.
Sometimes it gets closer to the Sun than Neptune.
R.I.P. 1930-2006.
02 September, 2010
Chicago's Cicadas
Chicago’s cicadas are dropping like flies.
They can’t keep up with the heat.
Bellies up, wings crushed, feet withered,
they stare blank at the cement with their brains.
One does one's best not to step on them.
...Not out of politeness, but from fear of that
vomitous crunch!! that is felt when one steps on
a dead, dry, crujiente insect.
They are everywhere, but avoidable.
Without them, we need more citronella candles
and have less of that wonderful white noise
humming in the early/late summer afternoons.
Summer’s leaving soon anyway.
Students are already sharpening pencils,
women are already eyeing new jackets,
even though it’s still sweltering outside.
Chicago’s cicadas had a rough time this year.
Their silence is met with radiant sunlight
and humidity that continues to sweep across
pavement, grass, skin, and else.
They can’t keep up with the heat.
Bellies up, wings crushed, feet withered,
they stare blank at the cement with their brains.
One does one's best not to step on them.
...Not out of politeness, but from fear of that
vomitous crunch!! that is felt when one steps on
a dead, dry, crujiente insect.
They are everywhere, but avoidable.
Without them, we need more citronella candles
and have less of that wonderful white noise
humming in the early/late summer afternoons.
Summer’s leaving soon anyway.
Students are already sharpening pencils,
women are already eyeing new jackets,
even though it’s still sweltering outside.
Chicago’s cicadas had a rough time this year.
Their silence is met with radiant sunlight
and humidity that continues to sweep across
pavement, grass, skin, and else.
Hiawatha Drumming Poem
I feel you
cunningly drumming from the inside out
with your tiny sticks and snare.
Rat-tat-tat-tat!
John Phillip Sousa would be proud
to have you march on and on.
Glory, glory, hallelujah.
You seem to never sleep, and instead
practice specialty Street Fighter 2 Turbo moves.
Down/ Down, Back/ Back, Kick
You must be some sort of super hero
or a mighty Indian warrior.
I can feel you, Hiawatha,
sitting in your wigwam made of cells and blood
drumming on the belly ceiling.
cunningly drumming from the inside out
with your tiny sticks and snare.
Rat-tat-tat-tat!
John Phillip Sousa would be proud
to have you march on and on.
Glory, glory, hallelujah.
You seem to never sleep, and instead
practice specialty Street Fighter 2 Turbo moves.
Down/ Down, Back/ Back, Kick
You must be some sort of super hero
or a mighty Indian warrior.
I can feel you, Hiawatha,
sitting in your wigwam made of cells and blood
drumming on the belly ceiling.
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