So long April ...

A good songs show

As he springs into his third season

All is good at home

A Fidel, mi otro Abuelo

Te fuistes cuando tenía nueve

Apenas pude conocerte

Supe de tus luchas y pobrezas

Tu bondad y entrega

Tu carrera tardía

Creo que tengo tu genio

Huraño, montañes 

Las fotos nuestras 

Son lo que queda

De los momentos que pasé contigo. 

Y recuerdo la mañana

En que papá llegó llorando

Llovía en la ciudad de las acequias

Te fuistes con la lluvia

Como huyendo de tu encierro

Nunca antes ni después 

Lo vi llorar. 

The rain drop

The pleasure of walking

Under cold pouring spring rain

Is very short lived. 

A mi Abuelo

Te recuerdo de repente en la noche

En la mañana y en la siesta

Hace treinta años que te fuistes

Y recordarte me duele tanto

Tanto como cuando te lloré

Solo en aquel río lejano

Solo en aquella noche de verano

Y el dolor se hace suave caricia

Suave gracia

Te fuistes pero estás

Paradójico. 

Monday otra vez

The train stops 

The grey station finale

How did I make it today?

Con mi hijo, feliz

Plantamos un árbol

Comimos panchitos en el calor

Caminamos por el barrio 

Dos Gigantes

Sábado de trabajo

Descarrilado por el dialogo

De dos gigantes

En un video recuperado

Del fondo del tiempo

Como llamados por su partida

Neruda y Gabo

Poesía y novela

Intimidad y Bistek 

Según sus palabras

http://prodavinci.com/2014/04/20/artes/la-fnpi-nos-muestra-a-gabriel-garcia-marquez-entrevistando-a-pablo-neruda/

Not Mine

A powerful enegy 

A group planting trees far all 

A sense of not owning

Greening

Newly seeded soil

Seedlings in spring

A happy sprouting tree

Nitenite

Seven minutes to midnight

In a hurry sketch a spring verse

Six minutes I am done

Conectado a Tierra

Out of the blue sky

today

My Nico asked 

What is inside a tree

He climbs them

Hugs them

Smells them

But what is inside trees, Dadi?

I said wood to be tall and 

Water for the leaves and 

Food for the roots.

Seeing them still without leaves

He sadly realized: 

Roots must be so hungry!!

En-tangled

Entangled mess

I cornered my life into

Two wait for me to unknot it

Breathe

I almost hit a biker       

Today                           

Off the corner of my eye  

I saw                                

A ghost                              

Through the windshield          

Of the car on my side               

Rushing on his bike                     

Across my path                               

Red for him                                             

Just green for me                                                     

Today                                                                                    

I almost disabled a man                                                                          

I breath not.                                                                                                          

Pascuas

Easter came on the twentieth this year

Not that such shakes much in me

But hints at how much I have changed

From my early days. 

By Two

To have or to have not

Separately dreaming the same dream

A decision of two is

Rey Invierno

A star was born... 

Strong, firm, decided, one Spring

Yet later whithered

Not Safe

It is very important

For me not to play it safe

Try it, expand, it is now

Time to talk.

Honorable people of Ukraine

Have you heard of the horrors 

Of the Yugoslavian desintegration?

Silent

Near a quiet beach

My loves are far away

I cannot find myself

Buho

An owl in my yard

Under the spring moon

Does not know how lucky am I

Goals

A life chasing goals
A life pursuing goals
Charming delusions over the horizon

Calm

The boy is fast asleep

The mom is back and safe

All is calm and carry on. 

Luminous

It is happening 

Just more frequently now

That I get to see it. 

I see it in his eyes

Suddenly, Spontaneously

A dash of light

His little finger points

As in tense standoff

A puff of air

A new understanding

And he runs with his new idea

Riding on wild words

Knitting them together

Conquering his world. 

Sun

Gardening all day in the Sun

Forgot all about poems and rhymes

My Son got all my attention today

And my love, and my energy and my breath. 

Snail Day

Slow day

Woke up with a slow whisper

Slow goodbyes

Slow nitenite

Saturdays are not

The blast they used to be

eARTh

Always been pulled 

Misteriously by these forces

Earth and Art

Yet forced them

Against all odds

Transform me not

Time to find myself?

Dear Xavier High School, and Ms. Lockwood, and Messrs Perin, McFeely, Batten, Maurer and Congiusta:

I thank you for your friendly letters. You sure know how to cheer up a really old geezer (84) in his sunset years. I don't make public appearances any more because I now resemble nothing so much as an iguana.

What I had to say to you, moreover, would not take long, to wit: Practice any art, music, singing, dancing, acting, drawing, painting, sculpting, poetry, fiction, essays, reportage, no matter how well or badly, not to get money and fame, but to experience becoming, to find out what's inside you, to make your soul grow.

Seriously! I mean starting right now, do art and do it for the rest of your lives. Draw a funny or nice picture of Ms. Lockwood, and give it to her. Dance home after school, and sing in the shower and on and on. Make a face in your mashed potatoes. Pretend you're Count Dracula.

Here's an assignment for tonight, and I hope Ms. Lockwood will flunk you if you don't do it: Write a six line poem, about anything, but rhymed. No fair tennis without a net. Make it as good as you possibly can. But don't tell anybody what you're doing. Don't show it or recite it to anybody, not even your girlfriend or parents or whatever, or Ms. Lockwood. OK?

Tear it up into teeny-weeny pieces, and discard them into widely separated trash recepticals [sic]. You will find that you have already been gloriously rewarded for your poem. You have experienced becoming, learned a lot more about what's inside you, and you have made your soul grow.

God bless you all!

Kurt Vonnegut

http://m.huffpost.com/us/entry/4964532

The power of one

On the morning rush

To get through the door,

The dogs, the cat

The accident in the kitchen

The crying boy,

Sitting on the rail

A deep regret assails

Remembering, thou

That his lunch

Sits on the board. 

A year already

The year rolled over me

Leaving joy and misshaps

Longing for gentle April

Solo Un Tonto

Only a Fool

Could commit on this Spring day 
To a full month of Poetry