Sticks

Beating the sticks
The bandit rehearses his moves
On the soft cushion

The Bard

He, my little artsy son,
His wings in full display

A Prince in a large stage

Future

This little boy 

Making Plans, work, hobbies, family

He does not seem mine

Seasons

I love winter for its whiteness

I love spring for its greenness and light

I love the seasons of my boy

Spring White

Spring snow
Both soft and sharp

Slash my cheeks

Roughing it down

I skied all day today
Not used to crash rocks and stumps
Yet rare that I do not hurt.

Clock Is Ticking

My time is accelerating

Or so I think or so I feel or so it seems

Yet I am stuck in a past swirl

A Week

A week to remember
A sudden passing, a school scare
A week of fragility

bye Joe

You departed at dawn

Left four flowers in the storm

Life played a bad trick on you

It took you too soon

Sábados

Este pequeño café Etíope
Es lo que más me acerca al Nilo
Torrente furioso inalcanzable

Americanizado

Conversaba con mi hijo
Sobre filosofías lejanas
Y recordando una foto de Miranda
Le comenté que de volver
De si ese eterno gardeliano
Volver ocurriera
Definitiviamente me verían
Como la vieron a ella
Con su sombrero de Frutas
Distinto, cambiado, influido,
Pero a la vez igual.
Así me siento yo,
Así me sentía de más jóven
En algo han influído estos años
En estas tierras turbulentas
Que me han dado paz y familia
Pero aún me escatiman
Me esconden, me confunden
Mi propósito.
Mi vision.

Slow day

Dreading to be working

On a beautiful Spring Saturday
Slow, and yes, cloudy skies

On Earth

Everyone is afraid
Me, my last five minutes

It is natural

Fool all the time

On a spring prank
Woke up to wet water
My boy is growing