Gracias

a MERCEDES

Thanks to her we can fly
up and down the staff,
from the summits of high pitches
when she talks to a child,
to the valleys of sorrows
well known to mankind.
and because she speaks to us all
because she is so good
she makes the tiring trips
well worthwhile and makes us trust
that we can go along
and resist to the challenges,
facing us.

because of the beauty she shares
and the hopes she seeds
with her songs in our souls
because she reminds us that
we can cry, like others have done
and for so many other reasons
to long to mention
we give her today
thanks!

the literature teacher

in those school days
when speech was far from careless
and often censored
by questions, rules and fears
he made us a gift
we could not open and understand
at the time.
it was the gift of free speech
it lasted one hour
when - without rules
we addressed a simple question
without real answer
about the road we shall take
in the future.
he encouraged us to open doors
as many doors as we cared to open
or to knock on
with the curiosity to find
a goal in life

seascape

under the sea
white pebbles are rocking
rumors are spreading
from one to another
that a boat left its shade
on their carpet
that people are diving
just to talk to the fish
and to admire the reef
the pebbles are rocking
they try to get closer
to the site of adventure
but nothing really moves far
if it is not for the sea
to initiate the current

meanwhile a wise octopus
hides in the sand
and under teh pebbles
what's all this friction
about, perhaps they just care
about eating

at the shore a child waits
for his dad gone diving
and shells keep him entertained
with their permanent rolling
perfect examples
of the understandable attraction
he has for the sea

quote of the day

photo credit: Trikosko/Library of Congress [VIA PINGNEWS] and flickr

Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.
- Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.



“[...] we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. And so we've come to cash this check, a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and security of justice. We have also come to his hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.[...]” (1963)

tell me if you can

tell me if you can
feel the quiet love of a fish?
Jane can because she is a child
and her feelings have not been perturbed
by rules and regulations that prohibit
the crossing of borders between reigns
and species that have long forgotten
how to communicate candidly.

tell me if you can
hear the sound of a leaf falling to the ground?
Jane can because her imagination is free
because her age allows the trees to talk
serious talk among them and they allow
children to listen.When they decide
it is time to make a sacrifice they know
it for the best of the earth, and Jane understands

tell me if you can
talk foreign languages like the language of birds
willing to give her thanks for water and crumbs
and because she does not much care
if they eat fruit from her garden trees;
or perhaps you can make up the story behind songs
sung in arabic, or russian or french
because she can and I love her stories

tell me if you can
for a day a week be like Jane?
open your imagination beyond any rules
ever imposed on you by common sense or any other factors,
swallow the world inside and digest it
then spit it out with a rapid breath in fresh air
and tell me how can we become better
and more important younger, like her.

tiny love2

tiny love over the city
spread through the air
with the baker's fresh aroma
and the music of the chapel's bell.

it sat with me a while
on the bench where I was sitting
eating breakfast food at lunch
but mainly watching

watching other people eating
hoola-hooping, or just chilling
letting old sadness come out
through the mouth, and keyboard sounds
of the jazz musicians playing

and after it witnessed all
ritual of sunday cleaning
through communion with the people
many of whom had never talked
with each other ever before
the little air of love took off
shrugged her shoulders and departed
for another city after smiling
at a a girl in fancy drsses
she was just done
paying her bills online
writing down check numbers
more organized than I have ever been
in my life
(and especially on sundays)
I swear.
(with all that, even me
I liked her)

tiny love

photo credits Gordon Bowbrick

when after all this drought
the first drop fell on the city
it brought a tiny love
for everybody living there;

the sound it made convinced
the grass to send out
scores of little blades
to green the ground

the scares the drought left
in the mud that dried out
in the sun need lots
of loving rain to close;

most of the trees deprived
of water did not get
their colorful autumnal coats
but they will wait;

meanwhile they all smile
a tiny smile with a sweet taste
on their cracked lips
kissed by a little drop

a little rain, a little hope
a tiny love,
what else
we need today?

sunday morning

the brisk air sneaked in
through the windows sills
and from behind the curtains
i guess the morning light shine

the coffee aroma is tickling my memory
while the water is waiting to boil
in a Turkish ibrik on an old stove-top
resisting the coming of heat

outside on the terrace
the red geranium is thirsty for water
the bougainvileas have shed some leaves
so they can read with me the newspaper.

the sea is waiting sparkling with light
the boat is ready to go fish
while all I wish is rest and enjoy
the salty clean air that I breath.

children

Now they live in the present,
and they are always real
always here; they feel
the feelings you send
with your voice and your hand;
with your eyes and face
and with such grace
and force they hold you still
with them, in the present
we were alway meant to live
and they thrive
when we stay with them
long enough till they learn
themselves to dream
and escape out through the gate
in the fence we carefully built
around them (just like our parents did)
in the hope to preserve their innocence
for as long as we can.

music cries

Music cries
sometimes gently
dramatic at times
for the loss
of a voice
memory will not
let fade
among shades

AC terror

open the window
get real
it's summer outside
still

you're heating the planet
it's true
you pay part of the bill,
our kids will

pay for the rest
and this
because you cool this room
to give me a chill

raise the hairs
high on my head
in the end making me
AC freaking mad