why do I

love old songs
as old as I am
and perhaps
even older

love old trees
with roots
as deep
as the deepest thoughts

love to hear
children's voices
climbing shoots
finding light

love to have
and to hear
water flowing
in the cleanest river

like to see
waves of salty
shell loaded water
leaping on the shores

why do I
list all that?
it has always been
in my hearts

why do you
listen to me?
perhaps you see
you're just like me.

de Andre

His voice used
to be marching his thoughts
into their becoming words
with the force
and gentle encouragement
of an intricate medieval
orchestra sound

his voice
could not ever hurt nobody
his voice
woke up thoughts
into mostly anybody
his stories
still live
in his songs

hard to believe
that he himself is gone
into another story
another time
so sad he could not be trapped
in the present
forever

he must have already
written new music
perhaps
with intricate medieval sounds
i hope they can hear his guitar
into the world
where he is now

duo

she has a fire burning
in her heart
a fast foot
always on the go

he has the steadiness
of ocean water
oscillating
with the waves

they hold each other's hands
and walk together
fearlessly
on land

together they maintain
a perfect balance
cause they are
best friends

A mom's advice at Christmas

be generous with your good words
be true to your words
and follow them with facts
to your best

be quiet about your good deeds
remember that people have all
different needs
and all need to feel loved

add warmth to your hands
when you touch somebody's hands;
add warmth to your words
when you touch their souls

and listen to their words
when your turn comes
to listen, but hear
the sound of their voice behind words

look people in the eyes
see if they're there for you
bring them there with your voice
and your words

when Christmas comes
rememeber what it is mostly about,
gather your family in the kitchen
do some work together
some cleaning, some baking
then wash and go to the church
be prepared to share
some of what you have
enjoy the music but also the silence
if you can find
hold on if you can
to the sweetness of things
as long as you can.

---------

if it is cold remember
to clean the ice off the street
in front of your house
so people don't fall and get hurt
and think bad thoughts off you
do not expect to be thanked for
just do your part
and sleep well through the night

quote of the day

"involve me and I will learn"!(unknown)

winter wonder

image credits:
Paintings from Rokuro.Taniuchi's�@Winter Scenes
www.city.yokosuka.kanagawa.jp/e/muse_e/taniuchi/winter/we_009.html


at the start of winter when is time
for the first frost to come,
when fall is gone and trees are bare
their leaves have mostly fallen to the ground

camelias smile right in the face of frost
and slightly blush but they are proud
and fulll of joy because their buds
will soon bloom in winter's wonderland

the tast of Christmas

the taste of Christmas involves
the smell of tangerines
and yellow stains
on your hungry fingers

to feel its texture we need a warm space
to grow mamma's sweet dough
into fluffy breads with swirls
of sugary nuts and plenty of raisins

for color the glass of red wine
that I am only allowed to look at,
in which grandpa has boiled
some cloves, cinnamon and a tad of pepper.

for mystery the smoke of real candles
to light up the dark, chase away the cold
we still remember on our lips and chins
from an icicle who broke off from the roofs' tin.

end of the ball

and when they would have finished dancing
their sparkling colors glittering no more
they will return to earthy colors
sucked by the night wind into darker air

after the last and mad whirlwind is over
they will be let down onto the ground
where they shall keep the memory of warmer days
as they will take the shape of a warm blanket

for the earth that fed them until now
and to which they have returned.
tired being they will become quiet
and feed him now, harboring hopes of spring rebirth

quote of the day

it is hard to be a tree in LA
(source NPR)

second bloom

the trees have gathered from the sun
sweet juices through the summer
and now they pour them in a copper cauldron
stir, and turn their sugar into colors

they have a dancing party with the wind
who shakes their ruffles
and their skirts and jackets till they laugh
and blush into a second bloom

the second bloom does not bear fruits,
does not make seeds, but it brings joy and color
to greet the fall, and takes us into the winter
with the memory of the last dance of the leaves.

white noise

this morning I got
30 emails, two phone calls
and I have been tagged twice,
in a network of friends

I cannot see them otherwise
because they live too far away;
further than themthe Pakistani
suffer an intense social turbulence

but I still have a normal workday ahead
when my son worries at school about famine,
and not being pushed on the playground
while I worry about his shoes not getting wet

I will plan to change
a dentist appointment I cannot keep
a couple of bills somewhere on the fridge
these I cannot change

tomorrow I will
make a trip to the library
check out a movie, or two, or three
I will perhaps not get to see any

I am sure
my iTunes folder has music
I love or know I would love
if only I would get a chance to listen

the monkey in my head
has a harder time every day
sorting all sort of inputs
from the white noise polluting my brain

deciding what is important today:
like holding a little hand
singing a song before bed
making it up perhaps

in a creative impulse
or in a state of blissful boredom
where I am lacking a high speed connection
to the many sources of noise in my life

today

drought

all earth and creatures born of it
stand with pores opened to the sun
gathering force to strengthen them
while waiting for rain
or death - whichever comes first

the mirror man

credits Pedro Lash and luxegallery

the mirror man
sat in front of me
mimicking my emotions
repeating my questions

I thought
he understood me
because he showed
such a good empathy

one time I was about
to get too close
and fall on the slippery slope
of love simply because
I had worked hard many years
on learning to love myself

then he did something strange
he put on my face
a mirror
so I could see him
in my face
my face in his face
his face in my face
diving one into each other
ad infinitum

what drought
of candor
when exhausted of the trip
nobody
could see anymore
nobody
at the end of the search

on getting up i think
I may have hit him
with my arm trying
to break the ever so empathic mirror

I fear now I hurt him
or maybe just hurt myself
dizzy I can barely see
what remained of us
in those broken mirrors

perhaps memory was altered
I cannot now even be sure
if there was ever
really anybody
anywhere behind those masks
besides emptiness
and thirst

the master potter

his hands trembled just slightly
his smile showed his face wrinkle
his eyes only betrayed
the really young age of his soul

clear and blue and full of light
his yes were often washed
with the colors used to paint his pots
the colors he kept alive from old days

his voice candid as the voice of a child
he told us a part of his story
one cold rainy day in Oboga
when he made us feel close to the earth


his gifts came onto him through hard work we call art;
his pain and joy from the same clayish earth
me molded all his life
with his heart

do

do whatever you do
with your head
with your hands
do it well

be whatever you are
be yourself - without shame
aim to grow better
every day

give and receive
the gifts of life.
share yourself
with your friends

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.