May 2012 Blog Posts (13)

When blank pages stare right back

I can’t help but feel like a fool

With inspiration exiled

I know the words will still come

Ill fill note book after note book

With the wistful feeling left

After an epic night and bottle of wine

I am hung over.

And your name trails around

Laughing at my school girl

Doodles, your name and my name, all tied up

in pencil drawn hearts.

I will feel better when the bills show…

Es un hombre de pocas palabras y largos discursos en momentos precisos.

Y yo lo espero

ansiosamente .

Lo voy descifrando  a mi capricho

No es que  lo quiero. Pero quiero querello.

 Conocerle sus ultimas maldades y sus mas desesperados deseos.

Escucharle sus largos silencios envuelta en su cama, tocando su cuerpo.

No hay…

morrissey in concert is like morrissey on cd, but with more odd noises including the sound of females woo-ing and men loudly chanting his name, same effect as in me wanting him to just realize how much of an impact he's had on me. teared up during the climax of please please please let me get what i want. also did not like kristeen young too much but did courtesy claps. went to denny's afterwards. decent decent, have left overs for breakfast. currently contemplating how to cut the concert…

Santo de mi devoción , carne de mi tentación , hombre de mis locuras mas oscuras,

amen.

Maybe,

you are real, holy.

 I need to look beyond the deep black eyes,

the strong features that make my skin burn in licking tongues of blue flame.

I need to shut my eyes and hear you speak.

Oraciones.

Maybe,

I need to watch you go about your day in meditation ,

exhausting the concentration of a…

Sitting in the dark 

holding my knees 

tightly to my chest,

I dare not breathe 

for fear of disrupting

a rhythmic enticement 

a sigh full of wishes

in the symphony of your voice.



I rest 

captured, 

my flesh dances to every word 

that sways around my being, 

butterfly wings wrapped 

around my waist.



I listen 

to the blind…

I imagine.

Before his life of single cups of morning coffee and token hot girls,

before his shower

floor

became a mass grave of used up bottles of shampoo and

foaming body wash.

Before certain days and songs

triggered nostalgia

and the mention of her name…

Las olas

la noche

y la musica que nunca termina de tocar al lado del mar.

Ayi te espero siempre.

A ghost on the sand

where the sun bleached shells litter the shore.

Bone yards.

 My feet sinking into the foaming road,

silver in the moon shine,

giving us drunk feet and drunk souls.…

Yesterday

Dusk brought you to my window

I watched you 

laying serenly

In Shadow Boxes

Grey beds of peace

I find you 

in quiet places

When the house is silent and keeping 

Time 

to a whisper of

the highway lullaby

sensual silence solitude.

The only fluttering is inside of me

My breath, My heartbeat

crashing, thunderous…

The old cliche, "every cloud .... ". If I had not decided to give up my car in order to make it through last year with food, shelter and happy moments for my family, I would have never gotten on a Fresno bus. Riding the city's bus system has allowed me to get to know Fresno intimately. There are stories to be written here. Do not worry Salinas, I will forever be Steinbeck's daughter. I just know Saroyan and Soto have new things for me to learn. Inspired this morning , hope you find yours,…

Why I don't Criticize

Bruised pear

Soft and bland in spots.

Sweet in others.

Alone, in a bowl for too long.

Bounced around in my lunch bag.

Traveling to and back.

Only to find

the pear waiting once again.

I have inflicted

little careful nibbles

at the very best parts.

Searching out the firm flesh  

with my tongue.

The pear is

bruised,

not rotted

to the…

For all you artists out there that need a little nudge.