Bolivar and San Martin: Guayaquil, Ecuador

Friday, June 09, 2006


So strange, these thoughts of you
On an evening such as this.
I stand and talk with Lysander
Who knows nothing of big city living
And houses that stretch four stories high
Into the crisp metropolitan air.

I remember a word
You spoke to me once: demure;
How your face sparkled like victory
as its meaning evaded me.
And you laughed a little, too,
Having bested me at last.

Too long it has been
Since I have dreamed of the city.
Too long are these days
That pass without your words.
Too faint is this hope:
To reconcile at last.

So strange these thoughts of you,
As crystal as the stars that rise.

Saturday, May 27, 2006

Let Go

The sour taste of
Nothing as I willed it to be
Stains my tongue,
And these happy days
Reverberate with the
Draining sorrow of the years.
Mine is the silence of tomorrow,
the slow, aching quiet
That dismembers conscious thought
And suffocates itself in tears.
A nerve fires, triggering
The slideshow of our lives
That we might see our existence
Frame by frame
and cling to the stored thoughts
We desire to keep the most.
My ears grow weary of fraudulent discourse:
Words without meaning and a specious smile.
I unhook my eyelids that I might finally close them;
Dreaming of everything,
Desiring nothing at last.

Tuesday, April 25, 2006

A walk with my father

I step out into the mist,
my memory replete
with adages of old.
I walk by dim streetlights
grudgingly caged in fog,
hindered in their only charge.
when you walk my son,
the timbers will shake.
An ambulance passes me,
smashing the silence of evening
with a cacaphonous howl of sirens.
For a passing moment, I think
of the man inside the box of flashing lights.
A tear wells in the corner of my eye
as hiswife clings to his lifeless body.
Dead on arrival:
we should carve it in stone.
Living in the past is regret,
Living in the future is fear.
I push the man away,
my stride never breaking.
So this is way:
right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot.
What enemies will I face in life?
Is it within my power
to make my existence what I will?
And Theseus spoke as he faced
the great monster "his shoulders
are broader, but mine are stronger."
The sky continues to spray its mist,
profligate with the water
so essential for life.
It gives equally, falling in
rivers, on trees, on streets,
on wandering sons whose own prodigality
is reason enough for pause.
Your light wil not be dimmed
like these lamps that line your path.
Your charge in life is to shine my son,
What blinding light you'll be.

Thursday, April 20, 2006

religion and stuff

Just some thoughts on religion...not poetry but still really interesting.

So Blaise Pascal is really smart. About 350 years ago he comes up with this chart that basically says this. we have four choices : either we believe or don't believe in god, and there either is or is not a god in reality. If we believe in god and are correct, the reward is great, while if we believe in god and there is none, or likewise if we don't believe in god and there is none we have sort of a wash, no loss on our part. the last scenario however is the most intriguing. If you reject god and are wrong, then the eternal fire awaits you. We see that simple logic can be persuasive in the theist's cause. To show that I am not engaging in mere sophistry here and employing specious arguments, let us look at some evidence. Albert Einstein, most likely the greatest scientific mind ever, said this "I believe in God. there comes a point where you're mind can only take you so far, after that, the only explanation is God." You will not hear that from any college professor today; nor in the hooplah surrounding racially charged events when the image of Dr. Martin Luther King is called upon will you hear of the phenomenal presence of faith in the life of that great leader of men. Modern secular scholars like to treat religion as though it were transient, changing always to meet the capricious demands of the people in the moment. They fail to see the unity between a group of southern baptists praying in the aftermath of Katrina and those Christians who held prayer vigils when the great Saint and church father Paul was held for execution under Nero. Even before that Abraham called out in the wild to Yaweh, I am that I am, the same as I do when I undertake a long journey or feel lost in the great maze of my existence. What takes more faith, investing all in science, in reason, in the capacity for man to justify himself, or in accepting that that there are things out there so great and powerful that we will never understand them? As for me, I take the path of per solam fidem. There are truths in this universe that cannot be undone.

The Ineffability of Esmeraldas

Hold pen, do not write "love."
Do not write "beauty" which is
To insult her name.

Be still and quiet, word-locked clich├ęs,
And bow before she who
Would not be described.

Away all these liars:
"Graceful" and "Lovely,"
And "smile like the sun" or "cheek like the rose."
These all lie in soft repose,
Not even dreaming of transcribing
The wonder of Esmeraldas.
And her name stands alone,
Untouched and unshaken by trifling metaphors .
She outshines all names, all names but one:
Esmeraldas, Esmeraldas, mi esperanza, mi amor.

Saturday, March 04, 2006

Twilight fading

Dig deep into memory,
Brushing away the sediments
Of six years of longing
Til dreams
Float in synchronistic suspension
Before your eyes.
Visions heavy with purifed
Images of raptured youth
Fog the air; slow your breathing,
Repeat the words imprinted
On your mind:
"We will never be here again."
Dangling strands of starlight
Flicker in the sullen and solitary breeze,
Serenade of the darkening sky.
We will be here again,
When the discontent of waning youth
Is far behind, when shadows darken
On the horizon of our years.
Our dreams will linger, however, nourished
In the lachrymose starlight of crepusculum.
They will be our markers,
our only reply to the charge
That we never lived at all.

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

It falls away in morning,
When intimations of orange
Creep up on far horizon;
When wistfully we guide
The last dying strands
Of a beautiful dream.

Mourning in winter,
When we become aware of our chimera,
Delicate and desperate though it may be.
Sunrise comes bringing light to the world,
Yet covers the landscape of the soul in darkness.

Another minute could be a lifetime,
But alas, the sunrise is calling my name.
"Awaken, young dreamer!" it's rays seem to shout,
"The day is before you, away with those purified
images from starry dreamland"

Morning in winter,
And the last visions of joy neverending
Fizzle drearily
As I wipe the sleep from my eyes

Medidation on another year passing

the final tumult
of the year's cascade
leaves me with the knowledge
that nothing ever happens.

we go nowhere,
and we see no one.
Our years creep past
Draped in silence,
and masked by illusory sirens
of contentment or success.

only as children could we hear the music,
only as adults we realize
that music is the way.

We huddle sleepily in the prelude to dawn,
Wondering if we'll ever find the time we've lost
As the last breath of night
expels across the star-spattered sky.