“The Power of Waiting”

Reaching beyond the morning musings of living one more day
I oil my feet for my daily walk of miles to destinations yet
Dawdling on my horizon…
I stretch and massage, I
Groom and dust them off from yesterday’s missteps—

My hands are empty but full of phrases and thoughts needing
To be sown, maybe even pruned by another’s wisdom.
I limber them up in anxious prayer,
Asking for more than gentle hands but delivering hands—

Life is a tide of salt mixed with seashells you can pick,
Look at and toss back into the revolution never quite seeing
The magic, the dainty intricacies water plays upon them…

Or it can be Revelations that spin, and awakenings that
Splash upon your face with a baptism of fresh eyes!

Its too sad to overlook the singing Oriole and miss a
Full moon along the path of coming to Know
And all because you forgot to wait.

”SUPPOSITIONS”

Deeming is a dangerous practice.

The pint is very close to the half pint.

Love resembles so many similarities
Like hybrids of roses.

Choosing is deigned to each of us humans
Playing at God…

So I choose silence from hypothesizing
Too
Much
And deeming one rose above another.

“CUBAN VESTIGES”

The sounds of tropical woodwinds,
Strings,
Beads strung together
And lamentations
Pulls my soul to the dreaminess of
Red hibiscus
Pointing far away…

Words I’ve heard before,
Sentiments vivified through the older generation,
Tobacco,
Roasted pig,
And lustrous laughter…

Was I borne into these?

Or was it effigies around my young neck that
Lured me,
Bred me
To sugar cane’s blood?
Or was it destiny?

The Caribbean rums my eccentricities
and the Island is as familiar as Abuela and Abuelo.

“EVERY BREATH”

The sun felt for the earth’s soft face
Kissing it gently first;
Then the fire rose like a flick of a match.
Embracing the arduous warmth Earth
Clamored for more as she breathed faster and the
Riverbeds rumbled,
The trees spread their arms wider,
The azaleas shook off the dew
And the apples shined redder…

Sweetly the sun backed off after hours of
Passion, the burning of Rome could never compare!

Moonlight neared and calmed the atmosphere
But suddenly the jasmines awoke
Like peeking stars and jaded all other
Perfected perfume!

The Earth sighed and prided herself in
Timeliness!

“Verbal Abuse”

I lip sync to your eel-like words inching their way
To my soul;
Ones that I have tried to butterfly away from,
Ones that I have band-aid, anointed and oiled like
A medicine man, healing for a while…
At times I can raspberry them,
Rationalize them,
Bat them at you like a Home Run,
Divide them into my fault, your fault, or
I just take them in as guests.

But it is lip-syncing that I mock at,
Tasting, chewing on your cud because I know
Too well the bits, scraps and crumbs you toss…

Maybe I should tip you for teaching me so well
The sport of catching a fly fish
And tossing it back in the water.

“Lure”

Hanging on the bough are a few rotting peaches.
I stare at them from my window as though they were
Beckoning me to see, to hear and to tell their story…
Browning under the sun and losing luster they cease to
Be appealing to the eye but my mouth waters at the smell
Of their odor coming from a high breeze blowing…

How did I forget to pick them?
They were too high and there were so many others
Easier to grasp and just bite!

Now my hunger aches in my throat and I wonder if
I never saw them would I desire their succulence at this
Hour of reflection…

Temptation is a fruit that can hurricane or lulls you
Into tasting more than nectar…

Sometimes leaving it rot is safer.

“Postpartum”

“Postpartum”

What makes one love another when their spindle
Spin opposite?
Is it the heart knows something the
Head can only fathom in theory and the
Soul pristinely comprehends, like God?

‘Verily I say, love one another as I have loved you…’
Like one plus one
But it does not always equal two…

There is bountiful moonlight bouncing off the
Pink begonias in the blue pot
And the breeze, soft, like an Irish tune…

Do my senses breathe a foreign heaven
Or my soul worships a pagan god?
Is my bread less than manna because he does not share it?

Marriage is a womb where two do not always
Survive.