Affairs and Rains

Affairs, as with the spring rains

that pour over a heart’s tragic fall,

will wash away dearth’s pains

and repair the wounds of winter’s awl;

filling old wounds by sprouting creative veins.

Mess-i-cans

They work like mules

For wages kept in pools.

They keep together

No matter the leather

That strikes them so lucid

With offending whips rigid

Until their blood ran frigid.

Beware of ships ashore bringing plight

Of their old-world privilege and presumed right

With steel helmeted conquerors

Insisting the dicta of the preemptors

Who slave their service

And subjugate the natives as a premise

That forward: brown skin                                                                                            

Wear as the King’s nameless kin.

Understand those mess-i-can hordes

Wii become extensions of old Aztec cords

That will rule and regain

Once their blood’s offerings reign

Flowing north as the red sunrise

Crosses plains of the blue skies.

Desperate Hours

The reasons for the day towered

Over the desperately few hours

 

And yet, with every tear shed

Each inexorable minute sped

Away with life and rhyme

 

Leaving dearth and dour

To reign upon the empty streets

As words abandon paper sheets

While a poet’s touch - bled.