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May, To Do

What my desk calendar pages look like after a few weeks.

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2017. All rights reserved.

Note to a 12 year old

for Alex, who said he hates me

 

 

It weighs heavy on me,

the things that you say

when you’re angry.

 

How mean you get in a hurry.

How blurry your love seems

at times. Your tongue becomes poison;

betrays our lives together …

we’ve been just fine. But

at times like these, I’m lost.

 

It’s the cost of being your Father,

not your friend. I know.

For now at least, my love,

I will take your slings and arrows,

ignore the million cuts –

 

I’ll tend instead to other seeds

I’ve planted … and hope for you,

strong roots, water, air and plenty of room,

And of course, a great bloom.

 

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2017. All rights reserved.

A flicker among sparrows

birds

Digital collage for a friend

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2017. All rights reserved.

Messenger is Gone

Dead at three twenty six pee em

on four, thirty one, twenty fifteen;

its work is all done.

Ten years in space

thirty five million pictures taken

three thousand orbits and never mistaken.

Slammed into the planet

and just as it passed,

sent back the best selfies of Mercury at last.

 

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2016. All rights reserved.

https://www.nasa.gov/press-release/nasa-completes-messenger-mission-with-expected-impact-on-mercurys-surface

mercury

The dead in windowsills

I don’t like finding the dead bodies of insects

anywhere ‘round my house.

Don’t get me wrong, I smash and swat and kill

the little buggers when they trespass on my space.

They are disgusting after all, and especially to me;

when I consider how alien they seem,

but still share my ancestry.

 

How I hate thinking that they still foment

within their genetic recipe

the blueprints for my symmetry.

 

No, my distaste for finding the leftover husks

of dried out insects comes from the deep

realization that I share that fate with them.

 

That their grotesque beauty should be

so fragile in the end, and so easily extinguished,

left without ceremony, to be collected in a dustpan.

 

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2016. All rights reserved.

Martin and Malcolm and Bobby and Jack.

You still hear their echoes inside of books.

Heroes are killed, and they never come back.

 

Stepped to the front and took lead of the pack.

Out of the valley and onto the brooks.

Martin and Malcolm and Bobby and Jack.

 

Believed in defense, but not first attack,

avoiding the jabs, the crosses and hooks.

Bullets kill heroes, and they never come back.

 

Tried to save Rome from the sieve and the sack,

warning the people of liars and crooks.

Martin and Malcolm and Bobby and Jack.

 

Were placed center stage and then on the rack;

received with suspicions and sideways looks.

Villains kill heroes, and they never come back.

 

Their efforts and names are fading to black,

for whatever they said has been mistook.

Martin and Malcolm and Bobby and Jack.

People kill heroes, then they want them back.

 

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2016. All rights reserved.

Take out your number two pencils.

Do not tear off the plastic before I tell you to do so.

Write in your name and your address.

Get used to filling in bubbles and giving out info.

Make sure you erase your mistakes completely.

Read the instructions and follow directions.

You’ll have half an hour for each of the sections.

You cannot look forward or backward.

You cannot use your own paper.

You’ll have five-minute breaks when I say so.

You can have a drink and a snack then, but no more.

When work starts again, I’m shutting the door.

If you don’t follow the rules you can’t take the test,

Because you don’t take the test, you won’t have a score,

And without a score you can’t get very far,

Since you won’t get very far,

we’ll never know who or where you are.

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2015. All rights reserved.