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Archive for December, 2009

Nothing new to post, as the holidays take over my life. I would like to thank everyone that stops, stopped or will stop by, for sharing a moment of their internet life with me.

This year marks my second anniversary posting to this blog, and I don’t know how much longer I will (or can) continue posting regularly. More than anything, it has been great getting so much feedback from so many people, and if I do stop posting, that’s what I will most the most.

My sincerest best wishes to everyone during this season of festivities and holy days, and may the new year bring us good health, better understanding and more art to fill the world.

Cheers.

Henry

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 for the HHS Young Men’s Group, 2009

.

I know you already been drafted

elsewhere,

that you been called to duty

by other armies of the imagination.

I see your uniforms –

skinny jeans below your ass

revealing brand name elastics,

and pretending a connection

to prison cell stories,

where young boys like you

become beautiful concubines

to be traded amongst older men

with truer tales of horror

and nothing left outside the walls

that keep them until death.

I know. They came for me once too.

.

I know that you been sold

a dream of how to be a man

holding your hands

balled and ready to blast,

that you’ve been promised

a connection to the past

and a key to greater pastures,

because I can read

your feathers and spots,

I know the whys and whats

of your beads and ways and tats

the bandanas that you fly

to mark a space,

the hoods you wear

to hide your face,

colors that will grace

your resting place.

I know. They came for me once too.

.

They came for me, but I escaped,

and I escaped, only to warn you.

.

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2009. All rights reserved.

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a poem for the cavemen

 

Sticks and branches were not enough,

     the big cats and other beasts 

had learned the bluff;

other groups had big sticks, too.

And in their natural state,

     rocks just would not do.

Then like magic,

           the flint breaks away

     and with it some of the darkness

          and the fear.

There was an edge now to our being,

     like new found claws or tiger jaws,

     weapons we learned to hold dear.

From then on rock pounded rock, 

     with a purpose and a plan.

Art was born and moved us along;

     thoughts turned inward now

the birth of man.

The search for god, meaning and a plan.

From the flint was born,

     the bulls at Lascaux, a father for fire,

dreams of angels, fat  man and little boy.

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2009. All rights reserved

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