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Archive for the ‘american’ Category

I want you to know

that this started

as a suicide note,

 

that I wanted to end it

by slitting my throat …

 

cortando la lengua

ahogado en sangre

 

kicking and punching

because I was angry –

 

buscando salida o comida

pa’l hambre

 

before I had realized

how this

was coming along.

 

That the words I was

writing transformed

into poem

 

palabras perdidas

de mi corazon –

perdona mi arte

si no tiene razon

 

when by

language and meter

it turned into song

 

filling some hole

that was born and

kept growing

 

nunca sabia

si venia o me iba

 

before I had learned

what was worth

knowing … and by

writing discovered

where the muses

were going

 

tormentas privadas

y como me joden

 

that language

could save me

enslave me to living …

force the forbidden

I keep hiding and

hidden

 

me salvan … palabras,

alarmas y espadas,

siembrada sin planes

que encuentro en mi alma

 

inside me

whatever it is I

awoke that drives me

also derides me …

it’s haunting, but lively

 

idiomas que usan

qualquier instrumento

buscando sentido

y razon pa’l momento

 

and despite it

I keep writing

along

 

like beating a drum

turning the silence

into a hum

of a rhythm to come

flowing and stirring

the smoke and the rum

 

asking me questions

of where I was from

making me look

at what I’ve become

 

the meshing of parts

that somehow you think

is less than the sum

 

the stranger himself

the prodigal son

a brother and father

con un corazon

 

and nobody knows

where it is I belong

they haven’t discerned

if I’m right or I’m wrong

if I’m noise or I’m song

 

But I want you to know,

that while you

may not always love me

yo siempre te quiero

y no puedo, sin ti.

 

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2017. All rights reserved.

 

 

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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everyyonedancing

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b4offee

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2013. All rights reserved.

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