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Posts Tagged ‘poetry about life’

I don’t know

what you’ve been told,

about what happened

long, long ago;

but it’s happening still

and forever will.

So even as

you sit around

bored or absorbed

by retold stories

of the horde you were born to,

learning the sayings and prayers

making your exit and entrance

being just merely a player,

you should come to learn,

through peace

and through violence

there’s a greater tale told

of black hole horizons,

and dreams from hadrons

collapsing in silence …

… particles blinking

in and out of existence

ignoring the gravitational resistance

…………..that allows you and me

to walk around on this earth

and for whatever it’s worth

whether you accept it or not

this story has got

……………………….no point.

For in a curious twist

the multiiverse missed,

what no good writer ignores.

Who is this story for?

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what stands between us

are just cross and crescent

as walls in our minds

stars and sentences

that seemingly align

stands between us

the same things

that seem to define

between us

what’s yours

what’s mine

us

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2013. All rights reserved.

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 worse than learning

what it is

is realizing it’s the stuff

that’s getting in the way

of actually being

in the world

completely,

and worst of all

is knowing

that it’s mostly

empty space

repelling through

its charges

our merging

into everything.

 

 Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2012. All rights reserved.

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is not a sign

of mental illness …

most of all

he gets a pass

because he’s four

and just because

he talks to his food

how do those

who took these notes

know exactly

how it’s going on

from where he sits

how do they know

that in his mind

he’s not thanking

the potatoes for

being so delicious

and that in his heart

he knows that

while whole potatoes

may have eyes

you have to speak

kind of loud

to thank them

because they lack ears

and do not always

pay attention.

I think people

might learn a thing or two

if they had a conversation

with their food.

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2011. All rights reserved.

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we are all Sisyphus

   with our own boulders

.

         you my love

      are Sisyphus as mother

   as teacher

as humbled crumbled

      daughter …

.

      rolling your bones

   like a lover

longing for a cliff

.

         when we are lost

      or tired, you know …

.

         there are times we

      must stop to rest

   when we let the rock go

hurling along and we

      bend low to wash

.

      to bow our heads

for a moment

.

         to take measure

      of our course and recall

   that we have been

here before

.

but everything is different

      it is not the same river now

            the land has changed

         we are tired

      in different places

         having seen things

            from the valleys

         having stood at times

      near the top

..

our rest is

sometimes broken

when the rock

comes

rolling

back.

.

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2011. All rights reserved.

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hermano, amigo

               I don’t gots nothing more

                    but words for you …

an open invitation

   like the blanket I hung

    as a door when we lived

side by side, all the places

          where we were young together

 .

even these things are leaving

               us now,

          that we don’t talk,

                    that you can’t call

     to say “I love you too”

               now that I’m just another

          Facebook friend or bit I.M.

 .

Te acuerdas,

               remember how we met?

          ¿como todo paso?

how by accident your mother

               bought the house across the street

          from ours? How twelve years

               earlier we had both surprised

          our fathers and bent their tomorrows.

 .

¿Que cosas, no?

 .

that so much had to go,

               had to break a certain way

to find us playing tag in

               the summertime, dodging

between cars or playing kick the can

              and waiting for the street lights

to turn on.

 .

Te acuerdas como nos conocimos?

 .

                    You doing your imitation of John

              Travolta from Saturday Night Fever

                 and singing the Bee Gees’

                    “Staying Alive”

                   to mock whoever the hell was “it”

                … except me …

         we were already running as a team

        Ploying silently to keep the

                rest at bay, pushing to be better

               than each other because no one

            wanted to be Robin, because

          we both felt absolutely golden,

      whenever we were together,

          you were Larry and I was Magic

              even though our skin said

                   we had it backwards

                      … we knew better

 .

Ya tu sabes!

 .

So here’s a list that only

          you will understand with your

decoder ring and secret index

        of punchlines and memories

Pink Champale and Greased Lightning,

     Lower Grant and their mutant bigs,

Hershey Park spinning on its side,

     Reggie, the bleachers and spaghetti,

Willie on the train and the fucking fractions,

     Missions to van Sicilen, Crescent or Norwood

The middle of winter and a rat’s nest,

     Pitufas and soft shelled crabs,

The Dominican outback needing dancers,

     Fernando in the ambulance,

Shoeless football, stir fry and home grown,

     Seafood Mamajuanas, Billy Joel and

about a million other words I could

     string together to hang around our necks

like totems signifying we know

     exactly what they meant.

But we don’t.

We have our own stories, no?

          Even if we shared that

glory time so long ago, all things

          can gather enough dust

to be covered in the end.

Te acuerdo, te amo, te extraño.

.

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2011. All rights reserved.

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es lo que es

las noticias de la vida

todo cambia pero

quedan las heridas

y yo que fui

tan perdido por aquí

me encontraré

la paz sin ser

cometido ha mentiras

.

(musical interlude … lots of horns)

.

Y es lo que es

la vida por noticias

nada cambia pero

quedan injusticias

y yo que fui

educado por aquí

me encontraré

razon sin ser

cometido ha malicias

.

 (repeat music … end with horns and cymbals)

 .

* dijo el angel caído 

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2011. All rights reserved.

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