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Posts Tagged ‘rhyming poetry’

the greens and blues,

 

with mes and yous

 

these things are true …

 

the wheres, the whose,

 

the whats, left clues;

 

time can’t undo,

 

what’s laid, what grew.

 

the dusks, the dews,

 

the lights, the hues.

 

the sun, the moon,

 

with you seemed new.

 

the songs, the tunes,

 

the ocean’s bloom …

 

let’s both escape

 

on this balloon.

 

 

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2014. All rights reserved.

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… and I said send me a message

          or show me a sign

because my eyes are wide open

          but I am feeling so blind

I understand all the reasons

         and none of the rhyme

and I have changed with the seasons

         to mine the sublime

and while I long for discovery

         I’m growing shorter on time

I’m afraid all the answers

         don’t get along in my mind

as the more that I learn

         the less I can define

what you call angels and demons

         good deeds and crimes.

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2010. All rights reserved. 

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I don’t understand why you aren’t

as famous as your cousin gravity.

Your work in closed systems,

while leading to breakdowns,

doesn’t always mean calamity.

The way you use heat and light

to translate what is now

to what is possible,

is a testament to your creativity.

What you need is a better agent …

and since we’ve known each other

my whole life, I was thinking,

why don’t you start working for me?

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2010. All rights reserved.

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I tried to walk the streets

I tread when I was young,

stopping time and again

reviewing what’s been done

remembered where and when

the dreams I keep were born

and began to comprehend

where yesterday had gone.

I had not remained to watch

the changes going on

and now on my return

there was emptiness, not song.

The roads had all diverged

and taken everything along,

and I was just one traveler now

and very far from home.

.

 Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2010. All rights reserved.

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The notion of a nation ceases to be,

     when the stories you’re telling don’t include me.

Or when the stories we all know we learned in our schools,

     turn out to be half-truth written for fools.

We can’t have a union, we can’t have a nation,

     we can’t have a country, founded on falsification

               Of treaties and boundaries

               Of land grants cut shrewdly

               in a rush to fulfill our

               Manifest Destiny.

So why do we question the tension we feel?

When faced with each other, there are things we conceal.

There are thoughts we must fight and words we repress.

We’re still in denial, despite our progress.

     For the nigger was born here

     and so was the spic,

     the hillybilly cracker,

     the wop and the mick,

     the Jewish American Princess,

     the beaner or wetback,

     the just minted towel head,

     the slanty eyed-jap,

     the dicksuckinflog,

     bet you never heard that

     but they were born in America

     and that’s still where they’re at.

And when others arrive and come chasing their dreams,

     we’ll invent a new slur and make up what it means,

     slander their customs and trick them with our schemes,

     make them outsiders; make them clean the latrines,

     pay them minimum wage, and force them to convene,

     in the poorest of places, with the oldest machines.

But still in those corners, some will believe.

They will seek their own answers and stop being naïve.

They will learn of the tricks and how they were deceived.

They will take what they know and then start to weave

     a new American story in which they achieve.

Discard of the labels and get themselves free.

Overcome limitations of what they should be.

Contribute a chapter to our history.

     So this nation of notions

     filled with such commotion

     will include we.

© 2008 henry toromoreno

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