Bald

To Rhonda

I wish to shave my head,
walk the world without a brush
tatooing colorful mandalas
,following the beat of your back’s trembling
Exhibit my naked cranium,
like an open ground,
by which the memories of past caresses run free.
Exile brushes, curling irons, bobby pins
shampoos, hair sprays.
Collect head scarfs with the same interest
as I watch your slow driving or your compulsion
for ugly shoes,
I want to give away my bald thoughts,
like a fruit sald,
simple,
without pretentions,
agendas or calendars,
scripts or characterizations.
Only the nakedness of my head
and the shine of my eyelashes,
as I wait for you to wake up…hungry.

Bail Out

Bail out they cried
the scrooges of Detroit’s Big Three,
martinis at hand.
They cried to Congress,
“We need millions,
we are getting poorer,
my wife needs an Armani dress,
with all this pressure,
how can we concentrate in golf?
How will we pay for our mistress’ diamonds?,
villas at Martha’s Vineyard?
Monaco vacations?
Give us millions,
billions,
trillions,
to keep pace,
to pay bonuses profuse with zeros.
We need our Bentleys , the Porshe, the Prada purses,
the acres showing how wealthy we are.
Forget the thousand of families enduring foreclosure,
the guy who lost his retirement at Enron,
the old ladies working at Wal-Mart to make ends meet,
the thousands of laid off workers,
Forget them,
screw them.
We come here for pity, for help.
We are so desperate,
we even came in our private jets,
to show how badly we need this money.
Bail us out, bail us out…please

Magnificent

To Fia Marie and Lauren Maynard…and to myself.

Courage doesn't always roar,
sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying:
"i will try again tomorrow".
-Mary Ann Radmacher

What do you see when you look at me?
Yes, you may see a broken soul,
a deep spiral of madness and hurt,
my countless suicide attempts,
my hospital tags,
the cuts in my legs and arms,
my rampant rage,
my clinginess.

Yes, I’m all that...and more
It's true I fall deep,
that I have moments in which I lose sight of the light,
moments when hope doesn’t fill my fathomless void.
It’s true I have fallen to the ground,
I wounded my knees,
I swallowed stones and dirt.
I had been beaten, rejected,
cursed.

Certainly I lost many battles
buteven crawling I keep moving,
even if today I seriously thought about quitting…I didn’t,
I’m still here.

I may fall,
hard and deep,
but most people won’t come back,
to glue the pieces together
and be proud of the cracks.
I fall down,
but I come back in majestic ways.
Most people get burned in hell.
I went there and came back.
in one whole piece.
So next time you are unable to define me,
look in the dictionary,
you will find me under magnificent.

Poetry on Saturdays.

I want this blog to come to life again so I promise I will publish a poem or short story each Saturday until I run out of material. So please check out this blog each Saturday from now on.