A Second To Rest

Simple Thoughts

"One second to rest,

so gratuitous,

if one is to think about

how rare this seems to be.


Here, look,

the amount of time it took to see

how often a second isn't used

to breathe


was enough time

to pull to a stop,

see the green, birds and the bees,

and catch some relief.


Relief and realization

that life itself isn't

all that bad, though

that can be lost in translation.


The translation,


that the day which blurs by

is nothing more


than a blur.

A blur of colors,

and sounds and smells,

perhaps meetings with unknown love?


A blur that could be deciphered,

with one second to rest,

to test the waters of chance 'Hello's,

bold moves and second guesses.


Some love how

there's nothing sure,

and that's not a bad style,

but all the while,


just take a second.

After all,

we don't all get second chances.

Convenient, indeed,


if the ability 

to hide in a closet with closed fists

only to re-do a moment that passed

was reality.


But ho! 

No way, 

the only real way

to enjoy the full day


is just that. 

Take a second,

notice the smiles,

the way the Sun burns


and the Earth turns

from Night to Day.

Jumping off the Metro,

feeling kind of special,


back to the West Coast.

Where this relocated boy calls native lands,

the soil which holds blessed, sacred sands,

back in the day and then.


Back there,

the second to rest

learned to be a neccesity

to learn life,


enjoy strife and when to cry

and hold tight, cut avocados

for a meal to whom goes

a long second to breathe,


good again the one,

or two,

or three seconds taken

to lay down and rest."

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Challenged to write a poem wthout using the word "I", "me", or "my". This was fun to write, I had to re-write about fifteen stanzas.


On a side note, I will continue to be writing poetry but the first 100 poems that have been posted on this blog will be considered, if you will, my first 'collection', in which I can hopefully spring some exciting news to you all soon, if I actually make it happen.


In the mean time, happy reading! 


My grammaw y tu abuela fueron primas...a lifetime ago, se jugaron en la tierra cojiendo al Sol
Con las ideas of unity y amor, sin las tareas de miedo y valor
Our grammaws were cousins when life was simple and jewelry told a story
We are blessed since then nothing steals that glory.
For I still have the heirloom that if we are in the same room you would recognize
The healing of a heart and the sight for sore eyes
Los braceletes que se cambiaron todo 
Anyone who laid eyes on them would know
Que solamente si lo vieron, todos se pudiera quedar en casa, embrazando sangre esperando a sus abuelos a venir. But they did not notice or didn't care, shipped them off to live unknown fears. 
But the game they played to try to evade their destiny is the reason why we have been fooled all this time. I am your blood and you are mine,
After all, your abuela and my grammaw are cousins, look how our smiles shine mirror reflections time after time....

ambrosia's desire

naughty ramblings

I have not touched you in the place I'd like to be touched
I have no way to describe its clutch
You may think that place we'll go is too much
I think it's a high we deserve as such

Emotions we'll share are like no other
This love had been known to smother
But I feel your need to be my lover

My heart is slow to accept another
Remembering you blinds me to all others

To feel you close is all I require
To shift my heart and take me higher

This place is where I long to be
This place we go where we are we

the equation of us

You are u
I am me
Love made 1
Set me free
Only see you
There are 2
Equals U plural
Third eye open

see the mural

Author's Notes/Comments: 


2 third eyes make a whole...


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The Hardest Thing I've Written, or, The Wildcats Cub

Hand Written

"A Child was born.

To Him, poetry was

dedicated to. Rounds,

artillery, were fired for.


The Sun rose,

Experiment 626 resided with,

Manolo was gifted,

the Earth turned.


The Ocean ebbed, 

as it always does,

and things that always happen,



In a room,

so immensely packed with support,


cherished, sweet love,


a Son was born.

A Son was graced into the world,

the exact moment a blur of imagination.

And tears fell for the glory of lifes gift.


The gift to make life,

the gift give love to one another,

and to always be there.

No other way, really.


In this room,

Mother and Father,

two sets were there,

watched what their childrens' actions


brought to be.

A beautiful moment,

and from the Woman,

having had her heart gone through much,


having had loss and gain,

was a strength in the room

that made it all come together

into one point of joy and tears.


Tears of joy,

a happy sob

fell from the Man

who watched his Son be born.


This Man, 

one wearing the colors of the Womans tribe,

had shared an intimate moment

with the one giving birth,


and sat in awe

at the Son that was born.

The Man became a Father,

and that is where I frown.


For I was not that Man.


I was not the one in the room,

watching his Son be born.


I was not the one holding the hand

of the Woman I loved.


I was not a part of the moment

that I had to imagine to 

write so acutely about.



the dust of the desert,

a home to Her,

and Hell for me,


was the terrain I slept in,

constantly thinking

of the Woman and the 

Child that was born.


Every day it was the same thing.

I paid what I had, and had nothing left,

I clock in, I clock out.

I grab the wrench, and turn the bolt.


The dirt encrusted Kevlar

that kept my matted hair flat

was so distracting,

but not so much that


I hadn't spent every single second

dreaming of the Son that wasn't mine.

That never was going to be,

but I wanted Him to be.


Oh, Lord,

I had to get away,

and away I did when I finally made it.



out of the desert, 

supposedly the very last time,

washing truck, howitzer,

unifrom, flack,


body, face,

mind and soul.

The shower drain struggled,

the surfboard over waxed.


And finally,

after being asked,

I got into the one called Alice, 

a name the Woman and I even spoke about


for children of our own,

and sped far from Base,

to the City that I loved,

to the Woman who had broken up


with me, yet we were still

deep in love.

Always have been.

And walking in,


bending over to pet the puggle

that I so affectionately looked after,

the Woman stood in the doorway,

a surprise in her arms.


Asleep, was He,

I hadn't even gotten a look. She put the Child

down, into the crib I had built

with my own hands. 


We leaned over together,

staring at the little angel

like a Mother and Father

look at their Son.


But before the anger

of the Jealousy I had

for the Man in the room

could swell up my throat,


we embraced, 

the first time being so close

since Gas Lamp rendezvous,

full of drunken kisses and black outs,


which was replaced with a relationship

that from the start we knew

was difficult,

considering the baby in between.


Did that stop us?

No, just gave me an excuse

to live out my desire

to be a father.


A father, but not the Father.

Yet, was the Man there to comfort Her?

To be there for Her 

when she was tired, sad, hungry?


No, it was me,

making every meal a feast,

a gourmet entree,

or atleast that's what I tried.


And She obliged, 

cringing at the Mustard Seed

but smiling at the effort.

An effort unfailingly,


putting up with her worries,

putting up with her wrath,

putting up shelves with skill.

Well, and I had a drill. 


And the will,

driving once at three,

to be there at four,

to spend an hour till five,


before showing up to formation,

holding her in my arms,

kissing her belly,

living a life that wasn't mine.


Seething Jealousy hit me,


when I realized the Man

wsa the Father. Not me.



I teared up

when I held the Son,

with an age of six days,


for the very first time,

and sang sweet songs to him,

from First Light, to Bad Seeds,

and His Mothers favorite, Jack.


A lack

of attention to the time,

the all-of-a-sudden affection

and the kisses that made us a couple again.


I had spent nights

rubbing Her softly,

like I had written before,

palm flat against the life inside.


And now, here He was.

In my arms.

All the while,

so much doubt


from so many folks

who looked down at me, though

size wasn't the issue. I wasn't

short on stature, just age.


Among other things,

and the lack of feelings

and the experience of handling

such a Jealousy


lead me to hide a contempt

for a person I hadn't even met.

Over what?

A Son that wasn't even mine.


Every second with the Child

had me torn.

The fact of the matter was,

I loved Him before he was born.


Justified? Not at all,

as I pulled on my black hat.

A gift, eventually meant

for the Cub of the Wildcat.


But will He where it?

Will He want it?

A gift from a Boy

who held Him close?


Goodness gracious,

I'm sorry 

I'm so crazy.

I'm sorry..."

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Another poem from the moleskin journal.


And with this piece, a new chapter begins in my growth as a poet.

There will be more poetry coming! But there will be other stuff coming as well!


For all readers, avid and new, thank you. Thank you all so very much. Read, write, love. Live.

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এসো [Bangla Song]

Bangla Songs

এসো প্রেমের কথা বলি,

এসো মনের কথা বলি,

হাত রেখে হাতে,

চল হাঁটি জোছনা রাতে।


চাঁদের আছে হাজারো তারা,

কে আছে আমার ওগো তুমি ছাড়া,

পাহাড়ের বুকে ঝরনা করে খেলা যেমন করে,

ঐ কাজল কালো নয়নে রেখো আমায় চিরতরে,

লাগে না নজর যেন তোমার হাসিতে,

চল হাঁটি জোছনা রাতে।


সমুদ্রের ঢেউ যেমন আসে বারে বারে,

প্রেমের টানে তীরে ফিরে,

আমিও তেমন করে খুঁজি তোমায়,

লাগে না ভালো না দেখলে তোমায়,

পারবো না আমি কভু তোমায় হারাতে,

চল হাঁটি জোছনা রাতে।

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সখী তোর লাইগা রে [Bangla Song]

Bangla Songs

সখী তোর লাইগা রে,

অন্তর আমার কেমন জানি করে!

রাইতে আমার ঘুম আসে না,

কোনও কামে মন তো বয় না,

কি জাদু করিলা তুমি আমারে

অন্তর আমার কেমন জানি করে!


লাগে না ক্ষিধা একটুও,

তুমি এত পাষাণ কেন ওগো?

চায় মন দেখতে তোমারে পরাণ ভইরা,

না পাইলে তোমারে সখী যামু আমি মইরা,

একটু ভালোবাসা দাও না আমারে!

অন্তর আমার কেমন জানি করে!


আসমানের সব তারা আনমু পাইরা,

তোমার পায়ের তলায় জ্বলবো তারা,

চান্দের আলোয় দেখুম তোমার মুখ,

রাখুম তোমারে রানীর মত, দিমু রাইজ্জের সুখ,

যাইও না কন্যা ছাইড়া আমারে,  

অন্তর আমার কেমন জানি করে!

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I’m Crazy for Her Love

I’m just crazy for her love,

She is as soft as a dove,

As fair as the angel divine,

Transparent her mind is as the sunshine.


When she talks, sitar’s sound I hear,

When she smiles, I get rid of fear,

When she kisses me with love,

I feel like flying like a bird in the sky above.


She is my life, my soul,

My means to breathe, my ultimate goal!

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Die for You

Beautiful Imagery

Brother, I will die for you.  But please, do not rejoice – this is not a declaration of my loyalty to your life.


I plan to kill myself tonight, brother… for you – please do not try to stop me.  I do not want to hear of the value of my life; I do not want to hear your rage at the thought of my perceived uselessness.  I know my life weighs on your soul, and challenges your style of living.  I know that we clash more often than we intertwine, and it is for that reason that I choose to die.  I will rid myself from your existence, for you.


I do not say this to implant guilt; please do not misunderstand.  I choose this path, brother, because I love you.  More than words can ever hope to describe in a world filled with words callously used to hide behind.


Sister, I will die for you.  Please, hold back your tears of (something) – this is not chivalry.


I will end my own life… for you.  Do not worry; I love life, and all of its splendor.  The trees call to me in sweet tones that allow my mortal mind to forget time.  I am allowed space to unfurl my physical trappings, to relinquish my understanding to the Soul of the World and refill my cup with eternal love.  The symphony of life quells my restlessness in ways Western medicine seeks to mimic, but cannot quite replicate.  But my reverence for such beauty is in opposition to construction and progress.  I cannot abide endless consumption, so I will remove myself from this global equation, for you.


Lover, I will die for you.  Do not look at me with such disdain – this is not Shakespearean tragedy manifest.


I poison myself because I long to die… for you.  I am not naïve; I already dearly miss your skin, the current surging within that revitalizes my soul.  I will forever hold your love as the pinnacle of this physical world; the height of true majesty, paling the purple of the mountains from the land we came from.  Most of all, I adore your eyes, as they diminish my existence with the immensity of Gaia’s power, wrath, and benevolence… I will miss those fiery windows most of all.  I realize my Aquarian tendencies leave my head cloudy with images of utopia – images in stark contrast to our civilization, this reality you remained grounded to.  I know that is why we are no longer in each other’s arms; your absence shaves my humanity, membrane by membrane, so death seems inevitable.  Why not cut to the chase?... for you.



Humanity, I will die for you.  I will not be a martyr – I am not strong enough for this world.  I imagined myself an actor in a new age play, a catalyst of a movement toward enlightenment.  But I am meek, and incapable of lasting through to the end of this struggle.  When hard times come, as they always do, I will not be here.  Someone more capable will take my place beside you.  Someone with unflinching bravery and unlimited strength will guide, and be guided by you.  I am sorry and I apologize; it cannot be me.  I am weak.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Please help me with this; I would like it to be critiqued.  I am in the process of editting it, but I am currently fatigued as a result of what this piece means to me.

Do not worry, I am not actually suicidal -- this poem means to vent the frustration constructively, to avoid such an outcome from seeming attractive to me.