Café Terrace at Night

This poem was inspired by Vincent Van Gogh's painting, "Café Terrace at Night." Here is a link to a picture of it: http://www.vangoghgallery.com/catalog/Painting/53/Café-Terrace-on-the-Place-du-Forum,-Arles,-at-Night,-The.html

Café Terrace at Night

Walking on the cobble streets
with my lover in hand
heading to the café
seeing others talking and laughing
and sipping cigarettes and coffee.
The only light that is shining
on this dark city street night
is coming from the café,
illuminating with the people.
The wooden chairs, the coffee
look inviting to our tired bodies.
sitting, admiring the big tree
the vivid night sky
the streets that line the town
the luminosity of us, the people
at this small café,
the only bright light in this big black and blue city

Remix

I originally intended this poem to be a strictly performance poem and not for on paper. However, after I performed it I received great feedback and requests for leaving it on paper as well. So, here it is.

Remix

Woman is what we are
not bitches and hoes
stop disrespecting us
we’re not what you chose.
Words like bitches and hoes,
rape because of our clothes
We belong in the kitchen
is all patriarchal fiction.
I cease to believe
these things that stings the ear
are here because of genetic makeup.
They’re here to instill fear
in women to squeeze the lemon
of oppression
so dry that she can’t try to make lemonade.

Women got names and faces,

hail from different places,

are of different races,

got minds and thoughts,

while taking these shots

of oppression, so
Don’t pretend it don’t offend
the women who fought and taught
her sisters to follow;
the women who believed and perceived
themselves as more than chores;
women who explored equality
and rejected inferiority.
I rap as I sit on the lap of Father America.
I cheer as I hear the silence standing up, but then
I rage as the man cages with pages filled with “lesbian.”
Women of the West, we need to protest
the mess they call normativity;
We got to show that we know we got
more than a big booty to flaunt.
Man-hater is not what we gather;
equality is what we’re after cause
We can Rome without Caesar
with leisure in knowing
and showing that we cannot be silenced
that is financed by patriarchs cause
feminism ain’t dead, it’s just unsaid.

Appreciation

Appreciation

The sky is
   so bright
   and the sun is hitting it just right;
The blue is so distinct
   that it’s an instinct
   to stare at its elegance;
The different shades weaving,
   so calming
   like paints colliding,
   yet streaming
   like water.
The right amount of moisture
   in the small, strewn clouds
   with shrouds
   of pearls.
The blanket feels the outside walls
   and intimately crawls
   over my eyes.
So far, so close
   and yet you chose
   to shut
   your eyes.

Trying to Turn On a Lamp with the Bulb Burnt Out: Obstacles & Overcoming

Trying to Turn On a Lamp with the Bulb Burnt Out: Obstacles & Overcoming

the light flickers and sparks in short bursts

until it doesn't anymore

and remains broken.

but unless you change the bulb,

you won't have light again.

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I almost fell in love with a guy once.

I was on the edge of the cliff:

My toes were gripping,

My arms spread out;

I could feel the wind coaxing me to leap.

              it was done before life had a chance.

Longing

Longing

the words you said

the kisses you gave

the embraces I'll never forget

the laughs that echoed that parked car

                      I.

I can't put them into a jar
    close the lid tight
    wrap around it
    or
      drink it, inject it
      open the lid and let the contents
      soak into our skin.
I can't make it come true again.

                      I.1

Truth cannot be explained through
     the biology of emotion.

                      II.

Do you ever think of me?
Do you ever miss me?
Does your body ever ache for mine?

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i lay beside you

place my hand on your nape

i press and move to your shoulder blades

your skin is as smooth as its color

going down your spine

placing my palm on the small of your back

i glide to your hip

move back up

feel the muscle of your arm

the touch of your flesh makes me sigh

makes me want more

your pleasurable exhale

warms my shoulder

tingles me

to satisfy you more

you turn your body to mine

and we sink

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This poem was published in the Sagebrush Literary Review Spring 2009 edition.

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the flag holds and squeezes her

until she can't breathe.

the symbol of hardships and dreams and prejudice

and other deep words;

what a tiring life it must be.

red and white and blue swallow her

as she weeps over the fantasy of the land of the free

weeps for the ones dead

the ones struggling for equality

the ones oppressed

the flag taunts her as it

strangles the arteries of her heart

the bombs bursting in air long ago---vanished.

forgotten.

her voice is drowned by the chief drum.

the flag teases and provokes that there is always

someday,

yet she continues to battle,

fighting the perilous fight.

October Forest

This is a poem that I wrote in the fall of 2008 and was published in the Sagebrush Literary Review Spring 2009 edition.

October Forest

Clear, crisp autumn morning.

The cold came in the night before

and the incumbents have already been prepared.

They are prepared every year.

The sunlight sparkling off the jade leaves,

the feathers of plants

is blanketed by fresh dew.

With every light breeze, they fly--

the dead ones lie on the earth

cracking and rustling with every step.

The ones that are still animate cling to themselves,

praying the wind doesn't take them away.

All the trees are huddled together

seemingly looking for warmth and comfort,

Their thick bodies and arms are unbothered,

too dense to feel the bite of cold,

even though they crowd next to each other

as if nature is embracing them like children.

The morning sun swiftly peeks its face

between the branches and leaves

seeing, wondering, hoping that

everyone is still there.