Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

November 11, 2011  |   Blog,Poetry   |   0 Comment
10/19/11

It’s like my fingers are the dam that traps the flood of words that rush… The force of which could crush me.  Does me. Thrusts me into an unspeakable disaster, when reality is gnawing at my feet While I chase after it. I can’t scream. I can’t cry.  There’s just too much inside. And now it’s trapped at my mouth.  When in truth, I’m bleeding out.  Of ever pour, every orifice. The death of this is the cause of this. And then I remember “It is what it is.” But it’s not enough.  There’s still a dam.  Damn this….Damn this… It isn’t shifting fast enough, healing fast enough.  The last of love.  Trickling away down a drain flooded by the pouring rain.  To be lost forever amongst all of the drips. Forget the trips.  The laughter.  It was never intended to be “Happily Ever After.” A fairytale I never had, but wanted so deeply fucking bad. It’s past my grip.  My grasp at last has failed.  This love we had has now derailed…. Yet somehow I am no longer a passenger, but the spectator of all things that have crashed.   Standing just beyond the wreckage, a wreck which I have seen several times in the past. And I am too filled with ...

June 11, 2011  |   Blog,Poetry   |   2 Comments
Dos Idiomas

It’s like the new social acceptance for words to seep into the ears And whisper of years of inequality.  Diabolically dismantling the phantom of the underdog, the latest blog  Delivering expression quite deliberately in dos idiomas, Mixed tongue, double languages derived from broken-down carriages Arrived by way of the very same expressway of identity Uniqueness graded blatantly based on itemized ethnicity…. But I shouldn’t say that because I’m just an uncultured Gringa.  Believing that I’m not really oblivious to the many flavors of the world Just because my skin is sun painted and I was born a Minnesota Girl. I carry with me no familial recipes, no ancient traditional family remedies passed down from generation to generation: like they say: de mi abuela a mi madre y entonces a mi…. No family stories, about coming to the promised land, the struggle of an immigrant man Carrying with him nothing more than conviction… And I have stiff, rigid hips, two left feet, I never got the privilege to grow up underneath the rhythms of hot mambo beats.  Salsa was a sauce for dipping those generic nachos I knew no ...

January 17, 2011  |   Blog,Delphine's Picks,Poetry   |   1 Comment
WARRIOR AM I…

I might have a small voice, a small frame At first glance I’d be the last selected to play in your game.. But there is a wall of steel between your eyes and mine. a journey unfathomable, the test of all time.. I can self label as “Warrior”, i know how to fight It’s a life I was born to, the darkness of night. Lacings of tortures sewn into my arms, Neurons reformatted, twisted into prison bars.. Ready to impale the nail biting, stomach tightening lacerating hatred of pain.. Concreting the secret and letting torment reign. I know how to fight.. Warrior am I. Climbing an uphill battle, till the day I choose to die. Trapped in the wrath of a lifetime of challenge, battling the blackness phantom.. a shadow of who I used to be, mocking, stalking, slowly trying to suffocate me. It takes a Warrior to live life past.. Past the glance of soulful blasphemy, past the last abusive disaster.. Past the blast of sickness, secrets, holocaust-like aftermath ..I fight, I survive…I am therefore… A  ...

January 17, 2011  |   Blog,Delphine's Picks,Poetry   |   0 Comment
Sterilized Isolation

Confined to the limits of starch white linens Where railings are the assailants of my innocent restraint. Drawing lines of metal confines While tracing the wires and tubes of my physical sanctity And my immobility is propped on only one pillow.. I am in the position to watch a runway of underpaid zombies Fulfilling their duties by Filling my belly With miniscule gems glazed in all the colors of the rainbow.. And I know That this bedroom I’m forced to share Stare in while I imagine what’s going on behind the snow Of our outdated television spitting dialogue in a foreign language Channel seven is the Spanish station While I imagine what goes on in the minds of the orderlies Performing duties on my roommate while she screams In pain with unintelligible obscenities.. And the days go by in solitude a prisoner left defenseless My visiting hours are cut short because I have another analyzation Just another bodily examination perhaps an unspoken mental isolation– Like me in this room, ...