Wearing my Mask (a poem)

I don’t mind wearing a mask, do you?

It’s a symbol of safety, respect for others

our brothers + sisters living in this crazy world

boys + girls just wanting peace

something to eat

shelter from the storm

born in this age of COVID + conflict –

we rest in our bubbles, away from the troubles

I smile at you behind my mask

you see my eyes bright, hopeful

you know I love you.

(Photo by Mika Baumeister on Unsplash)

The Face of Tomorrow (a poem)

The face of tomorrow is here today

a child with bright eyes + an imagination

working overtime –

The face of tomorrow is here to stay

in a school’s dusty hallways,

dreaming of ways to change the world.

(Photo by Debby Hudson on Unsplash)

The Blues (a poem)

Bask in nighttime blues

stars dot the sky like flecks of white paint

Mothers moan for lost children –

we want rhythm, but not the blues

the aqua blue of deep seas

the blackened blue of bruised eyes

the blues guitar of the Mississippi Delta

the crystal blue eyes of your lover –

sing the blues, young one

sing ‘em while draped in a blue dress

drowning in muddy waters.

(Photo by Steve Johnson on Unsplash)

Criminals (a poem)

I dream of criminals, being a witness to misdeed

men with dark eyes do dark things in motel rooms

tell me to keep my mouth zippered shut –

I wake with a sense of dread

storm clouds gather outside frosted windows

a woman with an umbrella screams

then runs for her life.

(Photo by Lacie Slezak on Unsplash)

Rock Bottom (a poem)

Alcoholics like to talk about rock bottom –

the moment they recognized the bottle is filled with lies

the moment when they open their eyes

+ know they don’t have to drink anymore

I hit bottom in a rehab far from home after unkind words

from a social worker who told me

I was running from life – but that’s in the past

I’m still running, I know not why

the sky is falling, fireballs shooting like comets

+ I think this recovery thing is never over –

it’s a life-long process that can’t be defined

by our constant categorizing.

(Photo by Adam Wilson on Unsplash)

For the Homeless & Damnificados (a poem)

We are damnifacados: homeless, junkies,

people deem us less than human.

When you pass us on a hectic street, we’re resting with

backs to the wall asking for mercy, spare change –

you look away from our weathered faces,

we feel disgrace, in our soiled clothes, our tired eyes.

Continue reading