Intention
determines
focus
Intention determines focus
in a convoluted conversation
conserved in the candle flames
of ice
expanding
in a universe
within a universe
galaxies colliding
with a universe
of stars
until ALL
ends
in the same place
in the dark.
HOME
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Solstice Morning
Somewhere people are shopping
caught in the frenzy
of the Sunday
before Christmas.
After a week
with no electricity
reluctant to reenter the
twenty-first century
I hide
from the madness
on Main Street
where possessed people
forget the bounds
of human dignity
to focus
only on
the present.
In the heat of the wood stove
I watch the snow fall
with a cat curled beside me.
Beyond the clouds
I know the sun has risen.
Somewhere people
are shopping.
The snow hides
the ravages of an ice storm
the fire crackles
as the cat sleeps on
I focus
only on
the present.
Somewhere the sun
has risen
people are shopping
and we are all
One.
Happy Solstice!
caught in the frenzy
of the Sunday
before Christmas.
After a week
with no electricity
reluctant to reenter the
twenty-first century
I hide
from the madness
on Main Street
where possessed people
forget the bounds
of human dignity
to focus
only on
the present.
In the heat of the wood stove
I watch the snow fall
with a cat curled beside me.
Beyond the clouds
I know the sun has risen.
Somewhere people
are shopping.
The snow hides
the ravages of an ice storm
the fire crackles
as the cat sleeps on
I focus
only on
the present.
Somewhere the sun
has risen
people are shopping
and we are all
One.
Happy Solstice!
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Contraband
In smoke and snow
I wander a world away
where spring blossoms
and dried fruit
spell contraband
I stand guilty
before a judge
in Santiago de Chile
where thousands
are gathered for execution
in a stadium
I am only a yanqui
a gringa, a contrabandista
an imperialista
in this thread
of a nation
strifed by machine guns
I am left free
to wander the streets
where Victor Jara's clear voice
still rings
Correle, correle
por aqui, por alla
correle, correle
que te van a matar
his mutilated hands
dance before me
caminando, caminando
walking, walking
Monjitas and Merced
San Antonio and MacIver
in the Plaza de Armas
mimes drum the beat
of rogues and pickpockets
as a gold medallion
from Lourdes
takes flight
into an expressway
of diesel fumes
that choke out
the Andes.
El Zonda
whips my paper identity
into the desert
and leaves me illegal
in a country
filled with gendarmes
and a bureaucracy
built upon stamps
Victor Jara still sings
correle, correle,
por aqui, por alla
correle, correle
que te van a matar
run this way
run that way
run run
por aqui, por alla
they are going to kill you
por aqui, por alla
correle, correle
que te van a matar.
I kneel
before a widow
stuffed into a plastic water bottle
I carry a blood red ribbon
as I pay a peso
for a piece of toilet paper
while a dust devil swirls
and a saint rises from nowhere
whispering always,
te amo, te amo
por aqui, por alla
te amo, te amo
so many voices
speak in so many tongues
each one etched
in a layer of stone
the days disappear
into stars
the stars into galaxies
I sail into the unknown
a paper
on a spirit wind
a name
lost to the desert light
singing
always
singing
correle
correle
por aqui
por alla
correle
correle
que te
voy a amar.
( Notes: translation of Victor Jara's words: Run, run, here and there,
run, run, that they are going to kill you.
and te amo-I love you
que te voy a amar-that I am going to love you.
Victor Jara was a Chilean poet, playwright, singer who was arrested and taken to the stadium where his hands were cut off and he was executed after the coup of September 11, 1973.)
I wander a world away
where spring blossoms
and dried fruit
spell contraband
I stand guilty
before a judge
in Santiago de Chile
where thousands
are gathered for execution
in a stadium
I am only a yanqui
a gringa, a contrabandista
an imperialista
in this thread
of a nation
strifed by machine guns
I am left free
to wander the streets
where Victor Jara's clear voice
still rings
Correle, correle
por aqui, por alla
correle, correle
que te van a matar
his mutilated hands
dance before me
caminando, caminando
walking, walking
Monjitas and Merced
San Antonio and MacIver
in the Plaza de Armas
mimes drum the beat
of rogues and pickpockets
as a gold medallion
from Lourdes
takes flight
into an expressway
of diesel fumes
that choke out
the Andes.
El Zonda
whips my paper identity
into the desert
and leaves me illegal
in a country
filled with gendarmes
and a bureaucracy
built upon stamps
Victor Jara still sings
correle, correle,
por aqui, por alla
correle, correle
que te van a matar
run this way
run that way
run run
por aqui, por alla
they are going to kill you
por aqui, por alla
correle, correle
que te van a matar.
I kneel
before a widow
stuffed into a plastic water bottle
I carry a blood red ribbon
as I pay a peso
for a piece of toilet paper
while a dust devil swirls
and a saint rises from nowhere
whispering always,
te amo, te amo
por aqui, por alla
te amo, te amo
so many voices
speak in so many tongues
each one etched
in a layer of stone
the days disappear
into stars
the stars into galaxies
I sail into the unknown
a paper
on a spirit wind
a name
lost to the desert light
singing
always
singing
correle
correle
por aqui
por alla
correle
correle
que te
voy a amar.
( Notes: translation of Victor Jara's words: Run, run, here and there,
run, run, that they are going to kill you.
and te amo-I love you
que te voy a amar-that I am going to love you.
Victor Jara was a Chilean poet, playwright, singer who was arrested and taken to the stadium where his hands were cut off and he was executed after the coup of September 11, 1973.)
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