The Pen Bleeds

Welcome to The Pen Bleeds where poetry is more than rhyme, more than reason, more than words flowing with rhythm; it’s a combination of jagged thoughts, feelings, actions, and a unique language opening minds to see the world from a different perspective.

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This Month’s Featured Poet: Sean Burton

It’s a pleasure featuring Sean Burton, a poet who delves into those caliginous places; the eerie ones where hell equates to being overtaken by a succubus while the body is at rest. His writing demonstrates a side of poetry that is more than love sonnets dressed in niceties making the heart flutter. Instead, it exhibits an intense and chaotic shadowy side, which intentionally preys on the fears of the living. Do you dare to embrace the darkness in all those dreadful crevices? We posed seven questions to better familiarize our readers with his creative vision and intellect.

Q&A with Sean Burton

Seven: What is your favorite genre of literature to write about?

Sean Burton: I really get into the darker side of writing. The macabre, taboo, and sins. That sort of thing.

Seven:  What inspires you to write?

Sean Burton: My poetry is usually associated directly with whatever mental state I am in. If I have a feeling of heartache, fear, lust or anxiety I write. I find this better because the words literally just flow and there’s no thought process to it until it comes to editing/proof reading.

Seven: Who is your favorite author and how do they inspire you?

Sean Burton: I’m a huge Lovecraft fan. He is undoubtedly a linguistic genius. He has this way with words that just drives my imagination to insanity and when I read it, it just becomes sudden inspiration.

Seven: Are your writings primarily nonfiction, fiction, or a mixture of both?

Sean Burton: Both actually. The nightmare pieces are nonfiction. The poetry comes roughly half and half but a real life experience rooted them.

Seven: Do you have any advice for writers who want to improve their craft?

Sean Burton: Always keep something to write with nearby. I can’t tell you how much I hate being struck with inspiration and I don’t write anything. It never comes out nearly as good. The reader can feel your inspiration and passion through your words and as always, keep writing. Never stop.

Seven: Can you write on command about any topic or is writing more spiritual for you?

Sean Burton: Both. I write for a few fitness magazines locally so I’m often asked to write on a timeline and I blog about both fitness and my personal writings. Needless to say, I get a lot of practice.

Seven:  What are your views on freedom of speech and why do you feel “The Great American Boy” is a prime example of standing up for ones beliefs?

Sean Burton: Freedom of speech is something I feel everyone cherishes, yet very few take advantage of due to repercussion or criticism. Imagine not having it for a second. It’s the essence of where we are as a nation and men and women have died for it. He who possesses the will to stand against the masses for a belief they cherish, and let it be known, has the same will our founding fathers possessed.

Sean Burton is a resident of San Antonio, Texas, who is a freelance self employed personal trainer, poet, writer, blogger, and jack of all trades. He staunchly opposes mediocrity and conformity; he has a unique style all his own. Everything he does is fueled by passion, fortified by knowledge and carried by faith.

For more information on Sean Burton please visit:

Blogger: http://ghosthshortstory.blogspot.com/

Instagram: SeanIsIt

Facebook: www.facebook.com/ScBurton1

Email: SeanBFitPro@Gmail.com

Restriction of free thought and free speech is the most dangerous of all subversions. It is the one un-American act that could most easily defeat us. 

-Justice William O. Douglas

Freedom of expression is the single most important right all humans should be privy to. Unfortunately, not all governments allow this right and even in the United States it is limited.

A true democratic society supports an environment where its citizens are free to voice their opinions and ideas openly without prejudice or punishment. I believe in fostering a populace of brave free thinking people; people who not only embrace dissenting viewpoints, but also challenge any system of beliefs, government, or set of actions that may clash with their own.

Only the brave or free thinking are willing to go against the status quo, being willing to speak up and take action on behalf of the community and the world. These individuals raise the bar and lead by example. One of the greatest proponents of free speech was free-thinker, essayist, scholar and social activist W.E.B Dubois. He challenged his peers ( Booker. T. Washington and Marcus Garvey) and incessantly went against the grain to confront injustice in those oppressive and dreary places. Dubois made it his mission to fight for social and economic equality for blacks; demanding access to proper education and equivalent defense under the law. Even when the government scrutinized Dubois for his political views he never wavered in his beliefs. He remained steadfast in his fight to end racial issues and worked tirelessly towards world peace. That’s a bit of a history lesson on one of my favorite outspoken free thinkers.

Now, from my own observation of America in the twenty-first century, I can easily say a large majority of us are severely handicapped. We place ourselves at a great disadvantage by not taking advantage of certain privileges bestowed upon us from birth. People in other countries are sacrificing their lives and fighting for such rights. We’ve allowed ourselves to be “dumb down” by mainstream culture; we’ve become lazy and dependent on our government to think and act for us. By placing emphasis on the unnecessary, rather than what is needed in order for our country to thrive, America has become weak. We are no longer the respected power house we once were many years ago. The United States isn’t the blue print of an idealistic democratic progressive society. You may say that statement is un-American, but it’s true. You may not agree, but I embrace dissenting view points of others. In fact, I dare you to challenge that statement. In the words of  W.E.B. Dubois “If there is anybody in this land who thoroughly believes the meek shall inherit the earth, they have not often let their presence be known.”  Make your voice equivalent to the sound of a sonic boom; sending shock waves throughout all who become affected by its presence.

This month’s theme is all about the first amendment, free thought, and freedom of speech. We’ve selected a few poems from artist whose poetry embraces the spirit of the first amendment and the right to peaceably assemble. First up is our featured poet Sean Burton who submitted The Great American Boy, an ode to Mohammad Ali when he refused to go to war in Vietnam. Next is Wake Up a poem by K.S. Pratt dedicated to America and my frustration with the current state of affairs. Last but not least we introduce you to author, social activist, and founder of Activist Poet Round Table Steve Bloom. We selected Warriors a tribute to the strikers of Stella D’oro Bakery, and Statement of Context a short verse on the inhumane treatment of Palestinians in the Gaza Strip.

 

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The Great American Boy

The stage was set for a man to take his solemn duty within his hands and make his way to far away lands. Yet today this boy became that man. Not the man wanting to venture unwillingly to far away lands. Nor the man to take the wishes of others’ ignorance into his own hands … but the man to keep to his morals … to make his stand. But as his higher power served greatly , admired by few yet hated by many. For the man he is now has been labeled a criminal. A coward of will. His legal duty duped by his moral appeal, he stands before the masses chanting in tongues giving lashes. The camera turns on and the lights heat up as it’s his time to confide his thoughts to the world in rhyme.

” You know who I am, yet you seem surprised lately. Am I still not the one to dance all night? Am I not the man that came to fight? No, I will not fight … not for the own selfish ignorance’s of those who can only experience what pain is like from the side, despite their own desires and virtues, they send the poor and hide in fright.

I am not a puppet of the man who thinks because I obey the law set that I will follow my brothers blindly into that darkened hell to gamble my being and talent simply for your will. No, I am not that pawn. I will not be pressured nor convinced ; I will go on! Do what you will with my name.

Take my titles and destroy my fame, but you will never break my spirit and you cannot throw me off my game. I will come back stronger and I will be back fast. I’m bigger than this and I will take this moment and throw it in my past. For I am the greatest, and nothing can stop me. I’ll still float gracefully across that canvas mat, and I will sting harder than ever when I get back. Send me to jail, there’s light at the end. For what’s broken can always mend”

The boy has now become a man of the hour, the solid statue of standing firm for belief and value. An endless figure sealed within our history in stone,

forever remembered

never alone.

by Sean Burton

wakeup
Wake up!

America!
How long will you be
Content with fine cars and
fancy homes and think that you are free?
Wake up!

Your freedom cannot be measured in material things.
How long will you look at what you have and
Think that you are free?
Wake up!

The slave drums of the past beat for you.
The forests through which you run are the concrete jungles
Streets of the city.
Can you hear the rhythmic drums beating?
Can you hear our ancestors calling out for us to wake up?

Oh my people!
Listen to the drums and know that you’ve been lulled.
You cannot be free because you are blind.
And so you’ll never know
That the jungle drums beat for you.
And so they cry out
“Wake up, Wake up.”

America!
Open your eyes and see!
While you blindly sing and dance,
The chains of oppression have been tightened.
Tightened by the past.
Tightened by the present.
Tightened by the future.

How could you let freedom escape you?
How could you allow generations yet unborn
To suffer the untold misery of the chains?
It is time for us to wake up!

America!
You’ve let the concrete jungle
Lure you into a state of complacency.
It is time to stop the music!
Dance no more!
My people! My People!
Wake up! Wake up!

by K.S. Pratt

 

 stelladoromarchc0905

Warriors

 

You dwarf the words of the poet: you,
the warriors of Stella D’Oro.
For the best I might ever do
is recount this story which your deeds
have already written.

The end, it seems, was composed by others—
who have more power but less humanity.
A toast, therefore, to all still holding
heads high, proud of their humanity.
For this is the common cause any poet
might share with those who fight
for justice.

Each one of you will always have
your humanity: the many-thousand acts,
small and large, of sacrifice and sharing,
the comradeship, the sheer magnitude of what
you have achieved.

Not one crossed the picket line. No,
not one.

For these things can never be taken away
no matter how much equipment
is dismantled, moved to another state—
just as the poet will always
have the written word, even if
our world might not be ready yet
to listen.

It seems you spoke too soon, you
the warriors of Stella D’Oro,
before our world was ready to listen.
Still, I refuse to lose heart, assert
that one day the bosses and billionaires
will spend a little time of their own
on the unemployment line—after
the working people of New York City
have taken control.

And then we will turn that old building
in the Bronx (you know, the one that used to be
the Stella D’Oro bakery) into a must-see
destination, marked on every
tourist map, a shrine which pilgrims
can visit in their millions to learn,
remember, offer a tribute
to your struggle—writing, thereby,
an alternative ending to the story
of Stella D’Oro.

And the poem that you have composed for us
during this strike year of 2008/2009 will touch
their hearts as each one listens to its words—
overflowing with your humanity, the many-thousand
acts of sacrifice and sharing, the comradeship,
the sheer magnitude of what one,
small,
courageous
work-place was able to achieve
and finally understand.

Yes, each one of them will,
finally,
understand.

by Steve Bloom

Statement of Context

“Former U.S. president Jimmy Carter

has said the Palestinian people

trapped in Gaza are being treated

‘like animals.'”

He is wrong, of course.

If you treated your animals this way

someone would come

to put you in jail.

by Steve Bloom

© 2013 Seven Magazine

CISPA – Friend or Foe?

It’s 1:00 p.m. in the afternoon and you sluggishly trek back to your pint-sized holding cell at the office. After indulging in a high calorie meal from your favorite fast food restaurant, slacker mode kicks in. Face it, you’d rather be browsing the World Wide Web until it’s time to clock out, than crunching numbers for the wanker’s who sign your paycheck. This afternoon your drug of choice is YouTube. After all, who hasn’t wasted a few brain cells watching mindless content generated by YouTube’s driving force. I’m talking about people like you. Yes’ you! Now back to the scenario. So, you search for the latest episode of “You are not the father” posted by your favorite YouTube user, when the following message appears: Due to SOPA’s copyright violation the content posted by user EyePirateU2Day has been prohibited. All subscribers associated with this account will be subject to search by anal probe with no lube. All property used to access or illegally download content from the site will be confiscated. Posting or illegally downloading intellectual property or content backed by the SOPA act of 2012 is punishable by a minimum of 5 years in prison.

imageOh shit, panic mode! Visions of militia men armed with large phalluses, gearing up to kick down your office door dance in your head. Afraid the powers that be will find out about your unproductive afternoon activities, you immediately unplug the computer from the wall in hopes of thwarting “big brother” from tracking down your IP address. Relax! This is the most extreme case but you get the picture.

Thankfully, SOPA and PIPA we’re blasted to brinks of extinction by citizens like you putting the pressure on, and taking action against “The Man.” Round of applause you should be proud of yourself! Unfortunately, remnants of bills such as SOPA & PIPA have morphed into the more dangerous Cyber Intelligence Sharing and Protection Act (CISPA), which threatens your privacy and freedom of speech on the internet.

What It Does

CISPA (H.R. 3523) the Cyber Intelligence Sharing and Protection Act, written by House Intelligence Committee Chairman Mike Rogers (R-Mich.) and Rep. Dutch Ruppersberger (D-Md.), is disputable legislation which converges on sharing information on the internet and “cyber security.” When the misinformed think about cyber security, one would believe it only involves antivirus software or firewalls installed in their pc; I like to call these the “condoms” that protect our hardware. Now, picture CISPA as a condom with holes; its primary job is to assist ISP in investigating cyber attacks against co-op’s and federal agencies, by providing our government with information on hackers and countries engaged in cyber espionage. But what price would we pay allowing ISP free reign by providing information at their convenience, to the government, about private citizen’s online activities?

Why It’s Disliked

The American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU), hacktivist, and other civil liberties groups are against sharing private citizen’s information under the guise of cyber security, without due process of law. There is a need to provide a certain level of cyber policing; with an understanding it is necessary in catching criminals. However, the holes in CISPA allow “virtual spying” on average citizens web activities, without the appropriate system of checks and balances, protecting the general public’s rights. After all, who wants big brother tracking their twisted online porn addictions? Now I have your undivided attention, you’re right! This isn’t cool at all. Please don’t rest on your laurels, there’s work to be done.

imageWhat You Should Do About It

It’s imperative that concerned Internet users like you tell Congress to stop this bill. Instead of filling out random online questionnaires about nonsense, take the time to fill out an online petition or send a tweet with the hash tag #CISPAalert, expressing your thoughts as a means of protest. There are several organizations armed with the tools to assist you in fighting this bill. To make it easy for you check out the websites below for petitions and up to date information on CISPA.

Avaaz: http://www.avaaz.org/en/stop_cispa/
EFF: https://action.eff.org/o/9042/p/dia/action/public/?action_KEY=9048
ACLU: http://www.aclu.org/action-factory

© 2013 Seven Magazine

The Pen Bleeds

Welcome to The Pen Bleeds where poetry is more than rhyme, more than reason, more than words flowing with rhythm; it’s a combination of jagged thoughts, feelings, actions, and a unique language opening minds to see the world from a different perspective.

This month’s featured Poet: Yasin Chines

It is a great honor to be featuring Yasin Chines this month! His fervor for syntax, human experiences, and life in general is ever so passionately expressed through his poetry. Yasin’s soul vibrates in each intricate composition which grasps at the core of the human spirit. He’s destined to be one of the greats, so please get familiar with this brilliant artist.

Yasin Chines (UK), a graduate from University of Leeds, is a writer & poet for a Manchester newspaper and co-author of the forthcoming unique poetic biography of The Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) ‘Illuminated Verses’. Yasin is currently in the process of editing his first collection of poetry ‘The Carthatic Quartet’ which focuses on the cycle of seasons that burn, shake, freeze and awaken the soul; the majority of which shows how he has dealt with death of both parents at a young age, tragedy, hope, failed & new love and what not only helped him purge but open up realities beyond the mind’s comprehension. His work has received praise from acclaimed writers and poets such as Paul Sutherland, Daniel Abdal Hayy Moore and his former poetry mentor, to whom he is forever grateful, Rommi Smith. He is also a member of Poetic License UK.

For more information on Yasin Chines please visit:

WordPress: Xsentrik   http://xsentrik.wordpress.com/

Instagram: yasin_chines

Twitter: @YChines

Facebook: Yasin Chines

Contact Email: yasin.writer@gmail.com

What bearings do certain events or encounters have on someone’s future? Are certain happenings determined by a stroke of luck or is it fate, and can either be manipulated?

Luck is defined as the chance happening of adverse or fortunate events. While fate, is the ultimate agency that predetermines the course of events. The following quote from Alfred A. Montapert who wrote The Supreme Philosophy of Man: The Laws of Life, provides some insight into the proposed questions: “ Question: Why are we masters of our fate, the captains of our soul? Because we have the power to control our thoughts and our attitudes. That is why many people live in the withering negative world. That is why many people live in the positive faith world.” Clearly, Alfred Montapert’s philosophy on fate was greatly influenced by Invictus, an epic poem written by the late great Ernest Henley.

Invictus is a perfect representation of the power and strength of our resilience; proving the human spirit to be insurmountable. Even when life’s storms make an attempt at extinguishing its fire, the spirit always manages to rekindle its flame. Alfred Montaperts philosophy on positive reinforcement rings true. The fertilizer we use to nourish our thoughts also affects our behaviors and our fate. If one nourishes the soul in all things hopeful, it will thrive in love, forgiveness, knowledge, understanding, happiness, truth, and light. In the grand scheme of things we are all fated to go through a series of experiences, with the intention of connecting us to a higher power and our higher purpose. Personally I believe in kismet. Our kismet is a quintessential force always channeled by the one who holds the key. Evolve by daring to unlock the door to new possibilities; have faith in what is meant to be always will be.

First up, is Yasin Chines he graciously submitted Skin Creasesan intimate verse involving betrayal and the struggle to salvage a demised relationship against the natural course of the inevitable. Upon my request, he also contributed Fight or Leap a poem that expresses the battle of facing down an imaginary bear or jumping to ones demise. Next, Is Changes by K.S. Pratt  which speaks on the transition of change and how fate ties into our everyday lives. Finally, in honor of the Month of the Irish we give you Re-Adjustment, an ode written by the late C.S. Lewis,novelist, poet, literary critic, scholar, and broad caster from Belfast, Ireland. Lewis possessed a great amount of foresight. This poem speaks on the deterioration of communication between humans. How we’ve lost our passion for words and the advancement of literature as a whole. If Lewis were alive today, I’m positive he would be greatly disappointed in how face to face conversations have become passé in comparison to texting, tweeting, and facebooking.

In closing, no matter what your beliefs are, know that we are all destined for greatness. Always choose your thoughts wisely, for they become your actions, and ultimately your fate.

beach photo

Skin Creases

How little difference

her words made

from trying to preserve

our birth mark, to folding

the creases flat.

And as I looked into

the pupils of her eyes

dilating, shifting deltas

of hazel veins, I was certain

that no delicate handling

of any skin, can avoid

the stretch-marks that

eventually plough over

tainted love’s folds of skin.

She came a little closer,

so close I felt the

whisper of her breath

on my skin. Intimate.

How absurd that I felt

like a snail, and she

the salt.

-by Yasin Chines

Fight or Leap

There comes a time

when no choice is not

an option anymore.

In its ever-silent

growth spurts,

the bear you have

knowingly nurtured

for so long, has now

become. And on this

occasion, you

have to wrestle it.

You can inquire after,

whether this is

designed risk or fate.

by Yasin Chines

 

Changes

When life must change, then change it must,
When love must change to distrust,
When leaves of gold must turn brown.
When tears of sadness must come down.

Alight from thy dreary bed.
Face only that which lies ahead.
Accept those things that cannot be.
Cry only for those you no longer see.

With fate comes change, then change it must,
Accept it all, for life is just.

-by  K.S.Pratt

 

Re-Adjustment

I thought there would be a grave beauty, a sunset splendour
In being the last of one’s kind: a topmost moment as one watched
The huge wave curving over Atlantis, the shrouded barge
Turning away with wounded Arthur, or Ilium burning.
Now I see that, all along, I was assuming a posterity
Of gentle hearts: someone, however distant in the depths of time,
Who could pick up our signal, who could understand a story. There won’t be.

Between the new Hembidae and us who are dying, already
There rises a barrier across which no voice can ever carry,
For devils are unmaking language. We must let that alone forever.
Uproot your loves, one by one, with care, from the future,
And trusting to no future, receive the massive thrust
And surge of the many-dimensional timeless rays converging
On this small, significant dew drop, the present that mirrors all.

-by C.S.Lewis

*Featured picture courtesy of © 2013 Ray Hernandez

 

The Pen Bleeds

Welcome to The Pen Bleeds where poetry is more than rhyme, more than reason, more than words flowing with rhythm; it’s a combination of jagged thoughts, feelings, actions, and a unique language opening minds to see the world from a different perspective.

Do you recall the first time a succession of words played like a heavenly melody in your ear, stimulating your senses, causing you to hunger for more? I do. At the shy age of four I was seduced by Christina Georgina Rosetti’s poetic work of genius “Who Has Seen the Wind.”  It’s amazing how the method of simplicity used to describe the wind as this epic force to be respected, could move a person to build deeper connections with people, nature, and the world through written word.

This month we’ll be exploring things that we love. Actually, the theme of the month is entitled “Things That I Love” but who cares about technicalities, right? Now, has someone ever written something that enlightened you, opened your eyes, and altered your thinking? Well, I’ve been inspired by two of the poets featured in this month’s issue. Keeping with this month theme, I’ll be introducing you to three sonnetists whose rhythmic flow and depth of subject matter, challenges your views on love addictions, soul mates, and how love can be equivalent to a natural disaster i.e. the Mexico City earthquake of 1985.

First up to bat, is Seven’s own bashful resident rhapsodist, K.S. Pratt., the current EIC (Editor in Charge) w/ADD of “The Pen Bleeds.” She composed the following poem/spoken word piece Untitled which chronicles one persons addiction to the idea of love, and how one can rehabilitate a broken heart through the discovery of self love. This poem also happens to be one of the Editor In Chief’s favorites. Next, Is D.D. Wright a mother, educator, poetess, and Author of Poetry 2Life: Youth. Struggle. Love.  D.D. Wright is our first unknown featured poet who submitted Solid an ode to how love between two souls connected can surpass life’s circumstances, distance, and even time. If you’re not familiar with the name, then you need to make yourself familiar. Stop by www.about.me/ddwrightfor more information on this inspirational woman. She’s a bad mama jama! Finally, our pièce de résistance You Bring Out the Mexican in Me an elegy composed by famous Mexican American novelist, poet, and short story writer Sandra Cisneros.  If you’ve ever been in love with someone who brought out the feral passionate side of your persona, then you can definitely relate to this masterpiece.

In closing, I would like to thank you for stopping by “The Pen Bleeds”; hopefully I’ve cajoled your brain to embrace literature, poetry, and perhaps inspired you to create a piece of poetry of your own.

UntitledBy K.S. Pratt

My obsession with the person I manifested you to be,

Spun me into a temporary state of dysphoria.

I became unwell.

The euphoric highs of immersing my being around your world,

Soaking up the essence of you like a sponge,

As if hanging on to your every word would quench my thirst.

I was so gone.

Unable to discern between reality and truth,

Caught up in my addiction,

Being mind fucked daily by your lies,

Knowing very well in my heart of hearts this could not be love.

I am partially to blame.

What wasn’t love was lust lurking in my loins,

Leading my heart to believe this lingering sensation was genuine,

So, I fed my fixation.

But damn!

Why everything that’s supposed to be bad makes you feel so good?

I knew better.

All common sense flies out the window when you’re thinking with your heart instead of your head.

If ignorance published bliss then I became their number one subscriber.

I had issues.

Believing in fantasies of prince charming on a white horse,

Climbing up the side of castle walls,

And if you kiss the frog he’ll be the one.

Then he and I would ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after.

I fell for that.

Never heeded the warnings that read like prophecies before my eyes,

Yet I still refused to see the truth in your intentions; because I was leaning on my own understanding.

I was blind.

Truth be told, this knight in shining armor turned out to be nothing more than a fallacy,

The virtues I sought after in him with my spirit evolved into unrequited adoration.

I woke up.

Realizing the love I had for self, was far greater than the bad habit I developed for my addiction,

I made it my mission to take steps towards loving you from a distance.

I entered rehab.

Still at times this bitter pill is hard to swallow; I crush and take it in small doses,

Slowly working you out of my system.

I am better.

With the passing of each day,

I move on from my faux pas,

Taking in every lesson learned from this life experience.

I let go of my beautiful, twisted, dark fantasy.

I am free.

Realizing that the greatest gift you’ll ever learn is to love yourself first, then accept love in return.

Copyright @K.S. Pratt 2012

DDwrightSolid 
By D.D. Wright (Author of Poetry 2Life: Youth. Struggle. Love.)

For love to live through storms and distance means
it must be as real as the deep breath it takes to survive the pain,
not to be left breathlessly in the rain,
not to live fragmented, fighting to maintain,
without the one that holds the umbrella.
Often times, the one that reigns,
changes,
not with love lost,
turning lackluster with the wind is not for royalty,
unable to embrace the reality
of you and me,
I feel the need
to re-write history,
ever grateful for a pen and poetry.
See,
all of the caramel drizzled chocolate in the world
can not compare
to the sheer sweetness of us as a pair,
united, our story draws blank stares
on faces of non-believers.
How has it been over 300 days and
every day,
I have to pray,
that this soulmate-less nightmare
simply goes away
and I awake to you holding me…yes, you.
Destiny does not say that
I am to be cold or alone or
that my hot other half would flow
right out of my reach.
It is unfathomable for me to see
sand without a beach or
you and me without the “we”
figuratively nor literally
living separately.
In my stubborn heart,
I will never accept this sick twist of fate,
never, ever ponder a date,
without my imperfect mate.
The door will be cracked,
or if locked,
the key will be in that special place,
where only you know the space.
A whisper inside of me just convinces me
that you will return to me,
safe and ready,
one day.

Copyright @D.D. Wright 2012
If you loved D.D. Wright’s poem, check out her book. Click the picture above for more information on where to purchase a copy.

You Bring Out the Mexican in Me
By Sandra Cisneros

You bring out the Mexican in me.
The hunkered thick dark spiral.
The core of a heart howl.
The bitter bile.
The tequila lagrímas on Saturday all
through next weekend Sunday.
You are the one I’d let go the other loves for,
surrender my one-woman house.
Allow you red wine in bed,
even with my vintage lace linens.
Maybe.  Maybe.

For you.

You bring out the Dolores del Río in me.
The Mexican spitfire in me.
The raw navajas, glint and passion in me.
The raise Cain and dance with the rooster-footed devil in me.
The spangled sequin in me.
The eagle and serpent in me.
The mariachi trumpets of the blood in me.
The Aztec love of war in me.
The fierce obsidian of the tongue in me.
the berrinchuda, bien-cabrona in me.
The Pandora’s curiosity in me.
The pre-Columbian death and destruction in me.
The rainforest disaster, nuclear threat in me.
The fear of fascists in me.
Yes, you do.  Yes, you do.

You bring out the colonizer in me.
The holocaust of desire in me.
The Mexico City ’85 earthquake in me.
The Popocatepetl/Ixtaccíhuatl in me.
The tidal wave of recession in me.
The Agustín Lara hopeless romantic in me.
The barbacoa taquitos on Sunday in me.
The cover the mirrors with cloth in me.

Sweet twin.  My wicked other,
I am the memory that circles your bed nights,
that tugs you taut as moon tugs ocean.
I claim you all mine,
arrogant as Manifest Destiny.
I want to rattle and rent you in two.
I want to defile you and raise hell.
I want to pull out the kitchen knives,
dull and sharp, and whisk the air with crosses.
Me sacas lo mexicana en mi,
like it or not, honey.

You bring out the Uled-Nayl in me.
The stand-back-white-bitch in me.
The switchblade in the boot in me.
The Acapulco cliff diver in me.
The Flecha Roja mountain disaster in me.
The dengue fever in me.
The ¡Alarma! murderess in me.
I could kill in the name of you and think
it worth it.  Brandish a fork and terrorize rivals,
female and male, who loiter and look at you,
languid in your light.  Oh,

I am evil.  I am the filth goddess Tlazoltéotl.
I am the swallower of sins.
The lust goddesss without guilt.
The delicious debauchery.  You bring out
the primordial exquisiteness in me.
The nasty obsession in me.
The corporal and venial sin in me.
the original transgression in me.

Red ocher.  Yellow ocher.  Indigo.  Cochineal.
Piñón.  Copal.  Sweetgrass.  Myrrh.
All you saints, blessed and terrible,
Virgen de Guadalupe, diosa Coatlicue,
I invoke you.

Quiero ser tuya.  Only yours.  Only you.
Quiero amarte.  Atarte.  Amarrarte.
Love the way a Mexican woman loves.  Let
me show you.  Love the only way I know how.