twenty four hours in a daytwenty four years since riots serenaded the streets of L.A.that powder keg of corruptionsafety of unreality violatedblue and red combinedmade purple, unitedagainst the tyrannyof the 5-0 we lived six hours awayworking class neighborhoodsouthside ModestoI can see your face cringeall the way over herewhen I tell people where I lived. never…
If I could, I would give my eyes back to GodReturn to sender, address unknownTo remove from me the grief that comesWith being slightly shadowed in everyday situationsThese pinpricks of space that adjust appropriatelyTo the dark, to the light, unto the breachCan’t see the leaf on the wind, watch how it soarsTired of seeing halfway,…
All my life I straight tripped on who I wasWas I Filipino, was I American?For twenty-eight years, I could not assume either role,I was never pigeonholed, but I never belonged. My accent is Nor Cal born & bredMy height is so misledI eat rice with my handsI nosh hamburgers for breakfastI sing God Bless America…
In death, we treat everyone the sameUndeserved of the textbookdefinition of respect, in life. The ones we slurred for political opinions,judged harshly for the dead bedrooms,pitied the victims you stompedas you walked your Yellow Brick Road. Conversations drop an octavewhen the obituary is published.Truth benders erupt from the woodworkPraising the specters of a life well…
I haven’t a song in my heartAll I hear is the dull roar of broken dreamsPounding in my head, steam trainIt’s a wonderful world of colorEverything is in black & whiteUnderdetermined to keep moving forwardSailing off a cliff into oblivionI want freedom from the old waysBefore the end daysSplayed out, a corpse from fantasyMercy, mercy…
Forever the sickestThis is how I see myselfA little bit cynical, always a miracleI learned early on,Depend on no one but yourselfCall it a front, call it a shieldAin’t no one but me stepping out on the fieldLife is but a dream, but loneliness is my realitySolitude / platitudes / gratitudes are such unrealityMelodies and…
I had the pleasure of seeing former Santa Clara County poet laureate Nils Peterson at the Willow Glen library in December 2016. What I enjoyed about his overall style, compared to other poetry readings I’ve been to, is that he repeated himself. He would recite a poem or a thought, and repeat it, in case…
a constant battleto march to the beat of their drum. fighting a noble war, the away team don’t even know i am here. things got to get better fall in line, march 2, 3, 4, don’t cry your own tears at night. tried to play the game. lost the plot. got up. lost the plot.…
It seems as though I am in a constant state of transition.People come, people go, but nothing ever really changes.Perpetual motion until a greater force propels me in another direction.I ache to find stability in earthquake friendly regions.Why do I open myself to such heartache?I must’ve been a masochist in another time, another placeDoomed to…
Sweet and sour, puckered tongues, and stained fingertipsI had a great line here, but I deleted it in revisionI tend to ramble and I drop in images from the things I’ve learnedAnd I’ve learned a lot.So much crime in the world today, makes me wanna hide under the coversBut you can’t stay there because you…