Father Of The Atomico Bomb

Raul Lopez, father of the atomico bomb,
was picking his nose. The barrio was just
waking up. Raul had been up since three
a m . He could no longer remember what
his barrio looked like when he first moved
here in 1932. Electricity had not yet come
to the colonia. Raul had never been popular
with the girls, why he lamented that now,
escaped him. He could never bring himself
to feel up girls in school like the other snot
nosed boys. His years in high school were
devoted to tinkering with uranium. And one
day, out of nowhere. Boom! He had created
to atomico bomb. But, since he had no use
for it, he gave it to his white teachers. It
seems white people found many useful uses
for it. Raul once heard that they had wiped
out a couple of villages with it. The reason
Raul hadn’t been able to sleep was because
he had just gotten out of an Arizona jail.
Apparently he forgot his driver’s license at
home and got pulled over. The cops suspected
him of being an illegal alien. Raul was appalled.
He protested vehemently, but since he bore
all the genetic traits of an illegal alien he was
beaten and jailed. So as revenge he was
working on a new atomico bomb, but this one
would only obliterate white people. Given
Raul’s proven record I would advise all white
peoples ( some of my best friends are white)
to leave the country NOW. Vamoose. Andalay.
Andalay.

A Poem By Rebecca Gonzales

Him

She had never bothered to look for him.
She knew she’d recognize him.

He’d be bold, a
Hemingway character.

He’d be passionate,
His words, lyrics for Andrea Bocelli.

He’d be carefree, like Lynyrd Skynyrd.

She knew she’d found him one
Beautiful afternoon on the banks of the Guadalupe,
Attraction flowed like a current.

But the shimmer of the Texas sun on the river
Rippled along the cattails, carrying that idyllic day
Into the shade of the crowding oaks.

Her

They talked of poetry, but the underlying
conversation was about them. The poems
he had been writing since he was ten were
about her. He did not know it at the time
of course, but they were about her. Every
single one of them: about her. So it was
inevitable that one day they would meet.
No matter what the odds were, they would
meet. Their lives would cross paths, no
matter what, they would come face to face,
embrace and kiss. If a comet hit him on the
head, he would dust himself off. If she
walked into the path of a speeding train,
her lipstick would smear the derailed train,
but she must be on her way to meet him.
It was their destiny. Even if it wasn’t their
destiny, they would have found a way ar-
ound it. They would not allow any other
way to exist.





                   her           her
                            her
         her                                     her
               
               her                            her

                      her               her

                                her

A Poem By Jake Gonzales

Max the Wonder Dog

Driving you home was a joy as you sat in the front seat
You were the cutest puppy, fluffy, soft, and huge white feet
We took you in and gave you a name, MAX
Our other dogs welcomed you and licked you, I guess to help you relax
A small pack of mixed mutts was created and you had the most clout
Always so strong even that first month when, from the back yard, you got out
Neighbors called and when I went to get you "he can come play anytime" was what they would say
And as I drove you back home I thought to myself "NO WAY"
Selfish as that may be
You belonged to me
Months would pass and began to grow way bigger that the other two
And as you guys all played out back they knew who was in charge...You
Every day it there was something new I found you had eaten or chewed
And if there was nothing left I sure would find out when you pooed
Sixty pounds of lap dog is what you wanted to be
And there you were curled up in the recliner with me
Always following us around so you wouldn't miss if we did something good
Or was it MAYBE because you thought we were getting up to get you food
Scraps here, scraps there you would sit so perfect and chomp with joy if I gave in
Mom always knew that if you begged for some, I'd always let you win
So when you got sick I laid with you as you glared at me in pain
And with every breath your life was beginning to drain
You began whining letting me know the end was near
So I leaned over and whispered into your ear.............
Goodbye Max, I love you

After death takes Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. for its
customary ride, he ends up face to face with
God, and he asks God, “What in hell are people
for?”

God looks puzzled, and screams, “Who said that?”
Finally he sees the wriggly, little figure, and
realizes that the awful sound is coming from it.
“What!” he demands.

“What in hell are people for?” repeats Vonnegut,
quite angry and out of control.

A still confused God ruminates, scratches himself
so heavenly, but becomes increasingly annoyed.
“People? People? did I create people?” he yells
at his right-hand man. His right-hand man pulls
out an iPad, scrolls down and down for what
seems like an eternity---but which was probably
just forever.

“Yes, yes, here it is, Sire. You did indeed create
people.”

God thinks for a second. “Well, as of this moment
I am un-creating them!” He seems at peace now.

ALWAYS THERE

You said you'd always be there for me
and,yes,indeed,you've always been there for me.

Unfortunately,I'M OVER HERE!


Check out Time's Back Door here.

Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May

At parting time
he hugs her.

He can not get
enough of her.

Her lips
are patiently awaiting his.

Her body
surrenders.

He
blinks.

Time wrings its hands
and moves on.

It gives everyone
a chance.

A Poem By Shinkichi Takahashi

The Peach

A little girl under a peach tree,
Whose blossoms fall into the entrails
of the earth.

There you stand, but a mountain may be there
Instead; it is not unlikely that the earth
May be yourself.

You step against a plate of iron and half
Your face is turned to iron. I will smash
Flesh and bone

And suck the cracked peach. She went up the mountain
To hide her breasts in the snowy ravine.
Women's legs

Are more or less alike. The leaves of the peach tree
Stretch across the sea to the end of
The continent.

The sea was at the little girl's beck and call.
I will cross the sea like a hairy
Caterpillar

And catch the odor of your body.

A Poem By Jim Murdoch



HANDS


Even when we forget,

our hands remember

everyone we have touched


and how. How we held them

then how we pushed them

away even as our



grasp tightened then how we

turned those selfsame hands

on ourselves in the end.



It might surprise you just

how much emptiness

our hands can hold.



from right hand pointing
thanks to Poethound for the link

Meeting Of The Minds

Each time we meet again
which is exceedingly rare

we let our desires intermingle
descended from apes

nothing shames us
nothing’s taboo

at night we are bats
at dawn sparrows

sparks fly
embers darken

just when we get
a handle on the sun

night falls
around the moon

RIP Juan Bruce-Novoa

A Poem By Juan Bruce-Novoa

Poor Little Word

          Poor little word
            stream-stone,
       how you sang
         Spring days
        and laughed
      greenly brilliant
    under the child sun,
when they whispered to you
        the prophecy
      of the drought.
    They have taken the water.
          Do you die of thirst?

                            No.
                      Of silence.

Shooting Star

Shooting out between mama's legs
the little brown bastard

dat's me of course
to the chagrin

of other poets
who cry

enough enough
enough of this competition!

...The Lunatic's Diary...

Poetry and sex...
with audio

The Nickel

My mother floats above me.
She is the size of a nickel.

The wind is blowing in its box.
The box has feelers waving.

The sun had tried its best to warm me
while mother was away.

The clouds spit ice into their palms.
The trees were snowmen.

The hills lie flat
so I can see over them.

There’s a smile on the coin now,
and I can see it standing on its edge.

The Pisan Zoo

They kept the lion
in a cage.

He roared his poem
in ελληνικά.

He abhorred
the benjamins.

He loved
the great country of Italy.

The soldiers called him
Uncle Ez.

Quaint name
for a lion.

His mane
full of metaphors.

His eyes
an easy snap.

His claws
no lesser canto.

Sandbox

Love came
and went.

Sand was pulling sand
so carefully.

There was a ribbon
in your hallowed hair.

I thought of love
there in the dark.

Light sprawled
about.

It is months now
you keep at bay.

Arms extended in front of you
like realism.

The Day You Left

I whispered sweet nothings.
The world would not lift a finger.

My stomach in a knot.
Only pupils for sight.

Bliss left out of this,
you said.

Packed your suitcases
on your beautiful knees.

The wind gathered
outside our door.

It could not think
of a rhyme for roar.

The street was gracious enough,
but crippled by the sea.

Spring made you promises
it could not keep.

Angry With My Jaguar

I was angry with my jaguar
and I told him.

There’s more than one way to skin a cat.
There’s more than one way to go.

My forehead wrinkled
and the veins on my temple throbbed.

My eyes grew fiery.
I balled my fist.

But soon I regained control
The hair on my neck lay down.

The jaguar had paced back and forth
and waited for it all.

I was angry with my jaguar
and I told him.

And when he knew I could hear again he said,
why don’t you call her?

Conversation With A Jaguar

The jaguar told me
of its triumphs and tribulations.

Its whiskers nervous,
its eyes alert.

Its voice confident
but cautious.

Paws withdrawn,
speed evident.

And then I told him
of my triumphs and tribulations.

My hands nervous,
my eyes sad.

My voice defeated
like a poet’s.

And with my broken heart
I told him about you.

My Jaguars

Carnal, at the moment,
my jaguars are out in the barrio.

They are holding their heads high.
They are wearing their black colors.

They are on the look out.
They are confident.

They look in every building.
They look in every house.

Their teeth are sharp.
Their claws at the ready.

Don’t worry, carnal, you are safe,
it’s the others who better start running.