Before…


calm-before-storm-1

Before the ashes, Vulcan’s vengeful fire.
Before the sex, a deep and burning desire
Before the storm, a dark and restless quiet;
Before the morning, a deep and somber night.

Before the hunt, the frightened fleeing fox,
Before the race, coiled tightly in starter’s blocks.
Before the cut, such soft unblemished skin;
Before the blade, sparks fly, the whetstone spins.

Before new love, the queasy, nauseous start;
Before the kiss, a young and hopeful heart.
Before rejection, all things possible, bright, and new;
Before enlightenment, faith in what we say and do.

Before Sun’s rays, dark clouds enshroud the planet
Before the sculptor, Creation locked in blocks of granite.
Before the fall, transcendence true and boldly rising;
Before the gasp, in silent awe, a sweet surprising.

Before the rose arises first the lowly bloom -
Before the family, a dark and empty room.
Before old age comes the child full of life!
Before victory, the pain of loss and bitter strife.

Before the Universe, a bright and solitary star
Before the nearness, a cold and distant far
Before the night, a day of brilliant cerulean blue
Before the “Us,” a prayer for joining “Me” to “You”

In Memory of Vicky


Vicky

 

This poem is dedicated to my dear friend “tersiaburger”
In memory of her beloved daughter, Vicky.

——————————————————————-

You and I
are touched by one star.

Wherever you are
we stand together in one light
which no depth or height or distance
can ever dim.

Wherever you are
your light shines;
past time and space
past flesh to thought,
I feel your power.

Wherever you go
the day will dawn
and the star will appear;
for you are a child of this light
and it fosters your heavenly dreams.

In this light, I have found ways
to heal, to bind up,
to tear down the feeble structures
of fear of your absence has
carelessly constructed within me.

You and I
are touched by one star.

In its glowing embrace
we find our true selves;
we find our peace.

Today I may stand alone,

missing you with all my heart
be I stand strong.
Through the corridors of our courage
you have helped me to
discover those eternal lines
of love within myself;
my birthright discovered because

Vicky and I are
touched by one star.

 

Opposite Sides of the Same Pain


grief

A Sunni mother silently watches:
overhead, a gathering of scavenging ravens
paints the dusky sky above
the broken bodies of her three children.
Bewilderment mixed with horror and beauty,
accented by the pebbles beneath her feet,
polished smooth by a flood of tears.
An acrid wind swirls
with scattered hope and broken dreams;
confetti raining on freshly scorched earth.
Another womb is rent in unbearable grief
at the loss of its precious fruit.

grief 2

In that very moment, across the sea,
a Haitian waif reflects:
A flock of seagulls angrily position
above the ghetto garbage heap
next to a crumbling shanty
where her newborn triplets scream with hunger.
Bewilderment mixed
with horror and beauty,
the waste beneath her feet glistens
with the flood of her tears.
The stench of rotting wind swirls
with scattered hope and broken dreams;
flies rising up from quaked earth.
Another womb is rent in unbearable grief
at the bounty of its damnable fruit.

 

The Trinity and Me


tombstones

 

First They took my father,
and then consumed my mother
Without the slightest hesitance,
They came and took another
My sister left in tender years,
They left me naught but pouring tears
We’re promised today and not the other,
so They came again and claimed my brother

I prayed They’d come for me one day,
but here I stand with feet of clay
And this belies my ardent fear,
They’ll not return for many years
Leaving me with nothing more
than dreams of how it was before
How cruel and painful can They get,
my day will come, but not just yet

And so I stand here all alone,
with a wounded heart and an empty home.
Father, Son, and Holy Ghost;
which of these I hate the most?
The Trinity it’s plain to see,
for it’s all for One and none for me.

 

Wishes


wishes

I wish I could have given her more.

More of my time, myself, my love.
But a man cannot give what he
doesn’t possess, unless you count
the empty promises. Of these, I have
given beyond measure.

I wish I could have loved her more.

More deeply, more sweetly, more completely.
But I hated myself too much to
truly love another. I cared, but that’s
hardly the same. And the love I received
simply gave me permission to misbehave.

Until it was gone.

Above all, I wish I had more wishes.

 

Eternal Love


girl of color

She whispered softly in my ear

Such tender words to ease my pain

Soothing verse to calm my fear

She was gone when morning broke

The essence of her love remains

That even in my darkest hour

The echoes of her song sustains

And fills me with a lasting power

I will not love again

Not love again

Not love

Love

Where has she gone, my life unwinds

If I must die, then give me death

For dying unites and gently binds

My heart to hers, to beat eternal

And fill us with a lasting breath

Once more within my arms I hold

The height of love, its width, its depth

Spanning dreams that now unfold

I once more love again

More love again

More love

Love

Pirate, the Island Dog


Byron

Pirate is everyone’s, yet he is no one’s. Vacationers arrive, discover him, and dote on him for two weeks, then disappear. He is their holiday project – a story they’ll tell over dinner at home. On those soft, warm-winded Caribbean nights, some allow him in, to sleep at the foot of their beds, to guard their front door. In passing, some even toy with the idea of a rescue. Could we? Should we? Shots? Papers? Questions asked with the exuberance of the relaxed and the happy, but as the time to leave draws near, reality encroaches, the idea stalls.

There is an eternal sadness in Pirate’s eyes that comes from continual loss. People come and offer love, then go away, leaving him vainly searching for those he has loved so loyally in return. Yet his heart is enormous, and mixed in with his grief is boundless hope that the next one will be the one. He sits beneath the warm sun when the ships come in, panting in anticipation of the people off-boarding into his life. He lives in the moment, and the moment is glorious when the kids swarm to him, petting, cooing, and hugging. In that moment, he finally belongs…if only for a moment.

Every couple of weeks, Pirate sadly watches his loved ones depart, on the same ship that delivered them into his heart in the first place. A new band always takes their place, and he is robbed of his grieving as he prepares for the newcomers. This island dog waits, knowing it will take only one; one, to give him a name that won’t change, one, to call it out in the dark should he wander too far. One to call to him and him alone: Come home!

In Remembrance of Sandy Hook Elementary


Acosta

 

Written in Collaboration with HastyWords (http://hastywords.wordpress.com/)

“Friday, December 14, 2012 – on this chilled and inhumane date, the gates of Heaven were flung wide open as God embraced the 1st grade class of Sandy Hook Elementary School.”

The sun arose this winter day -
In Sandy Hook the children played.
Halls echoing with carefree glee,
As children’s days were meant to be.
Each parent dreams of such a vision -
‘Til life injects its cruel revision.

Yet, like a child’s lost innocence,
Cherished and held in reverence -
In just one moment swept away
No sympathy for child’s play.
Into their lives a darkness came;
Into our own, an infinite pain.

Screams of fear filled empty spaces -
A blur of frightened, tortured faces!
Malevolence came and stole their futures,
Wounds too big for mending sutures.
We heard the sounds of angels cry –
The day we watched our children die.

We swallow hard; prayed harder still -
Our heartbeats faltered against our will.
The deafening blast of pure insanity
As evil tore the fabric of our humanity!
A nation mourns with silent tongue
The senseless death of these so young.

Six teachers did their very best -
Each offered up their loving breast
To shield from bullets savage blow,
To buy these young ones time to grow.
Each died for love, lest we forget…
Upon their memory, no sun will set.

Such sorrow confines us to hatred’s prison,
Continually torments us with ungodly visions!
Of children lost and taken away
When the sun arose that winter day.
We are lost within an anguished grief,
As even celestial angels weep.

Impeccant cherubs laid to rest;
God took from us our very best.
The loss we feel is real and deep,
The pain forever ours to keep.
No answers to the question, “Why?”
Our babies were not born to die.

So, brush away our tortured tears;
this truth is too demanding,
and whisper in my silent ears
some prayer of understanding.
Twenty-six stars now shine above,
Eternal bright and beaming love.

Of Waking Dreams


I had thought myself awoken,
though in truth caught within a waking dream -
you lying naked and warm within my
fevered embrace; your arms but
tender branches cradling my desires
and youthful anxieties.

The gray and veiled mist of morning
dusting your trembling salted lips, and one
kiss to melt the dew; each breath
an exhalation of promise and possibility
.
Silken strands of your fragrant hair
run in random rivulets across my pillow;
Your porcelain cheek presses lightly
upon my chest, and I cannot but
weep deep within my sleep as I
drift slowly upward through the ether
of my dreams.

I am awake now, as
my midnight reverie quickly dissipates,
and all the worse, I am alone once more.
Cursed dreams and cursed more the waking
thereof – for I cannot suffer this loss nightly,
nor will I ever love as deeply.

Opposite Sides of the Same Pain


A Sunni mother silently watches:
overhead, a gathering of scavenging ravens
paints the dusky sky
above the broken bodies of her three children.
Bewilderment mixed with horror and beauty,
accented by the pebbles beneath her feet,
polished smooth by a flood of tears.
An acrid wind swirls
with scattered hope and broken dreams;
confetti raining on freshly scorched earth.
Another womb is rent in unbearable grief
at the loss of its precious fruit.

In that very moment, across the sea,
a Haitian waif reflects:
a flock of seagulls angrily position
above the ghetto garbage heap,
next to crumbling shanty
where her newborn triplets scream with hunger.
Bewilderment mixed with horror and beauty,
the waste beneath her feet glistens
with the flood of her tears.
The stench of rotting wind swirls
with scattered hope and broken dreams;
flies rising up from quaked earth.
Another womb is rent in unbearable grief
at the bounty of its damnable fruit.

Broken Smiles


Behold, such sadness in her eyes;
sweet longing for bygone days.
A single tear descends, etching
a rivulet through her powdered face.
Betrayal writ in broken smile.
She wears defeat with noble grace.
Alone within her cruel vexation,
Her despair drifts upon the air.
I am entranced by this cheap perfume;
I cannot look away.

Her emptiness devours me;
I am lost within her reverie.
A thousand questions knit into one:
What tragedy before unfolds?
Has deathly illness laid low
a precious kinship?
Perhaps a lover, forever foresworn,
now departed?
Promises shattered like broken glass;
cutting her dreams into ribbons?

She rises slowly and partly turns;
her glazed eyes lock onto mine
as I offer nothing more of comfort
than my own broken smile.
Tears well within my eyes
and I look away:
My empathy is my undoing
and shame rises as a blush.

I turn again and she is gone!

Years have passed and still my heart
beats in imperfect rhythm.
Was she set before my vision
or concocted from my own revision?
Did she find her peace once more;
perhaps some comfort in our communion?
Even now I feel her sorrow
Like a midnight fog rolling
over me.
My tears have long since dried,
but my cry is eternal.

The Trinity and Me


First They took my father, and then consumed my mother
Without the slightest hesitance, They came and took another
My sister left in tender years, They left me naught but pouring tears
We’re promised today and not the other, so They came again and claimed my brother
I prayed They’d come for me one day,, but here I stand with feet of clay
And this belies my ardent fear, They’ll not return for many years
Leaving me with nothing more than dreams of how it was before
How cruel and painful can They get, my day will come, but not just yet
And so I stand here all alone, with a wounded heart and an empty home.
Father, Son, and Holy Ghost; which of these I hate the most?
The Trinity it’s plain to see, for it’s all for One and none for me.

Lost Innocence


Like a child’s lost innocence
that time and nature steal away,
without the slightest reverence
or sympathy for child’s play.

So do we, in love’s all knowing
pay once more this price for growing.

We brush away our young one’s tears
when life becomes demanding,
and offer in those tender years
a gentle understanding;

Yet we as lovers, slaves to passion,
lose our touch for such compassion.

We dream as children, trouble free;
careless nightly visions
as children’s dreams were meant to be
before life’s cruel revision.

That lover’s can’t makes perfect sense
for dreams belong to innocents.

Our children have so much to teach
and we so much to learn:
that childhood beyond our reach
is innocence lost, and common sense earned.

Life must demand this sacrifice,
but still, it hurts to pay it twice.

The Love I Once Had…And Lost


I have no thought of future love –
That’s a bridge I’m not ready to cross…
I need time yet to heal
From the pain that I feel
For the love I once had…and lost.

It’s not that I don’t feel the need –
In truth, no need is greater;
But unless I survive
What I’m feeling inside
I’ll have no need for later.

Be patient with me, please understand –
I’m not a man who’s made of stone…
I’ll deal with tomorrow
When I’ve dealt with the sorrow
Of living today all alone.

I’m not giving up on the future –
I just have no time for the thought
Of loving again
While I’m still lost within
All the love I once had…and lost.