The Poetry Marathon

I come from a long line of brujas y brujeros

Santa, Santo, santeros

I have felt the Orishas work their way through me

as the bestowed this gift upon me

A message from the almighty

The sight to see beyond the seen

When the color yellow washes over me

with River waters

Honeycombs stick to my body

making me thick and sweet

I am made to speak in tongues

Sing in Africano

Dance una bomba que tembla

the very fabric of our beings

I can wash away your sorrows

with a happiness that you can borrow

and a love that unconditionally speaks truth

This gift that was given to me was so that I can share it with you.

“We’re going to Kentucky…We’re going to the fair…to see the Señorita with the flower in her–”

Nursery rhymes nursery rhymes

use to be the story of the lives

of folkloric strangers that we never knew

but that didn’t stop them from coming after you.

“The Señorita with the flower in her–”

From afar we could see her approaching

Lanky body, cracking with every motion

Her bloodied cracked face were covered by her veil

and if you stop singing she would begin to screech and wail

The Señorita from the fair

would pull at our hair

as we held our circle tight, sang her song

teased the next kid who was to

turn around and

turn around and

until they make a s–

The Señorita from Kentucky, the one from the fair, she was rather unlucky upon the Ferris Wheel.

Some part of me is empty

Barren

I have far too much space

for the thoughts to uncontrollably invade.

Night time is the worse of times

And daytime silence is unbearably quiet

To be reminded

of a young love not requited.

Waves of fire wash over me

As I dream the dream

of the maternal love that comforted me

Here I am

Vikings to the left of me

Fog to the front

Water beneath us

Clear sky above

Steering forward to the unknown

With my past lives embarked on my ship

And what followed behind was your empty crib.

Here I am on this journey,

in this space.

I have my moments but I’m not ok.

My mind and body long for the steam of my bath water to fall upon my flesh

While I sit here cold and under some stress.

My body shivers as it cries out for my bed

I tempted when I go near it to just lightly lay my head

Four more hours!

My brain yells.

Four more hours and we would be able to take a spell.

Sleep as if our fingers have been pricked and everyone else around us is napping too

Four more hours, we can make do

Just dance around in circles, blast your music, do some pushups, eat some breakfast

Don’t give up now, you got this.

And in four more hours, you will soon be resting.

The cascading indigo dusk would blanket the summer’s eventide

While orange yellow lights would glow in the skies

Slowly in a rhythm one by one they would shine

A magnitude of beetles glorifying the evening’s lullabies

A real life rendition of van Gogh’s starry night

Amplified by the beauty of nature and her fireflies

His presence existed to suppress

He always made her feel oppressed

but still she tried to impress

til she became depressed.

Life seemed quite compressed

with great distress.

We can guess

she left

transgressed.

Outside, empty, still branches

snapping

too brittle and too frigid to last.

Meanwhile, indoors

a massive tree decor takes over your room.

We light our every possessions to serve as a contrast

to the stone, get in your bones cold.

We fill our cups with heated chocolates and bourbon too.

We sing songs of yore, watch movies of compassion

try to keep our spirits bright, light, and high

for tomorrow will fasten

(much faster than expected).

We cry, we laugh, we shed our angsts away

we tell tales of ghosts and reindeer.

As we try to fill our souls with brand new goodies.

It’s the most deadest time of the year.

Oh well, at least there are cookies.

Musical player

guaranteed ease of songs

failed us miserably.

The warm embraces and secret whispers that surround the two

become more than just happy fancies, when the tend to rendezvous.

Promises of devotion and passion have proven true.

When surpassing security and embarking the plane

I tend to ruminate a scene in my head.

I have packed my carry-on with all the essentials for my anxieties

and downloaded songs like “Thunderstruck” and “Immigrant Song” to inspire bravery.

I instill courage to my heart as I locate my seat.

And hope to whichever God is listening, to grant me serenity and safety.

The plane takes off and leaves the runway

I chew minty gum so the pressure won’t disturb me.

Smooth sailing but not for long

as turbulence hits, making cowards of us all.

I could have done without this form of travel

But at this point, in the air, it’s victory or Valhalla.