Wilderness of Suburbia

I lay adrift upon a raft

In a sea in my backyard;

Nine feet of water lay pristine beneath me

And a vast blanket of stars covers the night sky.

Here on my raft I am a pioneer daring

The wilderness of suburbia.

I am solo, caught between two expanses:

The abyss below envelops me,

The heavenly mantle above transcends me,

And the two swallow whole my insignificant ego.

Scene from the Subte

I know her lips are pursed, but it still looks like she's puckering up to kiss me. Maybe she would if she had a chance. After all you don't wear leopard print and pumps at 55 for nothing. I try to inch away, but it's rush hour—

—so the best I can do is pivot a little closer to the open window, close my eyes, and submerse myself in the click-clack of subway tracks and the constant screeching of brakes.

The Supermarket

When I need humbling I go
to the supermarket and I see lined
perfectly on the shelves
the glorious work of millions.

And I imagine these people must
have mothers and brothers
and children to feed just like
my parents work to feed
me, so we’re really all the same:
I’m part of their family
because they help feed me
and when I eat I help feed them
and so we are all, unsuspectingly,
united by livelihood and food.

In the Kitchen

The stew is confused
and the pilaf is blushing
my stove won't acknowledge me
and the vegetables are hiding
in a corner of the refrigerator.
The pots and pans are calling for medical treatment
and all our hungry stomachs are calling for our heads.

But it's OK — there's still the cake
and the cake is just right.

Ego Slayer

[Here I have, finally, a new poem. Constructive feedback is greatly appreciated, as it is always on this blog.]

Ego Slayer

I.
Renounce
the grandeur and vanity that
come from small victories
rare though they be
and recognize your best
as merely the not worse of a certain geographical vicinity
a coincidence in spacetime
circumscribed by a certain set of minds that laud
and applaud out of ignorance
no more
of a larger more infinite more grand reality.

II.
Johnny, who made the apple tree,
the apple farmer or the apple seed?
Remember that all the sweat and toil in the world
do no good for barren land.

III.
The Pharisees
delight in knowing that they know
and showing that they know and
cloak the worship of their ego
as the worship of Their God true knowledge
and intellectual progress and truth and whatever
—but of course the false idols of today
will fall in the dustbin with those of yesterday
as all cheap useless rubbish goes.

Watch the Pharisees
as they relegate themselves to the small history
of vain struggles, forgotten strife, and petty men
not knowing—or fathoming—true devotion
the ascetic life of
confronting constant falsification
whittling down the possibilities
slowly
and growing confident in one’s ignorance.

Knowledge is an almighty God,
but it requires ego as its constant sacrifice.

Castillos de Arena

[As a stopgap way of breaking the hiatus, here's another one of my old Spanish poems. Please post comments, positive or negative.]

Castillos de arena

Vivimos nosotros a la orilla del mar
cuyo vaivén inexorable va destruyendo
nuestros castillos de arena.

Aunque sea un castillo más grande que el Alcázar,
él también, un día, caerá.

Pero esto no es una lástima;
la única lástima es llorar por castillos de arena.

Sand Castles

We live at the edge of the sea
whose inexorable tide keeps destroying
our sand castles.

Even if it is a castle bigger than the Alcázar
it too, one day, will fall.

But this is not a sad thing;
the only sad thing is to cry over sand castles.

Vino con vino

[Updating content regularly is more difficult than I thought. While I'm working on my next post, here's an old Spanish poem of mine for those who haven't seen it yet.]

Vino con vino

Vino con vino.
Vino vino y se bebió todo.
¡Todos borrachos!
Vino vino y venía tristeza
Sigilosamente a esta fiesta

Mas no importó.
Nada nada sino lo divertido.
¡Vino más vino!
Debajo del techo, jaleo alegre,
Mientras venía la calma Muerte.

Vino con vino.
Vino vino ya se fueron los padres.
¡Casa de mozos!
Vomitó uno y vomitó dos,
Se echaron a reír, locos locos.

Trepaba al techo,
Alto alto subía el joven.
¡Tantos los gritos!
De la tierra volaron distante
Incitaciones –¡Adelante! ¡Adelante!

Vino con vino.
Vino vino derramado al suelo.
¡Choque penoso!
Césped rojo y voces temblando,
Trajo el vino ¿Para que? ¡Para nada!