GLASS BOX

Inside a coffee shop

resembling a glass box

I listen to dead words

one hundred percent sarcasm

reflecting from the glass the echo, echo, echo.

The glass windows sweating small drips,

looked opaque from the rain in April

while the drops hit the windows as fast as a Flamenco dance.

The scent of the coffee freshly ground

and steam from the espresso machine

slowly surrounds my nose,

while the heartburn threatens me,

as a reminder that today

I have abused the Mayan elixir.

  

HOMELESS

PRINCESS OF ANARCHY

BLACK CHRISTMAS

I AM GOING TO MISS YOU

CON MI POBREZA

QUETZALTENANGO

SOLITUDE

Search in your soul.

Follow your spirit.

Run like a runner

on his way to gold.

Be a spider

hang as long as you can

sooner or later

solitude will find you.

Solitude

dangerous weapon

a double sided blade

for a weak mind.

It is a treasure of nothing,

only time,

gold mine,

endless sea,

and peace of mind

for a romantic nomad

like me. 

ATARDECER EN LANCASTER

Describir los atardeceres en Lancaster

es sumergirme en un prisma

donde los rojos, amarillos y naranjas

toman por asalto el cielo.

La magnificencia multicolor

al final de Octubre

con nubes tan grandes

que parece que puedes tocarlas

con los dedos.

Esta paleta en el cielo

es un preludio

porque Noviembre

está tocando a la puerta

trayendo alegría a nuestros corazones.

No sé usted

pero yo me siento tan pequeño

ante esta maravilla

con colores de invierno

con muchos detalles

de Octubre y Noviembre.

  DON DIABLO

Diablo chingón

hasta las siete te duró la emoción

colchones y llantas

la prensa y hasta cartón

todo por quemarte y joderte

que siga la tradición.

Que gente tan inconsciente

por darte en la torre

destruyen la atmósfera y el poco de aire

qué triste tantos chiquillos

respirando semejante

contaminación.

San Satán

Don Chingón

muchos te queman con emoción

otros por devoción

destruyen documentos de la "U" por montón

sin ton

ni son

ay! Chalana

todo por ser el cachudo

santo de ninguna devoción

El progreso llegó

con todo y camión

que quemen cachinflines, cohetillos y estrellitas

que quemen a Don Chingón

total con todos los accidentes y quemadas del día de hoy

Quién es más cabrón?

Ay! Don Diablo

Sos jodido

te salís con la tuya año con año

tu excusa es la tradición

ponte buzo a ver que ingenias

porque rumores hay

que el año entrante

sólo quemen papel periódico

en cada cantón.

CARTA A MI PADRE  FRENTE A SU TUMBA

  (30 de mayo de 1942 - 11 de agosto de 1980)

Hola, querido padre

he venido a visitarte

muchos años han pasado

y quisiera llorar profundamente

sólo unas lágrimas he derramado

estoy tranquilo

en paz conmigo mismo

y contigo.

Pero qué sola tú alma se ha de encontrar

en este lugar tan desolado

con flores marchitas

medio muertas

sedientas de agua

como mi corazón sediento se encuentra

de amor de padre que nunca supiste darme.

No es un reproche

acepto el pasado

tus decisiones

fuiste humano

con errores y virtudes.

Sé que de niño me adoraste, me quisiste

pero eso está en mi inconsciente

mi corazón no lo siente

sentimientos perdidos en mi memoria

ese es mi dolor querido padre

porque ya no estás

porque ya te fuiste.

DON RUBEN

Hombre de estampa tosca

más alto que ningún otro

en la Ciudad de los Altos

Rostro semi-tostado, de sombrero de paja

trabajador, cazador de sueños

Hombre de manos rajadas, cual barro deshidratado

por ir tirando, halando la carreta de madera vieja como sus ropas

Don Rubén, cariñoso con los niños, hombre místico de amable sonrisa

conocedor de historias y leyendas

A él medio occidente le conocía y él conocía al otro medio

Por palacio un cuarto,  por tesoros una cama, un perro

 y un viejo rifle pues gustaba de cazar

era un hombre de buen tino

Le decían "El Ejote" por ser alto y fuerte

caites de cuero curtido y llanta como su piel

pies rajados por el frío inclemente de occidente

Amigo de mi padre, de mi abuelo Nisho, mi amigo

se le recuerda hoy pues don Rubén, usted siempre

hizo el bien, su huella y estancia se quedaron en el corazón

de quien le conoció, usted ve, aun se le recuerda

Hombre alto, ojos sin malicia, melancólicos por su sufrir

con su morral al hombro y dignidad en la frente

afrontando las inclemencias del tiempo, haciendo su Agosto

con las lluvias de Septiembre

Luchaba contra la corriente,  pasando gente de un lado a otro

cual Quijote de la Mancha, don Gigante, don Ejote

Listo a tender la mano, caballero gentil

amigo de Judas Tadeo en la quema del diablo

entre guaro y guaro, buen bailarín, alegre cazador de sueños

y placeres, gigante de occidente, Don Rubén, don Ejote.

MARIMBA

Eco que resuena en el corazón

de tu hijos ausentes

que no te olvidan

Somos hijos del quetzal y del maíz

llenos de vida y fuertes

como el hormigo

No olvidamos tu ritmo

patria Maya

marimba pura

ecos que se agitan

que anuncian que aquí estamos

hasta el último día de nuestras vidas

Te dejamos de cuerpo

más no de alma

tu eco resuena

y tu nombre siempre en alto

Guatemala viva por siempre

en nuestros corazones

THE TATTOO


You are the talent
I am the flesh.


Prick my skin
inflict my body with pain
stain my skin for the rest of my life.


In my arms, your smile
in my chest, your hair,
in my face,
your lips and your tears.


You are the artist
I am the flesh.


Torture me with desires,
leave your mark forever
in my mind,
in my dreams,
tattoo my entire body with your scent
until every inch of my body, becomes addicted to your heavenly touch.

THE TICKET

The feeling you get when the red light flashes behind you on the road

is very depressing, very demoralizing especially if you just left work and are going home.

You wonder, “What’s going on?”

Why you! If everybody else passes you like maniacs

and you are driving at legal speed and the sound of the stereo is below normal

because you are listening to Jazz and that kind of music is like good wine

you have to take your time to enjoy it. Oh, my bad, I shouldn’t compare the music with wine, especially if this story is about a ticket, so let me paraphrase that, Jazz is like an expensive cheese that you have to melt in your mouth very slowly and absorb the flavors and the textures and the aromas. That’s better.

What do you say to the CHP officer?

What is your right to defend yourself?

In this case there is nothing to do; they will not listen to you if you are a male Hispanic

You fit the profile and probably the officer will make the assumption that you have no education and do not know the traffic law.  Perhaps the real reason is the amount of tickets they have to write in order to keep their jobs.

Don’t take me wrong, they are doing a terrific job by keeping accidents from happening

So in this case I will not fight the citation even though I did nothing wrong? When I signed the ticket I noticed the officer’s writing was really good, in fact it was excellent, a quality that is hard to see this days. Everything was correct and he was very polite, that I have to admit, they do have good manners. So why I am writing about this, well when the letter from the traffic office came, my last name was changed, I was not Vasquez anymore, I was Yasquez a mistake that is normal, we all are humans and do make them often. The keyboard has the letter V in the fourth row. The four key from left to right. The letter Y is in the second row seventh key from right to left and in order to make that mistake you probably are writing with only two fingers, which could explain the mistake.

I do like the idea that this matter could be closed if you pay your citation on-line, that not only saves you time, but it saves the city paper waste, men hours etc. Well guess what? The same mistake was found on-line. So I decided no to pay the ticket on-line because what could’ve happened if there is somebody with the last name Yazquez and happened to have my first name, that would be really bad for me, don’t you think?

The next day I drove to the Superior Court of Los Angeles in Lancaster, California ready to pay my ticket. I am an artist and always have extra pens and pencils with me, and a little pocket knife to sharpen the pencils when need it. Yes I forgot about it and my face couldn’t be any more radish-red when I had to return to my car and put the knife back.

Once again the officers were very understanding, since I didn’t have tattoos in my body, nor do I have any marks that will put me in the category of a gang member. I did dress very presentably and yes a little cologne to make me feel fresh.

Once I passed the check point, I went to the left passing the lines for criminal and other felonies. Finally I was at the traffic line and it was heavy like a freeway on a Thursday afternoon. The feeling of the hard floor and the cold air in the beautiful building felt like a prison’s cell.

One sign that really called my attention was the one that tells people that if a check is return, it is going to have a returned fee of thirty three dollars.  Please don’t tell me that there are people that stupid and they actually write a bad check when paying for a citation inside the court, next to the criminal lines.

While waiting in line, I noticed some ladies wearing fake furs with shorts and pink sleepers. Other people wore black socks with leather sandals and NC hats. The majority of people waiting in line were young with their parents next to them. I noticed all races and all ages, males and females; so contrary to my previous statement, there must no be a profile for tickets, maybe the color that really matters is the green. What do you think?

I almost forgot about the three human specimens, I do not want to offend the ladies. These three rags were bragging about their felonies and how they got into fights with others of their kind. They were speaking in something to resemble the English language, which was really hard to understand because every other word was F that and F this, and S that and S this.  The sentence “know what mean!” was almost used after every explanation. So I was guessing that it translates in something like this. Do you understand my statement or do you agree with the way I handle the matter.

I guess if Albert Einstein was explaining the theory of relativity to somebody in the line in front of me, my understanding would be that he is talking about “what a beam of light would look like if you could race alongside of it”.  Perhaps it would be easy to understand and to explain his famous equation E=mc² the most celebrated of them all, where energy (E) equals mass (m) multiplied by the speed of light square (c²); but that would be hard to do, since Einstein did not get a damn ticket and he could defend himself when the officer asked him: Did you know what speed you were driving at?

The feeling you get when you are in line to pay the ticket is very depressing, especially if you just left home and were going to work after this horrible experience.

Yours truly,

Edwin Vasquez.

TO MR. S.F. COVELL

Reading Allan Poe is weird

A “trip” a drug addict would say,

A “rush” a sky diver would agree

But nothing more strange

Or “intense” like what happened to me.

It was a January cold winter day

The wind outside was getting strong

The pitchy noise coming trough the glass doors

Was freezer cold

You see I was not alone

I was with Allan Poe.

While reading this classic

The sound of an old rusted metal door

Came from outside my back yard

Scary sound

No! It must be this brain of mine

Playing

 one of its tricks on me.

As I read the stories

The atmosphere was getting worse

The lights in the kitchen are flickering for a few seconds

The XM radio on my TV is gone

Only the blank screen is on

It reminded me about “Poltergeist”

Or the gothic recent movie “The Ring”

The damn squawk rusted noise

Still coming from outside

Now it sounds even closer

Afraid to see what it is I wait for a minute

And the light bulb over my head “pops,” is gone!

With no other alternative I opened the vertical beige blinds

To my surprise

In the patio on top of my favorite wood bench

Two urine color eyes are watching me

Or perhaps its own reflection

It couldn’t be, they must be watching me

The glass doors are not clean

Nobody in their right mind would clean them

With this freaking cold

But wait

Why?

This big starless night color crow

Is outside

Does he knows

I am reading Allan Poe’s.

More coffee is what I need

No sugar,

No cream,

Dark,

Strong,

Nasty,

Burning my throat Hot

Guatemalan coffee

To concentrated in my reading

To absorb the essence of his tales

That’s what I need.

Enough distractions

Four more stories I have to read

So, there I go to replace the light bulb

With the curiosity of a nine year old

And the morbid instinct of a teenager

I peek outside the doors

Now there are two midnight birds

Now four yellow amber eyes are watching me.

Should I stop reading?

Is this something normal?

Do this misunderstood creatures know that the author,

 The master,

The grandfather of suspense

I am reading, scared the hell out of us.

Ok then, where was I?

Oh! Yea

“THE TELL-TALE HEART”

That’s the next story I have to read

Should I go to my office instead?

No, I am in control here!

Even though my head is sweating, 

And my skinny legs are shaking like chop sticks

In a Latino man hands

While trying to eat rice

Or, Chop Tofu.

Why, is this is happening?

Is it the pressure of school?

Mounting upon on me like spiders on my shoulders

It should be the opposite,

But, there are supernatural events we can’t control

And the plot of our lives that we write

Are linked to people we don’t know

In any case the best thing is to relax,

Shit!

They are now six, midnight birds

They are in my eucalyptus 

Like black Christmas ornaments on the three

Like medieval musical notes in twisted musical scales

They are watching me.

I must go outside now!!!

I must get the water hose

To scare them away

Damn it!

I fell to the ground

I was in my freaking bed

Having a nightmare

I was dreaming about your class

Thanks a LOT

Mr. COVELL.

“HE FEELS SAFE WHEN…”

At the end of the day, he sits down to collect his thoughts

after another day full of uncertainties,

trying to remain calm while the waves of bad news

come crashing like tumble weeds made of paper

and his bills pile on top of the desk like an old Joshua tree.

He feels safe when the kids sleep peacefully,

without worries, living their best years of their lives joyfully

growing together like best friends,

learning and preparing to be the new leaders of tomorrow.

He feels safe when his wife hold his hands,

and listens to him, with her undivided attention

it is late still she waits for him,

when she should be resting because she had to work

harder than him, taking care of the kids, their homework

and everything else that he doesn’t do

because two jobs are not enough to put extra food on the table

still she never complains.

These are hard times for everybody

he knows they are not the only ones feeling this way,

the economy is shaping a new tomorrow

and it is shaping a new way of life,

so sacrifices have to be made,

to survive the roller coaster hitting everybody in the face.

He knows he is not the best father in the world

but he is trying to do the best he can,

the kids don’t have a system wii to play in the afternoon after school

but they have a dictionary to open their minds when doubts

and questions linger in their brains.

He feels safe and happy when the kids play the piano,

 the saxophone or grab a book from the self instead of turning the TV on,

when they paint and discuss a mathematical problem

instead of using the phone to call their friends

to discuss the new gossip magazine they saw at the grocery store. 

While his last cup of coffee of the day is getting cold

he remembers what he witnessed last weekend while cleaning the front yard.

  The neighbor’s kid shoes,

the ones he wears daily have a couple holes,

but dad’s classic truck got brand has new tires and silver rims.

Does the kid across the street he have a jacket?

It was really cold; his dad holding a beer

 installed a remote control for the back yard sprinkler system.

What about the other kid eating chocolate?

he has rotten teeth’s

 does he brushes well?

does he ever seen a dentist?

he is so happy, always smiling

especially when her mom shows him a new gadget

today, her brand new red “Iphone”.

There are many ways to see the world around us

 so many ways to abuse a child

they are so innocent and fragile.

  Selfishness and blindness

lets us pick worthless stuff,

                                                           fictional heroes,              

and the wrong perspective of what the best life should be,

The men closes his eyes

feeling safe, so far he hasn’t gave in yet,

he falls asleep with a smile on his face.

The End