Monday, August 04, 2014

Spit Poetic Love and Life’s Shit Splits


Be the love you want to give
Give love to live life
Let love dissipate strife
Let love give and get love
Love who you’re with
If you can’t be with whom you love
Give it all you’ve got
A pep talk on love
Be who you want to love
Wish you’d stop shoving me away
A voice from above
My true love
Live the love you want to give
Be the love you want to get
See love I give
Give love I get
Be the love I see
Give the love I want to be
Can’t control thoughts and feelings that come through me
Can control what I do about them
Can’t be who you expect me to be
Can only be who I am

I am talking to the framer, Igball, when artist lady interrupts my flow.
Artist lady says, “Hey wait, you’re speaking about the artist guy, the one with the scars across his face.”
Oh my, I say to myself in my head.
Aloud I reply, “He’d be so angry to have you define him that way, ‘by scars that line his face.’”
“How’d you meet?” asked Igball.
“I went to meet him to watch him paint. Guards chased him away from the sidewalk where he painted. I wanted him to paint where he wanted to, and he asked me to speak to the guards. So I spoke to them to protect his rights.”
“Another guard came to talk to me, not the one who’d chased Enrico away. He said, ‘I saw you earlier painting on the street when I came to work. I recognized you by your scars.’
“Enrico went off. ‘You recognized me by my scars. How are my scars relevant to this situation? Now I know you’re violating my human rights.’ I didn’t see his scars. I looked into his eyes. His eyes looking back into mine mesmerized me. It wasn’t until the guard pointed them out that I saw his scars.”
“Oh I do hope you won’t tell him what I said,” artist lady said, “I just wanted to identify him. He’s very beautiful.” She said, “Gorgeous, don’t get me wrong. Then I went home and cried all night.”
I listened to her, looked in her eyes and died a little more inside.
“You’d cry more if you were me,” I said.  “He has a mean streak. He told me, ‘Blame my parents who abused me.’ I want to report his father and mother for abuse but every state has different laws, and in Los Angeles, it’s too late to report. They got away with it. I hang out with him and he gets angry very easy, every little thing sets him off, becomes an offense. If he heard you now he’d get very angry like he did when the guard said he recognized him by his scars.”
“Well, please don’t tell him,” she pleaded.
I wrote it all here instead.
Igball stared in my eyes and saw me, ‘the me’ who I feel I am.


Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

She wished she knew
But she hasn’t got a clue
What she did
When all is said and done
She didn’t even have fun
She’d fooled herself
Believed sex made them closer
He complained continuously
They’d had sex too soon
Like there was a rulebook to follow
On time limits before sex

Plenty of time had passed
In her eyes
Three times a week for four weeks
Six hours each time
Hold hands; tell stories at French Roast,
Walk empty city streets at 3 a.m.
Sometimes, she’d drive him home
He’d hug her tightly, 
Chastely kiss her forehead
Press his groin to hers

Truly she had no clue as to what set him off
Clearly sex made him vulnerable
Afterwards he pushed her away
Picked arguments, and
Communication went astray
He proceeded to insult, belittle and ridicule her
Like her ex-husband used to do

She wrote him a note, “I wish you well,”
He wrote back he wished her the same
“Fundamentally,” he explained,
“I wanted us to get along.
We’re both highly sensitive creatures
And without meaning to
We push each other’s buttons.”
She decided
He was hazardous to her health
Sex for him creates distance, not intimacy
She’d label him
Toxic after sex
If she knew before
What she knows now

Sunday, July 27, 2014

Three Women

My skin is porcelain tan
I’ve been beaten robbed and raped
Because I’m not as strong as a man
I have wandered the world in search
Of fulfillment, can’t find
peace anywhere
Born and raised in Italy’s ghettos
I learned how to play a hand as good
As any man
Dealt cards in the best casinos
in big cities everywhere
My plate is bitter,
I’ve got constant jitters,
not a quitter
I’m tough as they come
My name is Rosa

My skin is rosy
Born in a concentration camp I survived
I never knew my mother
Soldiers came from England
Gave me chocolate from their hands
Sister Ruth held my hand
Said I had blue eyes like my mother
I escaped the holocaust but I’ll never be free,
I’m slave to fears and misery
Afraid to see beauty, afraid to sleep,
Toss, turn, trapped in rough seas,
refuse to weep, my life in a heap
The days run blue mystical,
Fast, hard rains fall
Blinding like sparkling stars
My name is Ruby

My ancestors left Spain
I’m a woman of color, black hair, black eyes, olive skin
My family came to the new world in 1492
Before they slaughtered all us Jews
Persecuted for religious beliefs,
The new world provides no relief
Punished for the sins of my fathers
I tell them I’m Jew not Roman
Confused they persist in rebuking me,
Call me Christ killer
My name is Gypsy!




I dunno, you be the judge as to which version is better and tell me below. I want to know.

Three Women (oops my bad - still editing)

My skin is porcelain tan
I’ve been beaten robbed and raped
Because I’m not as strong as a man
I have wandered the world in search
Of fulfillment, can’t find
peace anywhere
Born and raised in Italy’s ghettos
I learned how to play a hand as good
As any man
Dealt cards in the best casinos
in big cities everywhere
My plate is bitter,
I’ve got constant jitters,
not a quitter
I’m tough as they come
My name is Rosa

My skin is rosy
Born in a concentration camp I survived
I never knew my mother
Soldiers came from England
Gave me chocolate from their hands
Sister Ruth held my hand
Said I had blue eyes like my mother
I escaped the holocaust but I’ll never be free,
I’m slave to fears and misery
Afraid to see beauty, afraid to sleep,
I’m too busy counting sheep
The days run blue mystical,
Fast, hard rains fall
Blinding like sparkling stars
My name is Ruby

My ancestors left Spain
I’m a woman of color, black hair, black eyes, olive skin
My family came to the new world in 1492
Before they slaughtered all us Jews
Persecuted for religious beliefs,
The new world provides no relief
Punished for the sins of my fathers
I tell them I’m Jew not Roman
Confused they persist in rebuking me,
Call me Christ killer              
My name is Gypsy!

Tuesday, July 22, 2014

Comment published in New York Times

I wrote a response to Thaddeus Rutkowsky's article and my response can be found here below. Yay!

http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2014/07/20/one-degree-of-separation/?comments#permid=12354242

Sunday, July 13, 2014

There They Stand, Watching Me Watch Them

He jumps up, says she’s abusing him
Grabs his shit, runs through the door
Everyone watches
ALL EYEZ ON THEM

Bona fide great pride, all pretty and perfect outside,
Suburbia defined and redefined
Inside created a great divide
Live in a world of Jekyll and Hyde. Good gone,
Erased in time, lives in a lie cocoon. How can I judge?
Your boy Paco tells stories that make scary seem good
“A very bad person,” said Judy determinedly
Judy deals with rapists and killers

You give Motherhood a bad name
Denial and avoidance is your leisure
You brag about Paco on your Facebook page
Enjoy the fruits of your glory
Raised with hate, he could’ve been a terminator
But turned to art instead
He despises you for not protecting him
Chose to protect his father who maimed him
For that, he’ll give you up for lent
Ugly passion, you’re poison to him

Stood there and watched; shit beat from him literally
Leave Facebook messages, ‘My Paco’
Be assured, accomplishments he made were in spite of you
He should’ve blocked you on multimedia long ago
An object fit to reject
Bitch, let me break it down
Don’t contact him
He won’t contact you

Outing you is the best I can do
I officially out you for your abuse, neglect,
Your surrender to sadism
Witnessed and personally done
I out you, I do
Out you, I do
I out you, I do


It is the best I can do …do …do…

Friday, July 11, 2014

True Color Makes My Heart Sneeze

I try to think of what color 
I might be yet all I can see
Is I'm the color of me

I'm true blue as I can be
I'm still only me
Far as I can see
I'll always be me

When I'm with you
I turn to we 
No matter what I do
I become split in two 
When I join with you

I stay true to you
I stay true blue
Yet I am only me 
I remain the same hue

Alone I am me
Together I become we
The me I want to be
Remains to be seen 

I cannot be you
I don't have a clue
As to where the me
That I am goes when I'm with you
Strangely enough, neither do you

So you be you and I'll be me
And later we'll meet for coffee or tea
We'll look out at the clear blue sea
Stare in your eyes to reflect me

Because I am you and you are me

Wednesday, July 09, 2014

Dream A Little Dream For Me Lover

With the wings of a falcon
I fly across the valleys of my mind
The wind and my thoughts intertwined
Watch the sky, stars and planets aligned
Close my eyes, remind myself to unwind

Review events, people I know, combined
Can’t concentrate, lose my faith, resigned
Create a new version for mankind
On dew soaked grass reclined
Confined to visions in my mind

Dream of all I’ve left behind
Step to the left, step to the right
Wonder how to initiate life refined
Once again defined, I alight in flight

Soar across the valleys of my mind

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