Color Collective Poem #2

Antique Lace-Benjamin Moore

922

Soft pearls,

God’s beads wrapped inside

Your wrinkled –but sage

Hand.

Each prayer is a soft

Lullaby

Sung to me by the

Wisest of mockingbirds

Sung to me by the

Ancient mysterious

Angels

That seem to consume

All of your careful

Attention.

I drift off into a religious sleep

While you lull me with the

Devoted voice of an angel

Passionately praying

Hail Mary’s

Our Father

And the Glory Be.

I arouse with the sound of the rosary

Being wrapped around your

Oh so

Heavenly

Hand.

The words wrapped around my

Oh so

Innocent

Heart.

I smile,

A sad smile,

Because the luggage is waiting

In the back of a car.

A car that will detach me

From you.

And all that will be left

Are assumptions, questions,

Doubts.

I will ponder whether I will get to

See you again.

They say you forget,

They say you don’t understand,

But I know

You do.

You whisper in my ear

Something about a present,

You have for me.

So I help you walk,

While you weakly grasp

Onto your wooden cane.

I feel that sour pressure

In my nose, tears that are slowly

Climbing

So I swallow.

I swallow because it takes

One tear

For you to collapse.

I swallow.

Your bony

Shaky hand

Struggles to open the second drawer

So I help.

All I see is antique lace.

I never really thought about

It.

What your undies looked like,

I never really thought about

How fragile and angelic

They would be.

A red pouch emerges from all the lace,

And you carefully open up the rusty,

Worn out zipper.

A green 20 dollar bill touches my hand

And time stops when you hold

Each

And every one of my fingers.

The money means nothing me,

It’s you that matters,

It’s you that I want to hold on to.

I kiss your ancient forehead

And look into your watery eyes.

I swallow

Scared of what might become of you

Scared because every night

I will pray

Pray to the same God you are so

Devoted to

Pray for him to protect you.

Because I want to make sure

That no matter where I go

You’ll still be there

Waiting for me 

to return.

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Color Collective Poem

Smoke Gray-Benjamin Moore
2120-40

The door is closed,

And will not open

For the sky shows nothing

But darkness.

I can barely hear your steps

I can barely feel your presence

As I listen to the TAS TAS

Of the stethoscope hit the

Dinner table.

The next thing I hear isn’t out

Of the extraordinary and I realize

I was wrong.

You go out the backdoor

And I can see you

With the clean

White robe that mom so carefully

Washed.

The robe of a doctor that will soon

Reek

Gray smoke.

When the doors are locked,

And the curtains shut,

Your heavy steps

Travel through the stairs.

But before you reach me,

Your youngest daughter,

I inhale.

I inhale all the  gray acid fog

That comes

With you.

The early light announces day,

Announces another weekend.

I numbly go down the stairs

Only to see you and

Your loyal companion.

Your minion

Dangling from your forefinger and your middle finger

Carefully sitting on your right hand.

You seem so consumed,

So obssesed,

Closing your eyes every time you

Smell,

Every time the doctor takes a drag.

I’ve seen them.

The publicity that blames it

All

On the cigarette.

I’ve seen them.

The professionals talking about

The nicotine,

The tar,

The carbon monoxide

And all the components that will soon bring

Lung cancer,

Emphysema

And heart diseases.

Yet I come home,

Only to find you inhaling,

Only to find you enjoying

The pleasure and satisfaction

That the smoke brings.

So please promise me and I’ll hope.

Promise me you’ll remember the time

When you were so addicted,

When breathing smoke

Made you blithe.

And I’ll hope for health to fight every battle.

Promise me you’ll never forget the

Cigarette butts

That were left in the ashtray.

And I’ll hope for health to fight every battle.

Promise me you won’t regret

The minutes you spent

Igniting those mistakes.

And I’ll hope for health to fight every battle.

For if the emphysema never catches up to you,

I promise you I’ll remember the second-hand smoke

That came from the doctor

That inhaled

All the

Gray Smoke.

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Where I'm From

I am from Basketball,

From Marathon and Sportline.

I am from the tamales inside the busy kitchen

(steamy, inviting, smelled of

Colombian pride).

I am from plucking clovers,

From blowing dandelion’s seeds,

Nature that just like the tides in the sea,

Changed direction,

Changed inspiration,

Changed me.

I am from arepas every Sunday

And long, lengthy, lean legs.

From Carolina and Nelly,

Doing everything my own way.

I am from the star students,

From responsible,

Successful ones.

From You Can Do Better and Erase It And Do It Again.

I am from rosaries with grandma,

From First Comunion with my uncle as the priest,

I am from knowing all the prayers,

That mom so carefully whispered to me,

Right after daddy said,

Buckle your seatbelts!

I am from Bogotá, San José, and Quito.

From Fritanga, tortillas and Locro.

I am from every little detail,

That once made me smile,

I am from that first thought,

That always pops in my head.

I do not come from,

One

Special place.

From its time to meet your grandfather,

(the one that left your grandmother)

A long time ago.

I am from one thousand

Family members,

Always sticking together,

Familia Granadilla.

No matter how many airports I visit,

I know my family when I see it.

I know their hugs, I know their kisses,

I know my family when I see it.

Because I love how we talk until

3am.

Because I love how we laugh about

what others say.

  

I am from people,

From the people I love,

From the people I hate,

Too.

And what I love the most,

Is that the thought of them

(their laughs, their compliments)

The thoughts of writing them this

Poem,

Makes my insides twirl,

Makes my heart ache,

Makes me crave for when I’ll return,

To where I am

From.

A Mesmerizing Mental Disease

A Greek Philosopher once said that love was a serious mental disease. I decided to choose love poems as the main topic for this poetry notebook because love is one of those things that people will never fully understand. Love is so mysterious yet at the same time so palpable it makes us go crazy. Love can never be underestimated, love is something different for each and everyone of us. Some people might dream for love, some might mourn for love, while others are in the golden times of love. But at the end of the day, it comes down to what love really is: a mesmerizing mental disease.

Whether you are in love or not, the connection you feel towards the poets is incredible and every poem has a special essence that captivates love through different eyes. Even though love is a broad topic, these poems will somehow get in touch with a small part of what you might be feeling. Hopefully you will enjoy them as much as I did.

All Dreamers Understand by Joyce Hemsley

Lies to Love By by Jack Harris

If You Forget Me by Pablo Neruda

Dream a Little Dream For Me by Jack Harris

I Carry Your Heart With Me by E.E Cummings

Love's Coming by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Ah Love by Ronberge

If You Should Ever Read This You Should Know by Ronberge

Saying vs. Believing

 People might say society is developing.  They can all say society has risen above the fact that no matter how different we look, nobody shall be judged; however, society itself faces cases of murder, criminal behavior and social discrimination against various racial groups.  What I’m trying to prove is that there is a huge difference between worldwide agreement against racism, and personal values and morals. At the end of the day what you told people you believed in is no longer important to those who are being judged; it all comes down to what you –as an individual– believe and support.

On the night of February 26, 2012, a young African American teenager was killed. Trayvon Martin –only 17 years old– was shot by 28 year old, George Zimmerman. The young boy wore a hoodie and was leaving a convenient store with a pack of Skittles and Ice Tea. George Zimmerman was the neighborhood patrolman and according to his story, he thought Trayvon was suspicious. The bullet shot by George Zimmerman killed this harmless boy and no justice has been made. Police declare Mr. Zimmerman acted in self defense but all Trayvon did was walk around his own neighborhood wearing a hoodie. I’m sorry, is that considered suspicious behavior? What might this 17 year-old have done to a patrolman? Attack him with the soda? Maybe I don’t understand the new patrolling methods people use these days but to me, George Zimmerman wasn’t defending himself.

               

I want all of you to put yourselves on George Zimmerman’s situation. Why? Well because it’s easy for us to say he is racist. Easy to say he is prejudiced and easy to say he is the worst human being there is. But let me ask you a question. What would you do if an African American male, is wearing a hoodie, late at night and is walking around the neighborhood?  Would that seem strange to you? Maybe even, suspicious? This is where your morals come in. This is where everything you say to others stays at the door and the only thing left is you, and your beliefs.

           

To me, prejudice starts in you. It doesn’t start with you going against what others think is right, it starts with you thinking the same way all the time. I wish we could all say we never judge anyone by their looks but truth is, we do. Its human nature and nothing can stop us from thinking certain things when we see someone. Let’s start with 9/11. This tragic event did kill many innocent ones, but have you thought about how many innocent Muslims are being judged for the mistake of one? How many Muslims are looked at differently because everyone around him thinks he’ll blow up the place? The answer is many, and is not only against Muslims. It’s not only about 9/11. It’s about little things, little stories that go around forcing people to think the wrong things about harmless Muslims, Latinos, Asians and African Americans. Now, I’m not saying prejudice is wrong. Every single person in this world is entitled to their own thoughts and beliefs, whether they are biased or not.  What I’m saying is that prejudice will end up being injustice when you act based on what you hear. Prejudice ends up being injustice when everyone seems to be ignoring the fact that an innocent boy was killed and the killer is just walking around as if nothing had happened.

                

What society should do to help is start telling the truth. Stop acting like you know what happened because all you did was hear stories. Stop blaming it on the weaker man because everyone seems to be doing the same thing. People need to stop basing themselves on what they hear, what they think they saw, and start standing up for what’s right. Not for what people want you to do, but for what everyone should stand up for. Stand up to defend the morals of life, defend justice and leave the judging to the court. We have enough people out there that judge each other on a daily basis and what we need now, in order to help innocent people like Trayvon is a brave, strong society that is willing to stop the guilty from running away.

                

Along the same lines of judging someone based on something you heard there is fear. Now, I fear things like loss. Loss because I know what it feels like to lose something or someone you love. But what’s funny is that people fear of the unknown. They fear of a black male coming up to them and killing them. When all they know is that some black males have killed people. They now think every single black male is going to kill them. Why? Because that’s what we do. We hear things, we believe things. We say things, and we start to believe them. This issue has been discussed for as long as I can remember. The issue of people thinking and believing things that you have no idea about. When you fear of the unknown, you fear of the innocent. If you fear of the innocent, you are basically scared of everyone. Once again, you need to learn to stop believing everything people say and start analyzing the facts, start standing up for yourself and start thinking and believing in what you think is right. Not what others tell you is right.

                

This might come out as a completely pessimist thought but I am going to be honest –this world is messed up. I am only 14 years old and I already live around people that judge you on everything you wear, you say, you think and you do. Everything. Sad thing is; it’s not our fault because we live around judgments. Kids judge, teens judge and even adults judge. It’s natural to fear of a man walking by himself with a hoodie over his head. It’s normal. What if that male was wearing a Ralph Lauren sweater and a pair of Armani shoes? Would he look, less suspicious? To human eyes, probably. But to eyes of justice he could be as dangerous or as innocent as anyone else out there. That is what stereotypes create. They create a layer of prejudice and fear in front of everyone’s eyes; and the only way we can stop that from intruding into our own beliefs, is to stop listening to other people’s definitions of guilty and innocent. What you think, is yours to believe and what you believe is what you should always stand up for. 

To Kill A Mockingbird- Chapter 8

For some reason, instead of spending weeks under the sweltering heat; we had snow. Considering that Maycomb was a small town, this was something bizarre for the elders. They all saw the change in the weather as a calamity, and knew the kids were conspiring chaos with all their misbehaving.

Despite Mrs. Radley’s death, Scout and I wanted to have fun before time elapsed and the snow melted. When we interrogated Atticus and asked him about Boo Radley, his attitude shackled the spark of interest and curiosity that had settled in me. Miss Maudie agreed to give us all the snow from her backyard and continued to lionize her plants. She said if the cold weather continued, it was imminent that her flowers would soon die.

Scout and I started to build a snowman with a dirt base – Scout called it a nigger snowman– and then we covered it with snow. I was very meticulous because my goal was to create a snowman that would look like our neighbor Mr. Avery.  When we finished our sculpture, Atticus was in dissension about the similarities it had with Mr. Avery and he lectured me on how it could hurt his feelings.  We ended up by putting some of Miss Maudie’s clothes on our snowman but I am still confused.  Miss Maudie said it looked like a Morphodite – something that to this point I do not apprehend.

The day went by very quick and thanks to the cold weather, our snowman assimilated in Maycomb County. I woke up to Atticus’ voice, telling me to get up. I knew something had happened. We awoke Scout and headed outside. It was a fire at Miss Maudie’s place. Scout and I waited across the street and tried to keep warm while all our neighbors –including Mr. Nathan– helped move all the furniture from Miss Maudie’s burning house.

When we got back to our house, Atticus asked Scout where she had gotten that quilt from. I was scared. According to Atticus, Boo Radley probably covered Scout while we were watching the fire and the thought of Boo being so close to us really freaked me out.  Although I wanted to tell Scout how scared I was, I knew I had to keep my composure. I had to act like a man.

We slept until noon, cleaned up our yard and returned Miss Maudie’s things. I thought she was going to be depressed but she was as happy as any other day. Sometimes I really admire her –even though she is pretty crazy.

Wordly Wise Lesson 6

Dear Lily,

            I don’t think you would ever expect this letter–ain’t like I planned on writing either. I hope… or I know you are doing fine. Assimilating you into their abode made me realize August and all those niggers might actually be nice. I’m kind of glad you’re gone—buying grits was not cheap. This is not one of those cheesy letters that fathers write to their long lost daughters so please don’t take it personally. I know how you like to think everybody loves you and will forever care about you.

             After I left you in Tiburon, I came back to town and all people did was talk about me. To be honest, this town is in a state of anarchy and people around here are goddamn dramatic. They say I was such a bad person, not only my wife but my daughter and maid abandoned me as well–ha ha ha–what they don’t know is what a pain in the ass you women were. But don’t think they lionize you here. When I came back, all they did was interrogate me about the day Rosaleen was apprehended. Thank goodness they didn’t go back to Tiburon to arraign you after all the calamitous problems you caused. I hired a lawyer that helped me get rid of all the shackles I was dealing with. Goddammit Lily, you and your stubbornness. The fact of writing a letter to you is bizarre, considering how mad I was–and still am– at you.

            I have no idea what conspiracy you had in mind but dissension keeps growing here. You were in the newspaper, and all the meticulous women that have nothing else to do but gossip, are well aware of what you did. I hope time elapses quick enough so they forget about everything that has been going on and I honestly hope those women don’t get tired of you and send you back. Don’t come here begging for forgiveness because all you’ll get is an hour of grits-oh, and I know how much you like those. Good luck and may your terrible behavior improve because if not, a person abandoning will be imminent. I should get going. The day is short and I have to walk all the way to the peach stand and sit on my ass all day –all your fault by the way. The heat is sweltering and there’s no one else willing to do the job, so farewell.

God bless you and please Lily, be a good girl.

Your father,

T.Ray