como yo que soy tu madre

hay que empezar a aprender    primero

hay que respetar       porque  aqui no se

permite mal     un arbol chueqo no

enderece     no se toca a la gente

sin permiso     no anden contando

a la comida     no se cuenta se

reparta y asi es    no vengan con

"sorry" sorry zorrillo!    con eso

te sales?     rezo mucho que dios le

cambie el corazon      dios es muy grande

y ve todo     en este mundo todo

se paga       no se le cae a la persona

sino a alguien mas    le duele mas que a uno

como yo que soy tu madre hija

no hay que hacer mal en esta vida

Inglourious Bitch, the Mother of Basterds

Your methods were ineffective as Fuck,
embarrassingly without Invention
like Faulkner's potboiler novel. Corn Husk
as symbol of the existential Eunuch,
the modern man with no no such Luck.
See here, my Progeny, we have as much
worth as a fleet of fascistic Madmen.
Our mercy resides in the power Touch
has to unmask the facade and to Scorch
it, to Mark it, a Swastika Re-touch,
if you believe you're worthy to furnish
such cliche ay taste of the bitter punch
that's been brewed. Sons, with this pinch of Pinon,
palabracadabra, we will march on.

Calming Fire with Rhyme

It's a Poetic Contusion. The Pain
of my People speaking through me. The name
is Epithet that cuts through my Veins. So
listen here. It's not very Nice to throw us
from History.  Sent out of Time and Place,
made invisible elbisivni edam.

It's Easy being an Intellectual.
The hard part is the Middle Core. Open
heart procedure, take a beating, then two
more. For the Volta, I give you my pyre:

Oh rhythmic beauty of prosodic time.
arc de triumph, raging flame of the mind.
a yellow tassel from 2005.
Voila! I've learned to calm fire with rhyme

poesiapoderserpoesiapoderserpoesiapoderser

So that's how poetry's supposed to be,
the fruit is a genus Americanus
on the right is the specimen.
I approach myself through Me.

I am here and after that we're Strangers.
In the language of Passion, Hear a Sigh.
My language is Ishi, Prosody, Metaphor.
My zip code is Metrical Changes. Alors!

Hey I'm just getting started.  Forgive,
take a Person's hand I don't think that Much.
There are unknown Roads of Learning. Not
one is an Original Quest for Sheer Power.

Poesia Urbano y del Infierno
enredenos en el obreVerbo.

What we Act we can Become: After Lorna Dee

I am on cloud 10, its just beyond reach.

An outer Limit opens the Cosmos.

We came from the Stars. They are our Home

and End. Poets, ah, they’re Minor Comets.

It is the large Beyondnesses between

us that contain the Truth, no religious

war can Obscure it. People are Fallen

gods grasping the Hand of Tomorrow,

they find a Fragile Petal is a Paw

when raised with Power. Love is the Answer

wrote Lorna Dee Cervantes, she knows How.

She has Built her Trust to War against War,

a Warrior in the Heart of Sacred

Theatre. What we Act we can Become.