• The Order of Law



    The Order of Law


    the rule of law is
    breached; the current resident
    mocks the course of justice with impunity
    begs to know the difference between
    Right, and White and Wrong

    leaves no rock obscured
    in the court of diplomatic confusion; obtuse
    to the suffering of the victims of fact
    regards the bottom line with
    simplicity; eloquent of
    inarticulate tact

    the dishonored fight
    his legitimacy rescind; masses
    bamboozled by this hoax of incapacity
    who laugh and cheer while chumped and Arpaioed
    like whales to a Las Vegas complimentary buffet

    we live in a new society
    laws don’t matter; fight the good fight
    until good rules

  • Tristez’ Azul


    Tristez’ Azul


    A Bolero


    cuando pienso
    de la vida que deje allá perdida
    en mi bonita isla ‘bajo el sol
    mi aliento se ahoga
    y las lagrimas brotan
    en mi corazon un gran dolor

    en mi ventana aquí arriba
    de este piso cuarenta’y segundo
    oigo el ruido de la gente alla ‘bajo

    me asomo a velar
    pero solo veo un mar
    que me imagino en mi

    aquí en este pais
    donde nunca estaré feliz
    si pudiera regresar allá a mi playa
    no me sintiera tan triste y azul

    ay Tristez’ Azul
    para mi bella isla y tu
    si pudiera regresar a la playa
    hoy no sintiera tan
    triste y azul



    when I think of the life
    that I’ve left on my beautiful
    island in the sun

    my breath chokes me
    tears burst from my eyes
    with a pain deep inside my heart

    from my window way up here
    on this forty-second floor I hear
    the busy people on the street below
    I lean out to look but in despair only imagine
    an ocean for as far as I can see

    out here in this strange land
    where is the happiness I once had?
    if only I could go back to my island
    I wouldn’t feel so sad and blue

    oh, Sad ‘n Blue
    for my beautiful island and you
    I feel so sad and blue

  • This Is Not the Time to Talk About It

    The five stages of grief:

    • denial
    • anger
    • bargaining
    • depression
    • acceptance

    When a tragedy like the Las Vegas shooting happens our immediate gut feeling is “How could this have happened?” This is Denial. We become Angry: “We should have prevented this!” We start bargaining: “Let’s outlaw guns!” We get depressed when we realize nothing is going to change. And we accept the unacceptable.

    When people say “This is not the time to talk about gun control,” they are twisting the grieving process to avoid the fact that immediately after a tragedy is the time to talk about it, while we are in denial of the event and while we are angry. This is when things need to get done.

    To say “This is not the time to talk about it,” is a disingenuous lie. The best thoughts and prayers we can share with family and victims is to insure this will never happen again.

  • Jackboots in Summer



    Jackboots in Summer


    jackboots came to Charlottesville this summer
    storm troopers in tribute to the KKK
    polo shirts, khakis and red hats
    worn like golfers at Mar-a-Lago
    marking the OK in tribute to their small hands

    we Americans pay homage to our enemies
    in this land of sovereignty
    let’s put up statues
    to Hirohito
    to fit nicely in our historic town squares

    and set model Kamikaze planes
    on display in Pearl Harbor to the memory
    of the steel-nerved men
    who gave their lives
    in devotion to
    an Emporer

    those who fought brother against brother
    for the sake of owning human chattel honor?
    while Germany fights to erase its history
    we revel in ours?

    Jews exterminated; Blacks
    taken captive: is this racial divide or genocide?
    you pick your side

  • On the Road to Satori – Alice

    the hitchhiker by christiano bill

    the hitchhiker by christiano bill


    Each one of these stories is a small window—a theatre of the mind—of observations made during a period of travel in the early 1970’s. Hitchhiking the roads of America, I spent the later years in reflection. These poems are what grew from the adventure.

    Read as rhythmic rolling narrative, they need no explanation except to tell a story that follows one title to the next.

    Pablo Cuzco



    in the wee hours
    of a pitch black Texas night
    in Alice bound for Nuevo Laredo

    the road deserted
    not even a gun-rack pistol-packing
    Texas Truck in sight

    no drivers dusted
    from too many hours
    entertaining the yellow line
    looking for a rider to take the wheel

    the rattlesnakes they chattered
    the coyotes yip-yip-yip-aye-ayed
    into the pitch-black prelude
    to the dawn

    a thousand miles from nowhere
    with nowhere left to go
    a lost and lonesome
    highway vagabond

    the rumble down ten-wheeler
    that eventually picked me up
    was headed for Freer

    blaring rhythm and blues
    on the AM band cracking
    and squawking like a CB radio

    left little room for conversation
    yelling over the noise
    grinding gears and rattling truck parts

    “Leroy Simmons—glad to meet you
    Headin’ far?” Nuevo Laredo
    “I can take you part of the way”

    the Sonoran Desert
    a desolated stretch of highway
    Mexico—twenty-five miles to the south

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