claudiapena.com

It’s late night again.
I avoid the left side of the street
like I avoid the left side of my sheets
praying for the Lord to turn your car green
so I’ll stop looking for red cars and red sheep
rushing by the Houston streets
or chattering when I’m trying to sleep.

I see you.
I see you in a Frida Kahlo’s third eye cracked
I see you when a stray dog pees,
Don’t take it personally, I also see Bukowski and Waits,
But then again I talk in my sleep
And my family history isn’t white picket fence neat,
So what do you care?

Did you get my flowers?
White Lillies; Gardenias are out of season,
I sent them to touch your imperfect body
with my imperfect soul.

“I meditate on life more and more, I need truth and I need love, lasting love.” –J.S.B. I had the great pleasure of hearing the poet live years back so check out his website, buy a book and hear the audio. I also realized that I had a lot of imagery I left out on the sources. The last line is my variation from the sexiest voice alive, Leonard Cohen, Hallelujah, Hallelujah. The songs are heavy duty poetry, my hero. See the Frida and lillies images and gardenias look like this. The second sexiest voice/artist, comes from Waits and the rugged Bukowski.

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Okay, so I almost fell over laughing on this one when I saw it on my feed from poets.org. What, there is an actual vein for poetry about toilet experiences? LOL!!! I am sure many of us can give descriptive detail about our last visceral yoga, however, doesn’t that defeat the purpose of poetry? Seriously, this is a short poem of 8 lines with only two rhymes in which one line is repeated 2-3 times to give it rhythm and flow. You gotta love it!

National poetry month rocks! I’ve gone through 4 pens and not even a fever that makes me speak in tongues can keep me from posting. On the poetry news: Check out Education World, Poetry Teachers, and Funny Poetry for Children. Also check out The Tao of Pooh (darn, the bear is more emotionally evolved than I am!).

In the local scene: It took this man 40 years and a tremendous amount of money to make this a breath taking exhibition. Absolutely all his work is printed on rice paper (no, not like the spring rolls, like the tree, I had to ask) and not one of them was from an aerial view. A picture of frozen grass at a point where thousands of men died making the wall, the docent explains, “My house in India was 200 years old. People die all over the world without even a headstone. That’s universal and of no significance.” Check it out at MFAH going on through August. Also into the Spanish poetry scene with the lyrical poetas of the trova, April 25th at Bohemios, (see bottom blogroll) sponsored by KPFT, 90.1. Support the historical documentation and preservation of Houston by HAM on 4/26 at St. Arnold’s. Check out the Dali Lama, at Rice, May 1st. Wow.

Did you know Pablo Neruda’s name was Ricardo Eliecer Neftalí Reyes Basoalto? LOL, that is so hispanic!! Much props go out to the Tisha for including me in her blog roll. I know you’ve heard me complain about the state of hip hop, well here is a chance to do something about it or check out Villager. I don’t believe in ads on my blog, specially when I can’t control one that says talk to teens (or any of the more lewd ads aimed towards minors), so when I endorse an organization, it’s because I believe in them. So please don’t forget to donate to my student’s scholarship fund. If you have trouble with the website, let me know.

I’ll end with a question that Andre asked me, “How successful you have been with your poetry?” Success in poetry doesn’t necessarily mean money (although it is welcomed but have you seen the poetry section at B&N?), but perhaps a communication or a connection. How successful am I on that? I’ll let you the audience decide.

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Vivir sin ti,
Son dos suspiros y un escalofrió

Son tres noches de insomnio,
Un mes de confusión, y una vida de arrepentimiento
Es un mar de silencio con una tormenta de soledad.
Es un café cerrero y forzado con un cólico incesante.
Es periodico sin noticias con palabras sin sentido.
Es el dia sin tiempo y la muerte sin fin.
Es la lluvia sin sonido, película sin pantalla,
Y la falta de música, que confunde tanto esta vieja tierra.

Porque al vivir sin ti, mi amor
Me faltarían tus suspiros,
Tus sensuales respiros,
el calor de tus abrazos
Y mi sonrisa al ver tu cara,
Cada manana.

Vivir sin ti, mi vida es imposible.

(from the old website, check out the audio: vivir-sin-ti.wma)

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Yesterday, my mind was the size of my room exploding out the window driving me mad with noise and emotion. Today, I needed the comfort of quiet at the Houston Arboretum. Sometimes, the solace of no words and no emotions is much comforting. So, this blog post, I dedicate to the poets of philosophy.

“The human drama: if you don’t get what you want you suffer; if you get what you don’t want, you suffer; even when you do get what you suffer because you can’t hold on forever.” –DM

I loved the lichen here, a woman’s body, La Virgen or just beauty. “We must pass through the solitude and difficulty, isolation and silence, to find that enchanted place where we can sing our sorrowful song…but our conscious will fulfill themselves in the awareness of being human.” –P. Neruda

“There is no way to peace; Peace is the way. There is no way happiness; Happiness is the way. There is no way to love; love is the way.” Seems like a self fulfilling prophesy, this is a hard one. I will add: there is no way to hope but hope is the way.

All quotes inspired by “The Peaceful Warrior,” book and movie by Dan Millman. Thank you, Mr. Millman.

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I’ve loved you
I’ve dreamt you
I’ve built gardens of words around you
Cultivating them so high and wide
They made a fortress of maize
Reaching the unending sky

I’ve shucked stalks of juicy corn
Until my hands were white in pain
Each kernel was a sonnet
and ode, a thought
a song of longing for you

I’ve slept walked you,
Rubik’s cubed decoded you
Splatter juice caress
Express a verse about you

I’ve fled to lands far apart
And rivers old and fragile
Captured with the comfort of my third eye
Simple gifts of land and words,
So you know how much I adore you

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Tonight a kiss
My head a bird’s egg
Nestled deep in your Mayan
thorax full of caged desires
My hands weave course
invisible hairs of your chest
My body stirs
giving your soul its room

I fall asleep
in Dali dreams
Wishing your lips still consumed me alive
Wishing the fire burnt bright
Wondering if you really enjoyed me
As if my eyes weren’t moist enough
from the last farewell
I order a retreat of memory to its furrow

I kiss goodnight
the cold side of my bed

E. Andrade, “Forbidden Words,” is one of Portugal’s most famous poets. “All is fire, all is desire.” –EA

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