Okay so I've only gotten one personal essay published (so far). But I'm quite happy about it.
If you're wondering what it's like to be a Venezuelan American living as an expat in Germany during the terrifying era of Trump, read here: https://inkstickmedia.com/today-i-woke-up/
Poems n'Stuff follow:
The poems below can be read how most of us usually read (left to right) OR you can read each page individually. Sometimes you can even read in zigs and zags.
I wanted to make a format that needn't be analyzed. It allows readers to mix and match lines and interpret it however they want.
The rest are 'normal', although in no particular format either.
El Verano del Lunes Eterno
El sol se esconde
Huyendo mi piel
Porcelana de invierno
Mis brazos privados
Del dulce color del sol
Café con leche caliente
Manta de arena isleña
Pero yo sigo aquí
En mi lunes eterno
Cielo de hueso
Soñando con radiación electromagnética
Y pienso en ti
Con tu alma isleña que emanaba luz
A través de:
Una risa rica con vida
Unos ojos de anís
Hasta en los días mas grises
Del polo nórdico donde
Viviste, aguantaste y terminaste
Pero no de ser
Respiro fuerte y pienso en ese ser de luz
Aquí con mi lunes eterno.
The Summer of Endless Mondays
The sun hides
Evading my skin - winter porcelain
My arms, depraved
Of the sweet color of sun:
Coffee with steaming milk
Blanket of island sun
But I'm still here,
In my eternal Monday
Bone sky: Bleached. Stark.
Dreaming of electromagnetic radiation
And I think of you:
With your islander's soul that emanated light
A laugh rich with life
Eyes of anis
Even in the grayest of days
In the nordic pole where you
lived, held on, and stopped
but not existing
I take a deep breath
and think of this being of light
Here with my eternal Monday.
My life feels like a series of goodbyes
I move forward with resolve and dry my eyes
But I can’t pretend I don’t notice –
Can’t pretend they don’t start to take a toll,
These bittersweet goodbyes
I’ve lost count of how many times my mother
drove me to the airport before the sun had even risen
to send me off to the next goodbye
What is this constant going?
Is it opportunity? Is it luck?
Or is it a curse my family carries, stuffed
In a suitcase from continent to continent
Crossing borders and stopping.
Making connections to places and friends
Only to have to say goodbye again
My life feels like a series of goodbyes
I sigh and force the tears out of my eyes
Thinking; how privileged am I?!
How dare I complain!
There’s so much pain we were able to escape
But every man I’ve loved I’ve had to leave –
Those heart wrenching goodbyes.
And now I love you
And I have you here, so why suffer?
Only fools suffer for the future and the past
My head is determined to focus on the now
But my tired heart knows –
My life is a series of goodbyes.
The Morning Bird’s Pity
I pity the night.
It comes, simply to fulfill its duty
Yet it is shunned, in favor of Aurora
She – the night – is used;
Criminals use her to blanket their sins
Children, for ghost stories whispered fearfully
She – the night – is welcomed only with dread.
Insomniacs await her with trepidation
Aware that this cloak of darkness
brings only the promise of endless unrest.
The broken hearted know:
Upon her arrival,
All their monsters are brought to life.
I pity the night.
For at dawn she is quickly sent away,
Shooed and forgotten
In favor of a new day.
Joint poem: Aurora's Agony
I envy the night.
For it is under its cover that lovers lie,
Staring longingly into each other’s eyes.
The stars, those heavenly bodies, are her faithful companions.
Fireplaces blaze, children sit on laps, dinner time commences –
Oh, how they all laugh!
But upon my arrival:
Alarm clocks sing their perturbing ring
Lovers must part
The masses rub their weary eyes
And heave the heaviest of sighs
As duty commences, all art rests.
Oh, how I envy the night!
For it is her, not I, that serves humanity best.
Dear friend of mine:
Being with you is the simplest of joys in that
We can simply be, and everything is exuberant yet serene.
I miss the bookstores, oh the bookstores!
Where I spent countless hours and countless dollars
Each book, a creature with its own story –
besides the one gracing its pages.
Used books are the very best of all, for books are made to be of use.
If I should ever return, I’ll soar to the bookstores
Skip along the narrow aisles
And take in that scent
Of wholeness, of ink and paper, of wisdom.
(And pet the orange cat at that one mazelike place).
Should I ever return, I’ll stuff my face
With those giant, delectable sushi rolls
And laugh, with puffy sushi cheeks as you sit across from me.
I’ll stroll along the river, and sit on the dock
To bid farewell to the day
With a burst of colors and calm
And for a moment, be in awe at the world
Even though commercialism and blind consumerism live
A couple blocks away, on Newbury Street.
We are here, on this dock.
And on this dock, everything is simple and pure
And there are dogs with their humans and they, it all
Makes me smile brightly from the inside out.
I know I will return
But even if I do not
I revel in the luck I’ve had
In forming these perfect memories
Alone in pleasant solitude
And together with you - my best of friends,
A soul that matches and mismatches my own seamlessly
When I am far away
And the world is harsh
I remember that I have a friend unlike anybody else
And then everything is okay.
New York, Paris, Madrid
I want to be New York, with its loud and colorful confidence, always in demand.
I want to be Paris, with its mysteries, knowledge and romance.
I want to be Madrid and look people in the eye, unwavering and brazen.
I want to be New York, Paris and Madrid- filled with art, color and history.
Anything but the presumably safe suburban cul de sac, beige and unchanging.
Nada Más Rico
Cuando el sabor de la realidad no te apetece,
es importante no olvidar que no hay nada más rico que…
una arepa caliente un día de domingo
despertarte por la mañana y saber que no te tienes que levantar
morderle los labios a ese que te sabe besar
la agua fresca que fluye por la montaña y llega a refrescar tu cuerpo
el ritmo de los tambores que se siente por todo el cuerpo
la idea de enamorarse como en las canciones
el reconocimiento que la idea de enamorarse es mucho más rica que la realidad
escuchar tu lengua materna después de mucho tiempo en un país como extranjera
la belleza escondida en la soledad.
Oh darling no, amber is NOT the color of your energy.
You love things that roar, always have
Even if you dimmed down because that’s what good girls do
Quiet wisdom, you tried to emulate
But in that yellow they can see you from a mile away
So they cannot hit you. They cannot touch you
Like the sun - too much, too bright, too loud, too AHHH!
Like drums in the rain.
You always did like the high jumps and the big leaps
That took you across the floor, across the world
in one grand movement
Loud but sure, loud but unsure
Steady but spazz spazz spazzy
You walk but you want to skip
You skip but you want to jump
You jump but you want to fly
To scream, to sing
So darling, yes the amber of the candlelight has its allure
But don’t let that dim your flash, stomp your high
Because baby, darling you’re bright yellow
And you always have been.
Shock, irritate, gleam
But don’t you, not don’t you ever dim.