Tag: Poetry

Luna

Tonight I surfed under the moon.

All eyes were fixed on the west

the others bobbed and watched the smoldering sun kiss the horizon good night

not I

My gaze stayed with the rising moon

to the east.

The sun has too many lovers

he sends his warmth and flashes rays to any suitor that will have him.

Not the moon

she shows her face but once a month

she teases

she ebbs and flows

waxes and wanes

she pulls at my heart like she pulls at the tides.

She shines bright as she rises

penetrating my core

sending cosmic light through the warm autumn night

I am immersed

I am transfixed

Yet I know she will soon turn her back

a slow march beyond reach.

I shiver in the water and mourn her while I still have her

I yearn to dance underneath her soft glow

again

always.

She teases.

It is not easy to love the moon

but I will forever try.

Phototropism

I took a bus today.

A secret bus.

It takes you from one Vietnamese sandwich shop to another, in a different state, for fifty bucks.

Your fare includes a bottle of water, spotty wifi and a delicious banh mi sandwich. The bus is filled with smiling passengers and smells like Saigon. Light but fragrant wafts of gasoline, incense and fresh herbs.

For fifty dollars you get a ride into the desert and a space to reflect, rest and write. The splendor of God’s creation dances outside the window as we cut through the Sonora. Cacti wave their long twisted arms and mystical mountains stand watch over my heart as I pass by.

It has been many years since I have taken this trip but the driver smiled and greeted me like a long lost friend. I had arrived sleepy eyed and unsure if leaving the comfort of the Pacific was a wise decision.

“I remember you! I am so happy to see you, friend.” He exclaimed before taking a drag of his cigarette and continuing his conversation with another passenger in blistering Vietnamese. I smiled and boarded the bus, comforted by his warm salutation

The west is home, it will always be. From the ranges of the Rockies to the shores of the Pacific. My nose smiles when greeted with the delightful smell of petrichor before a desert monsoon.

I will continue to grow roots in the hills of Tennessee. But my branches will always bend and stretch to the west, toward the setting sun. I guess there is a word for this tendency of plants to grow toward sources of light. I looked it up.

Phototropism.

I like that word.

Viva Los Dodgers: Chronicles of a Dodgers Fan Living in Spain

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As my plane lifted off, destined for Barcelona, I looked down at the lights of Los Angeles and was overcome with emotion. But my grief was not for my family or dear friends. Sorry guys… I love you, but you’ll be there when I get back.

My mournings were of a bluer variety.

My eyes scanned the maze of urban lights down below, in search of hallowed ground. That diamond jewel that lies in the hills of Chavez Ravine, blue heaven on earth, Dodger Stadium. As the plane ascended into the starry night, a whiff of grilled Dodger Dogs rose 10,000 feet and bid me farewell.

Alas, I had made my decision. I was leaving to study in Spain in the middle of a pennant race, even worse, in the last weeks of Vin Scully’s broadcasting career. The team I loved so dearly, would never be the same. For who are the Dodgers without their beloved maestro? What is baseball in Los Angeles without the Voice of Summer?

Unfortunately, the Dodger faithful will have to answer those questions next season. Like Vinny said, “Don’t be sad because it’s over, smile because it happened.”

Right?

I guess.

So here I am, at 3 am in Barcelona, smiling as my Boys in Blue fight against the Nationals in the playoffs. I take siestas at 10 pm and set alarms to wake at 3 to watch the games, shouting into pillows and high-fiving myself when we win.

This nine hour time difference might be the death of me, but I’ll be damned if I miss a game.

This is our year,

I want to hear you from here.

Wave those blue towels and cheer with all of your might,

let’s win it for Vinny and send him off right!

GO BLUE!!

#WinForVin

Freestyle Friday: Beautiful Chaos

And then, suddenly, an unexpected wind sweeps in and engulfs me in her fury.

She howls and blows and rages.

Beautiful chaos.

When she finally ceases, nothing is the same. The lens in which I viewed the world has been shattered, lost forever in the madness of the storm. I grieve for my ignorance while rejoicing in new found liberation. I am lost and uncertain. Naked and hungry.

Ravaged by the storm.

 

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