If I could...

Hola Everybody,
Spring has sprung here in The Center of the Known Universe. Fuck wherever it is you live! LOL

Now [no. 15]

 

If I could
I would guarantee you
bright sunny days
and soft, dry breezes
for all your Summers.

If I could
I would give you
clear cold days
and clean snow
for the Winters you love.

And if I could
I would give you Autumn,
dressed to the teeth,
at that precious moment
when you most need change.

But if I want you
to remember me
as I will always remember you,
I will send you,
naked,
unadorned,
Spring.

Edward-Yemil Rosario ©

Baroque Interlude

Hola! Everybody…
I need to find a place to live… yesterday.

It’s a lovely, very hot, summer day today, but I’m sick with a hacking cough. All I want is to be left alone and given the chance to rest.

Nows [XV]

Like some baroque interlude

the notes of your passion

take me down winding streets,

visiting all those bizarre boutiques

of our shared secret fantasies.

A thousand corners

I will turn with you,

your partner in an

endless exploration of

the side-streets of sensation,

those horny highways of adventure

that will forever open for us,

beckoning us toward

the joyful madnesses of

our shameless bliss.

 -- Edward-Yemíl Rosario

My name is Eddie and I’m in recovery from civilization…

Poetry [... and They Sprayed Me]

Hola mi Gente,

Note, I am not a Bernie Sanders supporter, but I will not be voting for him or Hillary. Hillary’s record as an active FLOTUS who pushed for policies that helped her husband lock up more (mostly black and brown) people than any other president in history, and her record as a senator continuing those punitive policies, disqualifies her from my vote.

Her response to activist, Ashley Williams, who confronted Clinton about her comments 20 years ago calling young black children “superpredators” was dismissive, belligerent, and quite telling. However, my biggest problem with the discussion of the myth of the superpredator is the denial that it had racist overtones. No one, not even the snake oil salesmen who pushed the myth, deny it had a racial component. One of the purveyors of this shameless poison, James Fox, warned of a “bloodbath” of teen violence and in a report to the U.S. Attorney general, said, “Our nation faces a future juvenile violence problem that may make today’s epidemic pale in comparison” He called attention in particular to the projected growth in the black teenage population (ages 14-17), which he predicted would increase 26% by 2005.

Any questions?

Today it’s all about art. This is one of mine written a long time ago… 

* * *

Yesterdays [no. 3]

A case of Bacardi for the crazy ladies
in the corner of my past,
the hectic, horny days
of yesterday!

They beckon me back
to my forgotten madnesses,
the chest-pounding blackouts
that have grown into story-time delights.

Sure, they often left before dawn
to test my memory
with a perfumed and pummeled pillow.

And they sprayed me with
ashtrays,
broken bottles,
cans of habichuelas,
and all their sadnesses
to leave me forever bruised and bleeding.

But they cared,
these crazy ladies,
at least as much as they could...

So let's hear it for the courageous ones
who gave these hilarious crimes to me
as evidence that I once lived.

They are the only souls I still know
who can tell me what I used to be
and why.

* * *

            My name is Eddie and I’m in recovery from civilization…

Poetry: The Trust You Once Owned...

Hola mi Gente,

So, as I was preparing this post, the news that senior Supreme Court Justice, Antonin Scalia, died of natural causes this morning. I don’t know who it was that said that one shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but I hope that if there’s a hell, there’s a special place in it for him (preferably roasting on a spit). 

Yeah, I’m bad, shoot me… 

Today it’s about poetry and this is one of mine written so long ago. It was inspired by one of the loves of my life.

* * *

Now [no. 14]

The trust you once guarded,
oozed out of a bullet-hole
in your pretty back
and once gunned down
is enough for anyone.

Your first bloody death was funny
but your second would be foolish.

So a seasoned gunfighter
lives within you.

You sit only with your back
against the wall
and face the open door
when you love.

A twitching hand rides high
above your well-oiled holster,
riding low on your hip,
and you wait only for
another stranger
to ride into your lonely town.

* * *

My name is Eddie and I’m in recovery from civilization… 

Awakening

Hola mi Gente,

I am going to do something affirming today. After venturing into the belly of the beast of the criminal injustice system (prisons), I need to do something to wash off the psychic toxins.

The following is one of mine… 

* * *

Nows [XVIV]

Your sleep:
I have watched you wake --
a spectacle,
a spontaneous vision of honesty.

Your long legs
yawn open
and your arms reach out
for a missing star.

You are reluctant,
deserting your dream,
surrendering to the pink wound
of a new day.

And you reach out for me,
silently, without a plan,
and it is enough.

Your touching me
will always be enough.

It says what no poem
will ever say,
what no words could ever tell me.

 
My name is Eddie and I'm in recovery from civilization...