Roots and Trees
Once upon a time and farway
Right in the unforgiven badlands
where The Season of Life is hard to survive
two trees claimed their rights to this Life
They were happy, so close to each other, no rules to abide
they had grown together
one fine and delicate,the other bigger in size
and both, like humans, also with a heart.
Came the Season of blooming by humans called Spring
They enjoyed this season, they were always on the mood
Like reptiles of the desert they joined their roots
It is so sublime to enjoy a moment so tender and smooth!
gnarled,young,embracing and creating a moment of truth
Twisted and strange as love sometimes is
Loves created LIFE,a flower was born she came without sins
The Love of this Season and right on the Middle of Them
produced a flower
to these two,poor trees
growing apart in the middle of nowhere
This flower so beatiful,brought them mayhem
A flower is so fragile compared to a tree
AND THE GOOD GARDENER did his best deed
Replanted the flower to a place HE could see
away from the badlands and close to the sea
The Flower grew beatiful as beauty can be
no so strong
because she was born from the roots of two trees
the gardener´s helpers
gave her good soil and shined her leaves
So many times she wilted
So may times she did not want to bloom anymore
and some many times the flower was nurtured
by the manual that fulled her of hope
and she felt again what humans call LOVE
The flower still blooms the 4 seasons of time
Sometimes she gets wilted and hopes for a better LIFE
Why sometimes she gets so sad,
that is somenthing I would like to know
maybe she has not heard the sounds of Love
CHIQUITITA
Maybe the flower has not read an outstanding book
The book shoul be called TEACHINGS FOR LIFE
A book of one page that everyone should look
DESIDERATA
Women, Menflower,human beings: You are already here
try to find and strenghten your roots
force the evils out,there is nothing to be scare
find your roots
You might find them in a world where you are a mujer.
You flew high before ,maybe even you flew so fast
now those times are gone , now is time to let go the past
Try to sing your Life with the tune of a happy song that has a catch
Find out if a catchy song can keep you alive.
For TAMMY, Merry Christmas 2009
From Juan Jo
You were there
You were there
Early morning, maybe 3 am
The year I dont remember and I don''t want to
Why I think in this language?
The dates are numbers and they take me to you.
Numbers are written the same way in this language, yours or mine
I don''t want to remember, you don''t want me to die.
All I know you were there.
Half sleep my hand reached in the darkness
Half sleep your body responded
Half sleep your hand reached to me
We woke up to love each other
We felt so happy , it was meant to be
You were there, I was there for you, we were there for each other
How we needed each other!! We were the perfect lovers
The moon above the lake was watching us ,
She became forever and ever our beloved mother.
We smelled the scent of a lake
We saw my mountains calling my name
You were there, holding me when I trembled
I saw you, then I saw mi ABUELO.
Sleuth, perdida, puta
Here I am, taking the shit from you
I am not afraid of you, Devil or the father of Jesus
Here you got me, you advocates of men
In chose to sacrifice myself and I won’t say amen.
Who the fuck do you think you are?
You and your stupid, fucking laws, screw us all
Who do you think you are? Why you condemn me
Even when it’s you who tempt me on the mall.
I chose to live the fantasies of all Women
I chose to suck men dicks and eat the semen
Many of my genre have fantasies and I pity them
I sacrifice myself to fulfill one, and every one of them.
So you can burn me, you can punish me as much as you want
I chose to sacrifice myself to redeem all the sins of
Mankind
I will fuck as many men as I can, and nobody shoul give a
damn
Because all women just fantasize and I will be a Madame.
Yes, I chose with care
my own profession
I travel to any point and quench the women’s passion
Why not have an affair in those escapes from home
When men do the same, men and women don’t want to be alone
I repeat again: it’s a women’s fantasy and it coul be well
done.
(Thanks to whoever invented condoms)
Why you call me puta, whore, perdida or sleuth?
We women have the same rights, I feel the same as you do.
A short story from a regular Joe, an every day man
I was taking my 9 am break.
It was may 3, 2010.
I was tired from blowing all those sidewalks since the weekend before there was a wind storm and the streets were full of
dust,garbage, pollen, fine little leaves, branches and leaves.
I am a Groundskeeper, gardener or however you want to call it.
My title says Groundskeeper, but I like to do more than that. I like fine gardening. well that´s another story.
I am not a California native, I am an immigrant from Mexico, I came to this country 34 years ago as an illegal immigrant.
I did not feel 100 % fine this morning,because all that dry wind made me sick with allergies and the same happened to many people living in California.
I reclined on my chair, looked around on my room and saw the projects I had to do on my breaks
I like painting and doing art objects with branches and roots.
Tacked on the wall I also saw the different posters calling for marches asking for Immigrant amnesty or some form of legalization for illegal immigrants.
I was trying to collect a poster for every year, so I could some day give it to any of my 3 sons, right now I was thinking of the older one which was 20 I thought it was good idea to let him know why and how he ended up being born in California.
All my sons were born in America.
I remembered my first son when he was 4 years old when Pete Wilson a California Governor was savoring his campaign against immigrants.
A few months before, Cesar Chavez, a field workers leader had died suddenly.He was not that old, so it was very strange to me that he died at an early age and at a crucial moment when he could when he could be the natural leader for the Illegal immigrants or any social cause pertainig to Latinos living in USA.
Then 3 months after his death, Pete Wilson fully unleashed his campaign with Proposition 187
My First son was 4 at the time, and any kid at that age , dont understand politics or any other complex matters,but he saw his parents and extended family with worried faces and afraid of something.
He got scared too of something unknown.
We kept mentioning very often the name Pete Wilson as the source of all our fears.
I noticed my son was mortified by something.
One day he said ¨Apa... who is Pig Wilson_
I went laughing very hard.
I don´t know why he said that name like that, maybe because we did not pronounce it right or because he associated with the story I told him about The Three little pigs and the bad wolf.
My son even at an early age cared for his people, I think he should be a priest or a missionary or something like that.
I remembered too another time I was telling him a story which I made up from a song,a story related about a poor peasant who leaves his native Mexico to find a job in USA.
The name of the song is ¨Vendites los bueyes ( you sold the oxen)
http://youtu.be/_FL-1cdV1uw
We were in a hammock, him on top of my belly.
This story is about a peasant family on Mexico who´s husband went to USA to find a job and maybe make more money to ease the current (I'd say cronic situation) economic situation on his country.
He left his corn fields for an illusion.
The family had to sell the oxen so he could get money to get his passport.
The wife renegaded for the misery of this region forgotten by god.
She stayed behind and had to use an old burro to help with the plowing. she then looked at the sky for hopes of rain and the clouds went away,instead, as as a curse.
Her kids cried,she felt she would go deaf and crazy,hearing their plies for food.
She went to the Hacienda and tried to steal food but did not dare.
She fed her sons cactus leaves and old, hard, discarded tortillas.
She could not take it any more and stared crying.
Then one day some papers came to her house along with a check.
She had to sign those papers so she could have the money.
What happened is that her husband died away in the USA.
She went on a rage , ripped the papers and she started crying.
By then my son was crying too.
I thought it was funny and laughed but then I felt something on my throat.
And here I was,taking a break, thinking of my son , looking at those posters that meant a big hope for many illegal immigrants
A short story from a regular Joe, an every day man
I was taking my 9 am break.
It was may 3, 2010.
I was tired from blowing all those sidewalks since the weekend before there was a wind storm and the streets were full of
dust,garbage, pollen, fine little leaves, branches and leaves.
I am a Groundskeeper, gardener or however you want to call it.
My title says Groundskeeper, but I like to do more than that. I like fine gardening. well that´s another story.
I am not a California native, I am an immigrant from Mexico, I came to this country 34 years ago as an illegal immigrant.
I did not feel 100 % fine this morning,because all that dry wind made me sick with allergies and the same happened to many people living in California.
I reclined on my chair, looked around on my room and saw the projects I had to do on my breaks
I like painting and doing art objects with branches and roots.
Tacked on the wall I also saw the different posters calling for marches asking for Immigrant amnesty or some form of legalization for illegal immigrants.
I was trying to collect a poster for every year, so I could some day give it to any of my 3 sons, right now I was thinking of the older one which was 20 I thought it was good idea to let him know why and how he ended up being born in California.
All my sons were born in America.
I remembered my first son when he was 4 years old when Pete Wilson a California Governor was savoring his campaign against immigrants.
A few months before, Cesar Chavez, a field workers leader had died suddenly.He was not that old, so it was very strange to me that he died at an early age and at a crucial moment when he could when he could be the natural leader for the Illegal immigrants or any social cause pertainig to Latinos living in USA.
Then 3 months after his death, Pete Wilson fully unleashed his campaign with Proposition 187
My First son was 4 at the time, and any kid at that age , dont understand politics or any other complex matters,but he saw his parents and extended family with worried faces and afraid of something.
He got scared too of something unknown.
We kept mentioning very often the name Pete Wilson as the source of all our fears.
I noticed my son was mortified by something.
One day he said ¨Apa... who is Pig Wilson_
I went laughing very hard.
I don´t know why he said that name like that, maybe because we did not pronounce it right or because he associated with the story I told him about The Three little pigs and the bad wolf.
My son even at an early age cared for his people, I think he should be a priest or a missionary or something like that.
I remembered too another time I was telling him a story which I made up from a song,a story related about a poor peasant who leaves his native Mexico to find a job in USA.
The name of the song is ¨Vendites los bueyes ( you sold the oxen)
http://youtu.be/_FL-1cdV1uw
We were in a hammock, him on top of my belly.
This story is about a peasant family on Mexico who´s husband went to USA to find a job and maybe make more money to ease the current (I'd say cronic situation) economic situation on his country.
He left his corn fields for an illusion.
The family had to sell the oxen so he could get money to get his passport.
The wife renegaded for the misery of this region forgotten by god.
She stayed behind and had to use an old burro to help with the plowing. she then looked at the sky for hopes of rain and the clouds went away,instead, as as a curse.
Her kids cried,she felt she would go deaf and crazy,hearing their plies for food.
She went to the Hacienda and tried to steal food but did not dare.
She fed her sons cactus leaves and old, hard, discarded tortillas.
She could not take it any more and stared crying.
Then one day some papers came to her house along with a check.
She had to sign those papers so she could have the money.
What happened is that her husband died away in the USA.
She went on a rage , ripped the papers and she started crying.
By then my son was crying too.
I thought it was funny and laughed but then I felt something on my throat.
And here I was,taking a break, thinking of my son , looking at those posters that meant a big hope for many illegal immigrants
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