Madre Hermosa

La Criolla Del Manton By Saturnino Herran 

Rustic woman with Aztec legs

Thick rooted bones hold firm

Against the dusted ground;

Warrior woman,

Sturdy woman,

Adobe queen,

The one with the brick colored skin

Coated in soft clay,

Who embraces cosmic children

With her sun painted spirit.

Dream catching woman,

She chases the wind and

Catches it with her whispered tongue.

You are gold and yellow corn crops

With the smile of a thousand buttered cobs,

The warmth of its husked maize.

You are the rhythm of drums,

The harmony of plucked strings;

Your spiced veins race into bodies of melodic waves.

You are ancient civilizations,

The road that leads to

Cloudless skies painted blue,

And clean air seasoned with Dahlias and

Marigolds.

Teach me to be 

Rustic woman,

Warrior woman,

Sturdy woman, 

Adobe queen,

Mi Madre Hermosa 

Fox

Photo By: Egor Shapovalov 

You clever fox
who slinked into the woods.
your padded feet,
your quick feet,
soft touch against the fallen leaves.
gone without a trace
where did you go?
when the world turned red and flashed its neon signs?
mama moon set a trail with her magic singing beam.
she cried so deep her cratered face sunk
into her hollowed cheeks
is your winter coat warm enough for the season's windswept blow?
do you lie in the dark and toast to tomorrow's auburn skies?
if marshmallow clouds caught you as you fell,
would candied jets be there to soar you away to better runways?
when the soil births new grass
i hope you shed all the weight
that wears heavy on your shoulders
and run,
run light,
stripped of all your scars.
you clever fox,
you freedom seeker,
you wandering soul,
have you made it home yet?

Home

Photo By: Pierre Boucher 

And when the shadows cast me into a deep sleep

And I drift into the seas boundless waters,

Will the waves keep me afloat and get me home by sunrise?

Oh, Little One

Photo By: Robert Doisneau 

Oh, little one,

Hurry, hurry

Or you’ll be late to the

Greatest show in all the world,

The one that opens its wide gaping doors to those

With stars in their eyes,

And race tracks in their hearts.

To those with hearty laughs and seeds in their feet,

To those that sprout to the highest peaks wrapped in blue skies and

Embrace the canary sun.

Hurry, hurry

Don’t be late.

The clock ticks and tocks and doesn’t stop,

And wishes so heartily for you to hop onto the little hand,

To cross over to the big one,

To leap adventurously and joyfully,

Fearlessly and purposefully.

To live with a momentum,
A gusto,
So great the universe, in all its grandiose,

Becomes small, small, small,
Too small for your infinite stories,

Too small for your quick rabbit feet.

Hurry hurry,

Don’t be late.

Sweet little human,

Before the sun sets,

There’s a lot to see.

Before the sun sets,

There’s a lot to do.

Before the sun sets,

There’s a lot to be.

Irma Thomas- Anyone Who Knows What Love Is Will Understand

Tender love,
let me be your rolling hills.
Your skylit comfort.

We didn't just read poetry
We let it drip from our tongues like honey.

------------D E A D P O E T S S O C I E T Y

Photo By: Robert Doisneau

Mad World

Photo By: T. Lux Feininger 

We’re on fire,

On the cusp of a great war pulsing with cosmic dissonance.

Noises off,

Noises cluster fuck into a beautiful rage,

A punk rock symphony.

Mother Earth moans into the fruitfulness of our existence,

Beckoning for a revolution with her furrowed brows