Friday, April 29, 2011


Expectation is a prison.

Let go and you will be free.

Saturday, April 16, 2011


My father is a strange man
Who at times was a stranger
A boisterous Dominican
But strangely enough
Shrouded his son in silence

My father is a simple man
Que come su arroz y carne sin sazon
Sesenta anos sufriendo en el silencio

I have nightmares
Because I never knew my father’s dreams

I was smitten with resentment
I embraced her jagged figure
18 years, 5 sports and never once
Counted his countenance at a court
I don’t know what my father’s applause sounds like

My quandary:
Knowing where my father is
And still feeling fatherless

He called me yesterday
And in between flat niceties
He said “te quiero”
So I forgave him
Because even when we fall far from the tree
We yearn for our roots

Sunday, February 6, 2011

Columbia Social Haiku

Recently Columbia University created an establishment in the Heights (168th and Broadway) called Columbia Social. This haiku is dedicated to them and their constituency.

Anyone who eats
At Columbia Social
Is a deu-uuuce bag

Butterscotch Skin

Butterscotch skin
I <3 the way the sun
Kisses your melanin
Deep with your lips
And then it drips
Down to your hips
And it moves slowly
Because even the sun knows
Time with you is precious.

Caramel complexion
I <3 the way the earth
Moves at your discretion
You are the reason seasons change
And why the timeless remains
And why spring comes
At the mention of your name.

The earth knows you
And has blessed you
In it’s image.

You are my favorite color
You are brown skinned
Like god made the outline
And I colored you in
And I took my time
-And I stayed within the lines
But you are more than a color
And truly no one color
Could describe your beauty

You are the color of samba
Danced by almas
Covered in palmas
Remixed and switched to salsa
El color de aire en alta montanas
El color cuando Dios te acompana

Only God could plan this
You are the color of joy
And my heart is your canvas

1 Poem for 1 Bullet

I thought art did not have the faculties
To support the weight of such tragedy
Yet we are here
Stone faced at ill fate
Tears waiting and ready

We the masters of expression fear our inability
To fully represent our lament
-Look at poets with a loss of words-

I thought a poem had no place here
It is ill equipped to reach even reach the tip
To properly deal with the politicians

Yet we are here
One poem for one bullet
Trying to do what legislation couldn’t
And I thought poems were never meant to
But this has become natural
We have learned from the tradition of our foremothers

Poems protecting the people we are close to
Doing the job the government was supposed to
And the reason THEY did not shed tears
Is why words have a place here.

1 poem for 1 bullet.

La Herida

La herida
Mas dolorosa
Es la que
No matas

Y no la causa
La bala,
La espada,
O los punos

Es la traicion
Del Corazon

La que te
Deja vivo
Sin esperanza
De un fin

Estrellas (Belleza en Juarez, Mexico)

Ella tiene estrellas por ojos
Y cuando la miro veo la galaxia
-Soy Galileo

Ella tiene estrellas por ojos
Y cuando la miro me enamoro
-Soy romeo

Da pena que el hombre quisiera que el unvierso
Girara alrededor de el
El hombre no tiene el poder de reconstruir los cielos
Ni el derecho de robar las estellas.