Category: Poetry

So the time for rhyme has climbed through the grime

of despair and clarity has shone through the calamity,

singing and dancing along the streets and the beach

means Summer’s on the way and it’s here to stay, but

a personal war cannot be forgotten, a powerful enemy

slain and put in chains, making every blooming flower

a sweet reminder of a personal victory so fervently fought for.

What a horrible Fall, only to Spring back up after a long hibernation.

All is in order and the horizon has no sign of the sun setting, or letting

the demons of Autumn return to rule so unrighteously.

Frightful were those times, but they have since passed, and although left us weary,

leads me to heavily believe in the fruits of slingshot theory:

Hard times don’t mean the world is done,

couldn’t be further from the truth;

Hard times may hold you back for a time,

Only to spring you forward, into the sky, through the roof.

When life throws you lemons, you make lemonade.

When life kicks you down a bad rabbit hole,

you have no choice but to go with it.

Flying down a rocky wonderland that’s anything but wonderful

as the different mythical beasts nip at your heels,

it seems even day-to-day now that hope is futile

instead of one of two of the only people and things

that kept me afloat on this river of tears and

emotional lava:

Hope and Her. She and my own prayers.

My family was there and so was she,

standing in league as the only human beings

I cared to see and often still see now; How

curious it is that I took her for granted,

but all my personal sins I’ve recanted

and I would run a million miles through

it all again with a smile on my face as I panted

to get to where I am now; a place of solace,

a wondrous peace that although sometimes

disrupted is a far cry from the volcano

of my mind that one time hath so

violently erupted.

And I’d do it all over for her,

she is my Christmas Eve,

I’d do it all again, the suffering,

the ups and downs, highs and lows,

For all the unrestrained ‘I love yous’

and kisses we now share in return.

And I’d do it all over, for her,

I’d do it all over with a smile on my face. – RSM

A light string strummed on a cold day,

A percussive mastermind strikes

while sitting on the hard pavement.

A playlist on Spotify sets the tone

for the rest of the time that passes along

before the sun sets and the moon plays her song.

A band on stage captivates the crowd

as the young women flock to the forefront.

Moshers behind them let out their aggression

while the sound guy takes a drink to forget past transgressions.

A million minds in their own little world

as music activates their soul’s ear.

I sing, I dance, I play some myself

whenever I feel that time allows.

I yearn to float like a rain cloud that pours

so when I feel the music vibrating my bones

I spill my heart out on the people below.

When they feel my rain drops they will know

what music does to me.

I just need to chill.

Everything is as it is

and things could be shitty,

but things ain’t so bad at all.

Call me one of the few and proud

who likes to dance and sing it loud

my ring says ‘True Family Love’

for reasons that speak solely

to my old friends and my soul, G!

I never forgot who I was no matter where I went

be it Europe, Queens or down the block

I’m still the happy-go-hardworking-

indifferently-relaxed spiritual being

in a human’s body I’ve always been.

Nevermind sin, I’ve lived

like the mentally rich pauper,

occupying more skies in my dreams

than a thousand flying saucers.

Que sera sera, Murphy’s Law,

YOLO, What goes around comes around,

Lo que paso paso, I’ll be running through My Town.

I’m not done living, I’m just rethinking still.

The best philosophy of all is: Just chill.

I sit in a chair suited for a poor king.

Jacket open, wind swirling about

as I light a cigarette and put it to my mouth.

Inhaling what’s no good for me, I ponder

why the pigeons change directions so abruptly

as they follow the wind currents, flying

unpredictably as the the air’s force coerces them.

A feeling of peace enters my nervous system

as I exhale into the sun. Free. Serene. Euphoric.

I look down at the streets below me and think of

how many tiny humans exist from here to Long Island.

How different and similar it would be to live somewhere else.

This little moment of clarity reminds me

that we all take smoke breaks here and there

and there’s no shame in it, even if you don’t smoke.

This overwhelming peaceful feeling

that invades my body like nature’s hippie bacteria

is nothing short of a miracle;

I let my body hang over the chair

and soak in the sun.

Certain songs leave me paralyzed.

It’s not easy to relive childhood memories

when growing up is all that’s on your mind.

Singing along to Marc Anthony

was my reality across this living room

twenty years ago.

It’s on VHS tapes

that will never see the light of day

except for family gatherings

of rarity and importance.

I exist as I always have, yet

so much has happened since

I was in diapers.

My life has seen many a happening.

throughout this experience I’ve danced,

sang, laughed and lived too many times

to not say it all brings me back to my origins:

Salsa music, the living room

where I’ve always lived

now a beautiful collection of framed pictures

each recanting memories of sonrisas y bailar

and trips to places I never thought I would go.

I don’t know how to fail because

all is never lost if I can smile

through all the personal tragedy.

I was born to laugh

and trained to work hard;

a combination that left other

dancers in the dust.

Be it plaques on the wall

or lighting up the eyes of others,

I live to be happy.

Of all the hard times, accomplishments and

memories for better or worse

the smiles resonate so radiantly

and I am proud of who I am. – RSM

As I watch other poets

retell their fake lives

on this nightmarish eve that falls

a strange sense of jealousy comes over me.

Am I living mine or giving mine to them?

As Ms. Roberts goes on her own journey.

Good gone bad gone bored gone to be mystified

by the hypnosis machine of old.

How awkward things have gotten in the realm of Ms. Roberts.

I love it. Tres adventurous. She just puked. – RSM