only quiet these woods
bark green leaves, smell
of jasmine is everything
we wished for this
only ocean gray waters
sand sun toes touch
cold salt wet time
here on winter beach
only nature and words
my notebook of memories
we walked up mountain
your eyes forever sky
only everything, this air
we breathe in together
life, all of it
will go on forever
twisting he tugs
as i imagine white roots
appearing like hardened snow
on gummy blood, my
molar protruding unnaturally
dangling out of jaw socket
waiting for the final yank
and this is what
i came for, the concluding
moment where self leaves
body and is gone
he holds it up for me to see
that indeed life is real
and things do end
just do what i do
five words in a line
just do what i do
be like all the rest
it is just so easy
to lose that inner voice
four words in a line
do not do that
no one wants the poems
give me the photos
no time to look at letters
on a page, and i don’t
really care anyway
about your abstract ideas
related to sound and sunlight
so forget it and paste
your iphone image
on the screen
get to it old man
the future is now
curandera with her
medicinal herbs and
ability to fly
as feathered owl
into sky, bless
me ultima, chicano
spiritual soul power
https://www.latimes.com/obituaries/story/2020-06-30/rudolfo-anaya-dead
This is a second poem by my Grandmother Ethel from her scrapbook.
I found this poem in my Grandmother’s scrapbook, I believe it is from the late 1920’s.
these evenings I stay up
late, just to see what has
accumulated during quarantine
days, overabundant family
time, the same dog walks
over and over, this darkened
hour is the only quiet space
without Zoom, or TikTok,
Netflix, or email invading
every minute, here I am
again, pretending to write
poems, freedom disguised
as ink words on a page
nada nothing zilch
absence of all
form, invisible blank
space, that void
empty of everything
vacant desert, arid
dry heaves, alone
in this brain
without thoughts, vast
darkness between stars
Daniel W. Polk 