Saturday, May 6, 2017

Butterfly Dancing

Butterfly Dancing
By Carlos Rodriguez

Don’t fight the morning little butterfly of my heart

This is what you were made for- light spluttering given and received in between the calm tide of sail boats coming back home on spring evenings that I can’t really remember

Rigotta of my heart come into the space where you alone can be nourished by mother

For the good of us all- nourish yourself with timeless simplicity that goes beyond the complex webby things of today

Nourish yourself in desert flowers yet undiscovered yet unseen in the light of the wildflowers

Nourish yourself in their yellow and other colors – we await your nourishment and its fiat for our days of muddy webiness. 

H Ode

H Ode 

By Carlos M. Rodriguez 

An H stirs my heart to waking up from slumbers of letters that speak to me of comfort
I was not meant for comfort. I was meant for flight.
My children will learn how to fly before they learn how to crawl.

Mozart’s blind dreams will drape their umbilical struggles in poetic rain of southern stars- I ode to silence and H’s hidden power- its truth beyond the noise. 

Easter Rising

Suffering is there. Time is an even more savage dog.
Guilt, just as chismosa of an animal: always nagging, judging, cooking shizz-nit up.

Masculine control can get scary: that of dogs and specially that of oranged men.

The trash is picked up as the riggota come in from their competitive sailing.

Friends, join me- stand with me after the long night of despair and shout to the ever-present moon: Yes, we will rise! Our chains are not chains anymore they are the musical instruments that will take off the shackles that hurt us and our beloved.

Orange hair and orange gaseousness will no longer touch this White House or the one on Penn Avenue. Hamilton and his many ghosts have something to say about it- “Over my dead body. Over my immortal soul!”

Resurrection resisting: momento a momento, breath 1 and then breath 2, 3 breath, and then push again and then breathe again, evolving this and every other nation’s sacred paper- Lady liberty will give birth again.
La Resistencia del Sur ha llegado a romper las murallas del Norte. The White House is ours! #resist

Saturday, April 22, 2017

Earth Dreams of Easter

Earth Dreams of Easter
by Carlos M. Rodriguez   

Caterpillar dreams of lazy flights and wings 

We are not yet butterflies. 

A grandfather's promise 
Mine and yours 
Saline pools of heaven 

Lady bug dancing 
Holding up the sky. 

Reach with me now:
I will lay low over the still water 
as it drowns in me all that is not life. 

Join with me now:
Baptism de nuevo...
Easter de nuevo...
Sun-rise (sun-ticklings) de nuevo...

Resisting Suns 
Easter Truths
New songs and new singing-

Walls crumbling-chains into instruments- weapons into plows- south, north, east,west. 

Triumphantly tricking democracy's traitors- 
even the heavens and their angels lend their lady bug and butterfly help. 

Friday, March 3, 2017

Resisting Empire

Resisting Empire
March 3rd, 2017
By Carlos M. Rodriguez Lara

What are we doing to ourselves?
The darkness is our home.
The bridge between our universe and the sun- the darkness the emptiness the root the echoes- languages ever old and always young.

We are the people of the sun.

Let us pay attention:
Repair the bridges, Restore the streets, Renew the children
Our tribalism is an island that will self-explode- Let us lean into our evolution- there is time.

Let us learn to share the feeling of grasping the colored hand of grandmothers and grandfathers.
Ancient vessels that speak to us beyond our cave- leading the way if we only sit still.

Let us sit still.

Let us learn to welcome the stranger, to talk about race, to deconstruct around gender
Privileges are blessings to fall at the feet of another and listen deeply into the callouses of journeys that might have something to teach us.  

Let us sit still.

Let us learn to stand at the picket line, to march against empire, to save this democracy.
Where does it hurt? I hurt too.
My healing can only happen in languages other than my own.

Let us sit still.

Political revolution will begin in our hearts: our memories our imaginations our dreams about one another.