Best Lopez Poems
Love’s Luculent Light
Beyond the portals of time exist immaculate immortals incarnates of light,
helped by the Angels to seed sempiternal love into our earthly existence.
In Perpetuum within the gardens of bliss where love is benevolently breathed,
upon its creation a vortex of golden light emanating from the veils of eternity.
~~~
Beyond all that is, love travels through light and finally rests upon my face,
as the pores absorb its ecstatic ever essence, my body resonates in ecstasy.
Beyond the realms of reality, my love spreads throughout the infinite voids,
until it gently falls and rests on your flavorous face... thus a new love is born.
Jennifer Lopez - Feel The Light (From The Original Motion Picture Soundtrack, Home)
June.28.2018
Eight lines of fate, when you wonder if it is too late
Sponsored by: Silent One
From a babe to a man, I needed your hand. Now I understand, it was part of God's
ultimate plan. I was to be raised by another woman. Don't get me wrong, Grandmomma was something! She gave me all the love a child could need. She was always there for me. Truly a blessing! No Mother, you don't owe me a thing. Not even an explanation. I can't sing, so I wrote this dedication, tTo show my appreciation.
Momma, Momma you're still #1. No matter the distance; rRegardless of what you've done. As God is my witness, I'm still your son.
Yes I hold resentments, and that is hard to ignore. My hurt I can't hide. When
you kicked me out. And out of your three children, why was I the one you let go?
From afar you watched me grow. Did you worry about my well being? On the surface, looks can be deceiving. No, I was not well. I was actually a child living in hell. Easy for you to say "It's over, it's the past". I was forced to grow up too fast!
Momma, Momma you're still #1. No matter the distance. Regardless of what you've done. As God is my witness. I'm still your son.
I remember spending the night with you and that was such a treat, just to escape the hurt from being beat. Looking back it was a real tragedy. I felt you didn't love me. You were my Mother but you gave me up so easily. Grandmomma became my only family. The only person I could rely on. But now she's gone. Even now as a grown man, I feel so alone. If I could sing, this would be my song--
Momma, Momma you're my queen. For you I would do anything. I just want you to be proud of me. Whatever I've done, please accept my apology. I'm not perfect, never claimed to be.
But I am strong. Especially dealing with this pain for so long. I just hope we can finally be a family when I come home.
Dedicated to my Momma "Phyllis Ann Lopez"
Note: Thank you Poetry Soup for allowing me to share another piece of my life. From both
pieces "For Grandmomma" to this piece "For Momma" you can picture my relationships with
both women. My mother was far from perfect...But no one is perfect and I love her all the
same! Jimmy
Billowing, foamy currents
Lofty, turquoise drifts
Undulate as waves
Rage through the calm of heaven
As the golden stalks
Bend in fields below
Like hungry fire consuming
All life in its path
Seemingly engulfed
The cypresses are the same;
Ensnared in the grip
Of restless fury
By the skyward, emerald flame
Would Vincent approve
Of his brilliant work
Being perceived violently?
I am oft' amazed
How a piece of art
Takes on a life of its own
Interpretation
Lives within the heart
And soul of the beholder
Not merely the eye
Vincent Van Gogh's painting, "Yellow Wheat and Cypresses" was my inspiration.
For submission in Abe Lopez' contest, "Van Gogh's Van Goghs".
Steamy sultry night
Stars and lovers hearts ablaze
Midnight encounter
Copyright © 2009 Lena “Lolita” Townsend
Inspired by Abe Lopez ~ Haiku Seasons Contest
Not only is he my friend;
He’s the Mayor of my hometown.
His eyes oversee the place,
That I so love to be around.
Whether it’s canvas or a page,
He graces it with artistic hands.
Bringing out his desired emotions,
That his patient heart commands.
With a love for teaching art,
His creative mind explores.
And amps up all who know him,
To want to accomplish more.
We have the same passion,
In the landscapes that we shoot.
And have our haiku sessions,
And post them on Poetry Soup.
He has a vast love for helping,
And dabs carpentry.
He gives his best to the canvas,
And to the stanzas of his poetry.
His giving heart keeps giving,
And he loves it, is what he says.
He’s a master of the short form,
And his name is Abe Lopez.
________________________
For Abe Lopez, a fellow souper
and friend for his support on and off
Poetry Soup, God bless you.
I have found it at last
Flower told in legends past
Its color vibrant as gold
My furry body it will hold
I have had no color since my birth
This is the only color left on Earth
Its yellow beauty is so bright
Brighter than the noon sun’s light
Now on my flower I must feed
The flavor-filled pollen it will bleed
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This is for a picture Abe Lopez asked me to write a poem on from Raul Moreno's pictures
During the Christmas holidays a candle is continuously lit.
It is in your memory to let you know I'll never forget.
Each year that passes gets harder than I like to admit.
I sit by the fire reminiscing while I smoke a midnight cigarette.
Your vanilla scented candle burns on the coffee table.
I admit when you passed I wasn't mentally stable.
You would be proud of me because eventually I pulled myself together.
I remember you warned me so many times you wouldn't be here forever.
You were my superwoman, I believed you were tough as steel.
This candle along with your memory helps me to heal.
It's kinda like you're right here with me.
I think of you as I put each ornament on the Christmas tree.
Tears roll down my cheek as I whisper your sweet name.
Inside my heart resides your eternal flame.
*I love you momma Merry Christmas Queen.....
Billie Jean Alexander Lopez...May 1, 1937 - July 26, 2007
I flip the history of Bojangles
On a cool Sunday evening
Los Angeles coming down
A flow of oboes breathing
Through the lung of the street
The hobo not stopping for air
Fingers moving in a dance
Across the strings of consciousness
Milking the music of his brain
Onto a breast
Of dilated ears.
Mr. Lopez, unsettled from his comfortable chair
Searching for something to tell
Against the neon of despair
Heard the dulcimer quelling hell
And saw himself standing bare
To the sheetless eyes
Of a man serenading Beethoven
Deaf as a statue
In the city's superfluous air.
Here is where humanity
Sings hope amidst the garden
Of hopelessness
That make direlict dreams
Tugging our divinity
Down to rags of nothingness.
Mr. Ayers, a quaver away
Juliard school in love aspiring
Suddenly there fallen
Amidst the glitter and glamor
Of non-existence
Peace, a basoon
Seducing a Los Angeles moon
Coy as a lover
In the tangle of wine memory
He plays against
The unkown sorrow of the world.
And here dedication
Drives us to distraction
Soon or late
Decomposing our minds
Into shards of glistening memories.
Discovery, today beholding yesterday
A bride for the first time
Amidst the silence of flowers
Cradling weeds and seeds of tomorrow.
Love without purpose
Can change the course
Of splintering history.
He plays, harmony
In where the traffic blares
Yellow light onto his gray matter
Splitting airs with sharp sounds
They echo
Not the common pit, nor
To a single Maestro blending
The mind's kaleidoscope
Before the other's saner wit
Along highways and wind tunnels
He brings to a sombre note
To ode all joys
Strugling repressed under
Human ambition
Ayers is my minstrel
Jarred by a nerve
Not wired for sleep.
Fortune smiles
From the frontier of friendhsips
Fondled by the music
Of love unfranchised
Awakes the lyre
To sing in the resurrection of desire.
Friendship is a sheltering tree
From life's base tragedies.
Con't from Pt 1
At two years old your motherly instincts took me away./ What could my "mother" say,/ she
was married to a man who had a violent hand./ I was too young to understand./ But being
with Grandmomma was God's plan./ There was never a time I was too old for you to hold./
You protected me from abusive hands./ You would take beatings in my place from your old
man./ Vile names would sting my young ears./ Your arms would comfort me and you would
wipe away my tears./
I remember as a child, Thursdays,/ being the best days./ A movie, then a toy,/ and ice
cream could be no greater joy./ I was Grandma;'s boy/ You kept my belly full with home
cooked meals./ You were the one who watched me ride my first bike without traiining
wheels./
You use to tuck me into bed./ Read me a story and kiss my head./ The times I was sick with
fever,/ you watched over me without catching a breather./
For twenty-nine years your love was unconditional and without end./ You were not only
my Grandmomma but my Mother, Father, my friend./ I pray my words spiritually reach to
you beyond those pearly gates./ Because like in life, and in death, God had made us
eternally Soulmates!/ I love you momma.....
Billie Jean Alexander Lopez May 1, 1937-July 26, 2007
Note: I just finally finished this piece for my momma, It took 2 years!
The form of poetry is "spoken work" Thought I would share this piece with you guys.
It's a deep personal piece and I hope it "reads well"
Jimmy
Goosies
Jennifer Lopez gets them a lot
when she listens to singers on American Idol.
Perhaps it happened to me a few times, but I can’t recall
the specific time that a song gave me the goosies.
Those crazy little pimples above which the hairs stand erect
most usually on our arms
occur when people are moved by things:
music, dance, emotions.
Also things that creep us out or give us great fear
can give us the chills or goosebumps.
My mother used to say, “When you get a sudden chill
for no specific reason, it means that someone
just walked over your grave.”
That happened for me just a couple of times.
Maybe my future burial spot is a little bit remote!
As I think and think about it, I can recall at least one time
this strange phenomenon known as goosebumps
caused not just my arms, but nearly my entire body,
to resemble that of a plucked bird!
It was back in ‘74 and I was with a small group of students
visiting the coast of the Mediterranean Sea off Spain’s beautiful Valencia.
It was late winter (or perhaps very early spring).
All my life I wanted to say I had swum in a sea far from America!
Though the temperature was extremely cold for swimming,
I dared myself to venture out into the Mediterraean that day.
As the others in my group dared only to poke their toes into the ice-cold water,
I submerged my entire body. What a shock it was!
Nevertheless, for at least twenty minutes, I lay on my back,
letting my body float and float,
drifting with the tide while making sure to keep close by the shore.
When I noticed the group was wanting to leave, I swam back.
As I sat in the bus with a towel wrapped around me, I shivered uncontrollably
and my skin puckered up as the hairs rose up on both my legs and arms.
I had been foolish that day, but I felt proud to say
I had swum in the Mediterranean Sea.
Nov. 14, 2019 for the 'Goosebumps' Poetry Contest of Delilah Ventura
A painter of words,
And a painter on canvas;
An artist at heart.
___________________
Dedicated to my friend,
Abe Lopez
The fire burns deep within my heart
As ice forms on arms and limbs
The evil one approaches
With a smile and a knife
To be twisted in my stomach
The witch of Acambaro looks like an angel
But her dagger can pierce both heart and soul
She is the five Pillars
Darkness
Anger
Greed
Envy
Bitterness
Pilar Lopez Diablo
Raised by nuns, her values none
She spreads hers smile
For a few pesos
False hopes and empty dreams
She surely shall make you scream
Bury me naked, if you must
Wear a black veil, you stole my trust
Draw blood and make me swim in my own juices
I shall float in my bloody pain
On the Día de Muertos
I shall sing back to you
Oh Catrina, lady of the dead
You lie tormented
For you have all of me in blood
Except my heart
Notes:
La Calavera Catrina ('Dapper Skeleton', 'Elegant Skull'
The “Day of the dead” can be traced back to the Aztec festival dedicated to the goddess Mictecacihuatl. Catrina would be the modern name of this God.
S taying up late making
tamales
A n afternoon poker game
C ramming together in a small
house
R eminding the young ones
how bad we used to have it
I nclement weather can’t keep
siblings apart
F amily getting together,
sharing great memories
I ntroducing my son to cousins
he has never met
C radling the young ones as
they try to wait up for Santa
E xpressing our love through
cards, gifts, calls, sweets, and
visits
+++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++
Inspired by brians contest "love
came down"
Crumble
brothels sprout
flesh peddlers collect their fees
selling daughters
in twos and threes
Lopez or Diaz
lazy or defiant
escaped
in polluted lagoons
the virus spreads
Dancing with the dead
priests absolve the devils
in their mist
Pilar sold her virginity
for a few bars of gold
wrapped in an old ladies hatred
she murdered her vows
Mexico is a land of smiles
the knife only glints
in the Aztec sun
as they bury you
after eating your heart
Crisp leaves gaily dance
As red and gold parchment gowns
Swirl on Autumn winds
Inspired by Abe Lopez' contest, Haiku Seasons