Imagination Immigration Poems

I recall many brights stars
but no moon
for lack of guiding light
we will sink soon

I see ladies 
with much fancier clothes
lowered with room to spare 
in...

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RAGS
You have rags
Of rags
Some bragging rags...
Must be your rag,
Because you have rags
With nothing in them
Except a bifurcate rag;

You have enough rags for life,
For a billion...

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A Child at Tornillo

Telling my story makes it real
Brings it into existence
What I thought I knew
What I know now
Wasn’t real
No matter how 

Well intentioned
Well thought...

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Aaaah haa my love my love
How beautiful this love  love
Love my love because when a
Child is conceived in love and
Grows with love the child...

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7 am morning time. Damian was 
Awakened by his father's phone
Call. "Damian get out of bed, on
Your feet man. We have to attend 
A conference...

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Grandpa Francesco Proia,
from Caserta, Italia,
a clever stowaway 
in the bowels of the ship
bringing him to Ellis Island,
Feb. 4, 1905.
Gruff ways,
often snarling a guttural “Huh,”
a lack...

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I stand in the aftermath 
between the oscillations of time 
wondering idle thoughts of you

I feel my mind haunted by 
the passing moments of you
like...

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The table is old and worn
nicks and scratches 
its red plastic tablecloth left over from a forgotten Christmas
its holiday pattern worn and forlorn
many a Thanksgiving...

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outside my window
somewhere in the dark
a sound I've never heard before...
a bird in distress-a nests width beyond a song..
it is the season of migration
where all...

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Deep in coiled chambered hearts 
mortal designs conspire 
in arcane chamber hearts
pump isometric drugs 
the cathode ray desires
as electric images expire 
what are the strange...

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I grip the shifting sands, the drifting dirt.
I pull the earth and let fall through these rough fingers.

I pull the power of raw nature. 
I...

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Dust
Ashes to ashes
Read as rust fine 
in dust the centuries are lost 
Tomes of history lie in disarray
far away from the terrors of the day...

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What a work is man 
between his heart and hand 
gives birth to creations art 
imagery cast around like pages 
torn from young gods grimoire
Drifting...

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From marble and granite to steel and glass,
we were discussing Rhina Espaillat’s On the Avenue in class,
was it 1950s or 1980s NYC and were the...

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Ghosts in Gray Rains.
All along the rain swept street
Crowed With Ghosts of Lost Sovereign thoughts.
Shadows are carved hard, 
sharp by
Neon Bars. 
My mind wanders in...

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