Long Reconsidered Poems
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It was during the summer of 1974,
That three states came beckoning me.
One state pointed North; the other East.
The third state was directing me South.
One was 95 miles away; one was 790 miles;
And the last one beckoning me was 608 miles.
I paced the floor and prayed for divine guidance.
I considered the closest one, but still said, "no".
To the farthest one, I quickly said, "Thanks, but no".
Although I was not like Jonah because to me, God never
said, "Go". However, looking back, I must confess that,
Even in prayer, I was closed-minded about a big Eastern state.
Although I said "No" to the Northern state, I later had serious
second thoughts regarding that Northern state. And I must also confess
that I never reconsidered the Eastern state. In my personal experience,
and as I understand Christianity and the workings of The Holy Spirit;
Even With divine guidance, the human spirit is still involved. And in the
case of one imperfect like myself, going South was a real venture in faith.
I said yes to the Southern state that beckoned me, and God was well pleased.
091823PS
The morning after my suicide
At around maybe, 4 or 5 AM
Before anyone is awake to find me
The air would be as crisp as it was the day I was born
The sun would rise earlier than usual
And the birds would sing a song that's so familiar, it feels new
The wind chimes would hum to the gentle breeze
And every coffee shop would open like nothing ever happened
The trees would dance with the wind
Bacon would sizzle on the pan and eggs would be cracked
The kettle would buzz and despite the objective quietness, it's loudly reassuring
And if I were still alive, I think I would've reconsidered
The morning after my suicide would be beautiful
And I am sad I won't be around to see it
Did a lack of sleep cause all this?
Stars &angels spinning around my head
Tears falling from my lack of sleep
Using a thousand tissues to wipe my nose
Writing like a dead person and not willing to study
Thinking of the pain I have & trying to give up
Just trying to forget the unforgotten
Thinking of love & hate, betrays & faith
Regretting the injures I made
The sorrow I have caused
The hatred you must taste
The accompanies you are forbidden to have
The things that are impossible to happen
Without your sun, without your fun
Without your lessons, without your notes
Without your presents, without your songs
Will you forgive me for what I did?
Will you remember the past you have done?
The daggers that you had?
And after all that that I forgiven but not remembered
But you ignored & never reconsidered
I was thirsty for your care & love
I was missing your chat and log
I was spinning in a word with no sun
You always were there to give me advices in life
& discussions I was concerned about
You always talk to me about school, about parents, about life
When we are close we fight too much, when we are far we talk less much
What in this life that takes so much?
What are objects?
a silly question many will say
an interruption to things of importance..
the chair is the chair..now on to my
daily schedule..uninterrupted please..
however..after much searching to
satisfy desires..pausing with the question
might be finally reconsidered..finding that
an inbred belief in objects can be rattled
with attention to experience..telling of the
frailty of of such belief..
we experience in wholes..not in chairs
claiming their independence..
the chair reconsidered shows up as
perception temporarily..then perceiving..
a walking back to the Reality which
has been quietly waiting for
recognition..
those objects we knew before the question
now appear as they always appeared
but somehow now..satisfying the desires
we had painfully pursued...
Ronald Rump reasonably roasted
Remarkable – recourse retaining rickety
rambling reverence regarding “r.”
Ronald Rump
repugnant racist republican reviled -
rickettsia re:itch ruler.
Rapaciously ravaged
revered reverential rubric.
Radical ruthless renegade
rapidly riotously ripped rigged ramparts.
Refrained retaining remnant
redolent regal, resplendent rafters.
Riches rudely ruptured rooted rectified rights.
Ruckus ricocheted revenant reign.
Ratified rattlebrained rules roil reductionism.
Rambunctious rapscallions rollicked;
rendered ruinous ramifications.
Rusty razor razing revenge rented reprisal.
Rabid rectal rictus rotten
rebranded re-calibrated redoubt.
Rambunctious revolutionaries rejoiced.
Ruffians rode roughshod
routing reigning royalty.
Reiterated revetting robust recidivist rationality.
Rode Rolls Royce relentlessly
rendering rock ribbing.
Riffraff raconteur raised reactionary response.
Revisited rancorous restrictive
redlined realigned rightward rivets.
Robocop ridiculously
rubber-stamped reorganization.
Recalcitrant reactors released rapture.
Rash Russian roulette
reconnaissance raconteurs racked rubles.
Red room reflected Republican RNA.
Rap risible rheumy ratiocinated rug-rats
revoked righteous refulgent repertory.
Rapier robed robbers ransacked
reliquary resounding retaliation.
Retaliatory redcoat regnum
reformation remembered.
Rudy robotically recoiled rapprochement
raison d'être rosily revered
rifled relics raffled.
Rookie raves ripe rackful
rubenesque reliably ranked.
Refulgent rotundity requisite
requirement re: reappointment.
Road-tested, roadworthy
redeem reapportion routed role.
Reprehensible reassignment
rapidly recognizes response.
Rife rampage removed respectability – respect.
Responsible roused restitution refuted.
Risky resultant reconnoitering
runaway railroad reverberated rivalry.
Reflexive ramrod reaction reconfirmed
redoubling ridding revitalization.
Reconfiguration realpolitik reinstated repudiation
rebooting Roosevelt regime reconsidered.
Requisition required resilient reseeding republic.
Regrettable riley roars remorseless ribbing.
Rare recount restoring recondite
renown reprobate Rapunzel.
Republican representatives
rejoice reclaiming reins.
repugnant racist republican reviled - rickettsia re:itch ruler.
rapaciously ravaged revered reverential rubric.
radical ruthless renegade rapidly riotously rips rigged ramparts.
refrains retaining remnant redolent regal, resplendent rafters.
riches rudely rupture rooted rectified rights.
ruckus ricochets revenant reign.
ratified rattlebrained rules roil reductionism.
rumbustious rapscallions rollick; render ruinous ramifications.
rusty razor razing revenge rents reprisal.
rabid rectal rictus rotten rebrands re-calibrate.
rambunctious revolutionaries rejoice.
ruffians ride roughshod routing reigning royalty.
reiterate revetting robust recidivist rationality.
ride Rolls Royce relentlessly rendering rock ribbing.
riffraff raconteur raise reactionary response.
revisit rancorous restrictive redlined realigned rightward rivets.
robocop ridiculously rubber-stamped reorganization.
recalcitrant reactors release rapture.
rash Russian roulette reconnaissance raconteurs rack rubles.
red room reflects republican RNA.
rap risible rheumy ratiocinated rug-rats revoke righteous refulgent repertory.
rapier robed robbers ransack reliquary resounding retaliation.
retaliatory redcoat regnum reformation remembered.
Rudy robotically recoiling rapprochement
raison d'être rosily revered rifled relics raffled.
rookie raves ripe rackful rubenesque reliably ranked.
refulgent rotundity requisite requirement re: reappointment.
road-tested, roadworthy redeem reapportion routed role.
reprehensible reassignment rapidly recognizes response.
rife rampage removes respectability - respect.
responsible roused restitution refuted.
risky resultant reconnoitering runaway railroad reverberates rivalry.
reflexive ramrod reaction reconfirms redoubling ridding revitalization.
reconfiguration realpolitik reinstates repudiation
rebooting Roosevelt regime reconsidered.
requisition requires resilient reseeding republic.
regrettable riley roars remorseless ribbing.
rare recount restoring recondite renown reprobate Rapunzel.
Republican representatives rejoice reclaiming reins
registering retarded romantic remains
re: Rastafarian revered reliquary rests!
So many thoughts permeate my mind that once comforted this body. You replicated the feeling I get when I lay on top of warm clean linens, high-count thread, comfort. The scent of your perfect body exuded, found its way to my heart. I can recount my fingertips trails, as they traced the outline of your spirit's beauty mark. I swiftly believed and felt that your body and life were created to fit mine. How I wished in those moments, the clock of all time would have shattered on those hours our breath intertwined. When our lips met, creating fireworks with my insides. My then intact soul ribbons became completely too weak to dance freely. As your enchanting presence welcomed comfort and blanketed me. You made me feel complete like the largest Russian doll's figure keeps the smaller ones at ease. Your tongue could never taste bad. I remember leaving your presence daydreaming of your life's existence and how could I/me be a part of that. I was nothing like his perfection seen through my eyes. I, to he, was nothing. One day I unfortunately came to realize the feelings of warmth I gathered from his chest, they were not intended to comfort my heart, no, I was just another doll for him to undress. Just another stop on his route, no bead of water from his head did he shed. No sleep has been lost, from that monster in his sinful bed. This feeling of betrayal makes me contemplate future decisions, and choices I make. Like is putting all this work into these waste baskets worth the risk I dare take? TRULY any prior thoughts I considered regarding the love another gives that I blindly and willingly embrace, will now be reconsidered. I still can't believe I bared my naked soul to such a broken, poisoned mind. There are times where I wish I could take back all those feelings I gave you, that I should have just kept inside. However, I can't be mad, I was a willing participant in all of that. I guess we all have life lessons we have to go through. So, thanks, because I now consider some of those learned lessons to be any prior energy I gave to you for free.
my mother’s chancleta
wasn’t footwear -
it was folklore,
a spiritual weapon,
passed down from abuelas
who trained in the mountains
with olympic accuracy.
that chancleta knew geometry -
angles, velocity, wind resistance,
could bend around corners
like it was born with GPS,
could ricochet off walls
with holy precision.
you could sprint down the hallway
like you were running for freedom
and still -
still -
that chancleta would find you
like it remembered your sins
from last week.
my mom never yelled first.
she just lifted her arm slow,
like a priest raising the host,
and the whole apartment held its breath.
we froze,
we repented,
we reconsidered our entire lives
in the span of a heartbeat.
but once that chancleta flew?
ay bendito.
it became prophecy.
there was no ducking,
no hiding behind siblings,
no negotiating with God.
the chancleta chose its target
and justice was served
swift and bilingual.
sometimes we swear
we saw it curve midair,
swerve right,
change direction,
defy physics,
and hit you gently on the shoulder
like it was reminding you,
mira nena, behave.
but after the sting faded,
after the lecture,
after the side-eye of doom,
she’d laugh -
that deep Boricua laugh
that meant we were safe again,
that meant she loved us too much
to let the world teach us harder lessons
than she could.
now, as a mother,
i look at my own chancletas
lining the doorway,
and i swear they vibrate
with ancestral memory -
like they’re ready
if i ever need them.
but i don’t throw them.
instead, i tell the stories:
about my mother,
her perfect aim,
her fierce love disguised
as discipline.
and every time my kids laugh
at the legend of la chancleta,
i feel her hands,
her strength,
her magic -
still teaching,
still protecting,
still flying
in the stories i keep alive.
Silence is a gift gifted by God
It is a time, merely an hour
Accompanied by a dozen of ideas
It is the thing no one can truly obtain
And the secret of so many success
It is the emotion that allows you to experience emotions
With people… silence is never made
With everyday actions, it is never granted
On the edges of dawn, in the minutes of sun rise
You will find it, you will find it there
With the brightness of every sun
That rises, that sets, that shines
Silence, it is the greatness of every second
The overwhelming quietness
That makes us dream while day
Create while night
It is the guest no one can see
No one can truly appreciate
Until lost, until not found
You really wish, you really imagine
How many things it has given you
How many thoughts to be reconsidered
How many hopes to be held high
How many ideas to be made
It is there waiting, just waiting…
To be held, to be used, to be taken-advantage from
It will give, but will not require
Only the silence of time…
The storm is yet a distance,
vocals still at zero, naught--
though lightning does appear;
and like my ear was *****
I tilt to listen...then hearing nothing,
resign to glisten;
Silence can be a messenger;
here light a pigeon carrier,
waking with stirring charges
cold articulate within--carrion of a harmony
city grating long left dumb.
Vivid flashes now make clear
all clouds no slivered linings;
as monstrous canons
would interfere--
shoot them splattering down--
but storm seems lost
its rolling-tongue;
or, perhaps--a higher-power reconsidered;
deciding if riotous voice
that every tingly cochlea-body
when thundered
will have a quiet choice.
Sponsor: Brenda Chiri
Contest Name: Describe a thunder storm without the sense of sound