my name is

Might-have been

Daniel Gabriel Rossetti

by Roberto Lavidez

I was

a child

beneath

her touch-

a man

when breast

to breast

we clung

her smiles

her glances’

sweet recall

of love

her murmuring

sighs

memorial

o to-day

and the day

to come after!

loose me

love –

give breath

to my

laughter!

her eyes

were like

the wave

within

like

water-reeds

the poise

of her

soft body

dainty

thin

her voice

was swift

yet ever

the last

words

fell

lingeringly

well

I suppose

it was hard

to part

for here

I am

and now

sweetheart

you seem

too tired

to get

to bed

shall we

not lie

as we

have lain

thus for

love’s sake

and sleep

and wake

yet never

break

the chain?

not in

thy body

is thy life

at all

but in

this lady’s

lips and

hands

and eyes

shall not

we at

the sun’s

hour

that day

possess

the shade

and claim

our fruit

before

its ripeness

fade and

eat it

from the

branch

and praise

the tree?

unto

my lady

still

this harp

makes

moan

and still

she deems

the cadence

deep and

clear

making me

rich with

every tone

and touch

of the dear

heaven

so long

unkown

that filled

my dreams

with flame

gather

a shell

from the

strown

beach and

listen at

its lips

they sigh

the same

desire and

mystery

the echo

of the whole

sea’s speech

so it is

my dear

all such

things touch

secret things

for heavy

hearts

to hear

so it is

my dear

look in

my face

my name is

Might-have

been

I am also

called

No-more

Too-late

Farewell

like a

vapour

wan and

mute

like a flame

so let it

pass

©robertolavidez2014

alas! Percy

Bysshe Shelley

by Roberto Lavidez

alas!

I have

nor hope

nor health

nor peace

within

nor calm

around

the everlasting

universe

of things

flows through

the mind

rolls its

rapid waves

the flower

that smiles

today

to-morrow

dies;

all that

we wish

to stay

tempts

and then

flies

the race

of man

flies far

in dread

his work

and dwelling

vanish

like smoke

before the

tempest’s

stream

and their

place is

not known

whoever

should

behold me

now

I wish

would think

I were a

mighty

mechanist

from the

ends of

the earth

from the

ends of

the earth

where the

night has

its grave

and the

morning

its birth

come

come

come!

drive my

dead

thoughts

over the

universe

like withered

leaves

to quicken

a new

birth!

one word

is too often

profaned

for me to

profane it

as I have

said

I floated

to the earth

it was

as it is

still

the pain

of bliss

to move

to breathe

to be

why linger

why turn back

why shrink

my heart?

let the

charged

artillery

drive

till the

dead air

seems

alive

when

passion’s

trance is

overpast

if tenderness

and truth

could last

what art

thou

freedom?

o! could

slaves

answer

from their

living

graves

and anarchy

the skeleton

bowed and

grinned

to every

one

or as they

whom we

have left

we change

and pass

away

©robertolavidez2014

Rozewicz sobbing

by Roberto Lavidez

my biography

has neared

its end

several times

already

I don’t

comprise

a whole

I’ve been

broken and

dismantled

out of

this life

however

I crystallize

impure poetry

inside me

there is

something

no I cannot

describe it

there is

something

inside me

I remember

that something

should connect

with something

else

express

something

but I do not

know

to what end

these words

are empty

and equivalent:

man and

animal

love and

hate

foe and

friend

dark and

light

my body

opens up

animals

jump out

mutely sniff

the night

the dead

recall our

silence

do I have

to flee

my home

at night

when it’s

stormy

and die

well then

shortly after 

this whole

history 

end

history with

a small h

I’ll get

to work

yes!

he who

knows

does nothing

he who does

knows

nothing

and so

life goes!

I had been

writing for

a long time

then I noticed

there was

no pen

in my hand

how

wonderful

I can pick

berries

in the woods

I thought

there were

no woods

or berries

the poet

while writing

has his back

to the world

to the

disorder of

reality

remember

that if

the devil

wants

to kick

somebody

he won’t

do it

with his

horse’s hoof

but with his

human foot

if humankind

disentangles

itself from

flora and fauna

the earth

will regain

its beauty

and lustre

alas

a revolving

door was

recently

installed

now I spend

my time

entering

and exiting

my lips

taking shape

around

countless

spoken words

sometimes

life obscures

that which is

greater

than life

©robertolavidez2014

an affair

with poems

(Weaver, Brooks, Hughes,

Moore, Hayden, Komunyakaa,

Ellis, Jackson, Shakur, McCray,

Finney, Sanchez, Derricotte,

Giovanni, Seibles, Neal, Dunbar,

Bingham, Hayes, Wright)

by Roberto Lavidez

yesterday

I was 

nothing but 

a road

heading

four ways

tonight

I’m moving

traveling

beyond

modern

mumbling 

to a 

prehistoric

groan

why should

the world be

overwise

in counting

all our tears

and sighs?

we live

live

spirit lives

and sound

lives

bluebird lives

lives

and leaps

it seems like

secretly

there’s a

big joke

being

played

if I didn’t

know

better

I’d say

the sun

never moved

ever

that

somebody

just pasted

it there

and said

the hell

with it

but that’s

impossible

long live

the rose

that grew

from concrete

when no

one else

even cared!

listen to it

closely

ain’t you

heard

something

underneath

like a –

what did I say?

a ye ye ye ye

ye ye ye

a yo yo yo yo

yo yo yo

da a ye

loom boom

da a ye

loom boom

I think

of the

delicate skull

of the Taung

child –

earliest of

the human

beings

emerged

from

darkness

dream

within

a dream

our dream

deferred

I would

have bled

for my

cause

to clear

the fight

out of

my system

I show

an old

rough face

that has

laughed

and cried

with lips

that want

to pucker

against

your candy

cheeks

the sweet

flowers

indrying

and dying

down

the grasses

forgetting

their blaze

and

consenting

to brown

words rolled

from under

the pressure

of my

ballpoint

love

baby

honey

please

I want

to have

an affair

with your

poems

no bullet

holes

no open

wounds

in your

words

all their

stanzas

look alike

all their

third

worlds

when it

belongs

at last

to all

when

it is

truly

instinct

brain matter

diastole

systole

reflex action

what if 

I came

upon you

in the road

sealed

in the

gray ash

of your

indecision

abandoned

by angels

death caught

in full stride

like walking

liberty

then

my blood

was cooled

mercifully

cooled by

a baptism

of gasoline

a ye ye ye ye

ye ye ye

a yo yo yo yo

yo yo yo

da a ye

loom boom

da a ye

loom boom

©robertolavidez2014

unlocking Rilke

by Roberto Lavidez

you’re

withdrawing

from me

hour

the beating

of your

wings

leaves me

bruised

once and

forever

it’s Orpheus

when there’s

song

he comes

and goes

look

I’m one

of those

whom

everything

has

abandoned

no one

in the city

knows

of me

leprosy’s

my lot

even

the rain

runs softer

over the

stone’s

quietly

darkening

glow

behold

the flowers

those true

to the

earthly

to whom

we lend

fate from

the edge

of fate

yet who

can say?

mirrors:

no one

who’s tried

to solve

you

has yet

unlocked

your true

being

and chair

table

cupboard

chest

hat

coat and

shoes

all shall

stay as

they are;

but these

forms

are none

of mine

ah

the spectre

of transcience

through the

guilelessly

receptive

it passes

like wisps

of smoke

everything

wants to

float

and yet

we move

about

like weights

attaching

ourselves

to everything

in thrall

to gravity

a play of

pure forces

which

no one

touches

without

kneeling

in awe

why must

a man

go about

and take

unknown

things

so much

upon

himself

we drive

and are

driven

but time’s

stride

think of it

lost in

the ever

remaining

the summer

drones

the afternoon

drags on

ah

but the

city of

pain

how strange

its streets:

look

I am

living

on what?

neither

childhood

nor future

grows less…

overabundant

existence

wells up

in my

heart

we with

words

and pointing

fingers

gradually

make the

world

our own

we keep

remembering

it’s as

though

everything

would have

a second life

and we

spectators

always

everywhere

looking at

never out of

everything!

you must

suffer long

not knowing

what

until

suddenly

out of

bitterly

chewed

fruit

your

suffering’s

taste

comes forth

in you

to have

come

through it:

to have

joyfully

survived

even the

happiness

quietly

completely

©robertolavidez2014

Die Hard

Lawrence

by Roberto Lavidez

farewell

farewell

despedida!

the last of

my days

is gone

…it is dark

and the

door

is open

to the

depths

something

in me

remembers

and will not

forget

when you

sleep and

know it not

the grey dog

creeps

among you

I think

in my

convulsion

the skies

would break

I was so

weary of

the world

I was so

sick of it

to me

all faces

are dark

all lips

are dusky

and valved

what has

happened

in the world

the women

are like

little

volcanoes

all more or

less in

eruption

am I lost?

has death

set me

apart

beforehand?

I am not

sure

I would

always

fight for

my life

life might

not be

worth

fighting for

o destiny

destiny

do you

exist

and can

a man

touch

your hand?

what is god

we shall

never know!

we feel

the sun

yet we are

not living

perhaps

we shall

come to

oblivion

the surface

of dreams

is broken

the picture

of the past

is shaken

and scattered

and everything

is gone

the body

is gone

completely

under

gone

entirely gone

so shall I

take my last

dear fuel

of life

to heap

on my soul

we’ve made

a great mess

of love

since we

made an

ideal of it

what we

need indeed

is a new

frame of

society

let us rally

for our

own sanity

and even

our collective

sanity

what are we

o what

are we

immaculately

conceived

ah death

death

you are no

solution!

all that

we have

while we

live

is life

now let me

be myself

in the being

one of

the gods

you don’t

know that

I exist

and I

don’t know

that you

exist

now then!

©robertolavidez2014

incomplete

blossoming

of Charlie Smith

by Roberto Lavidez

I’ve 

compared

notes with

fools and

found 

myself

wanting

I’ve taken

too many

things

seriously

for example:

that there is

inherent

seriousness

in everything

if we can 

just locate it

it being

our duty

to try

it appears

we’ll be here

just long

enough

for whatever

the thing is

that knows

no human

reason

to have

its say

everyone

knows that

the world

still indifferent

to special

treatment

grants itself

compensation

for the trouble

it’s gone to

what are

they saying

you wonder

and remember

that was

what you

wondered then

I’m not

surprised at 

wasted days

whole seasons

spent in the

wrong house

I still

don’t know

what kind

of man I am

I slip out

among

the buds

and incomplete

blossoming

I was

thinking of

a woman

I loved

who wouldn’t

love me

I thought

I would

never get

past this

I sense

the phantom

musculature

surrounding

old love affairs

now warped

and peeling

like wooden

tennis rackets

better a

quiet nook

uptown

a room

with faded

yellow light

and Monk

on the piano

nothing

to do but

turn around

when you

get back and

they ask

you say

you had

to be alone

with my

fixations and

night sweats

rearing from

the dust

and acclaim

of dreams

I could

tell you

I am

tired of

marriage

of ambition

and effort

but who isn’t

and how

would that

explain

my survival

and make

its triumph

touch you?

sometimes

you wait

a while

for the bus

the bus of

happiness

probably

just now

passing

the fried

pie hutch

or crossing

the stream

like an

old lady

I didn’t

know

I could

grieve

love’s loss

so long

I had

no idea

I want you

to know

that my life

is a ritual lie

and that

I deserve

to be loved

anyway

©robertolavidez2014

Tennyson on 

a broken wing

by Roberto Lavidez

my life

has crept

so long

on a broken

wing

thro’ cells

of madness

haunts of

horror

and fear

I have

forgotten

what I

meant:

my mind

stumbles

and all my

faculties

are lamed

so many

worlds

so much

to do

so little

done

such things

to be

half

the night

I waste

in sighs

half in

dreams

I sorrow

after

when in

the down

I sink

my head

sleep

death’s

twin-brother

times

my breath

yes

as your

moanings

witness

and myself

am lonelier

darker

earthlier

for my loss

so runs

my dream:

but what

am I

an infant

crying

in the

night

so to bring

relief to this

which is our

common

grief

what kind

of life

is that

I lead

the woods

decay

the woods

decay and

fall

and idle

gleams

will come

and go

but still

the clouds

remain

woman

disturb me

not now

at the last

but let me

hold my

purpose

till I die

mere matter

of the fancy

now hath

grown

the vast

necessity

of heart

and life

I will not

eat my

heart alone

nor feed

with sighs

a passing

wind

my own

dim life

should teach

me this

that life

shall live

for evermore

whatever

I have

said or sung

some bitter

notes

my harp

would give

go not

happy day

from the

shining fields

go not

happy day

till the

maiden

yields

behold

I dream

a dream

of good

and mingle

all the

world

with thee

and ah

for a man

to arise

in me

that the

man

I am

may cease

to be

the memory

like a

cloudless air

the conscience

as a sea

at rest

a thousand

suns will

stream

on thee

a thousand

moons

will quiver

©robertolavidez2014