odes of

all Nerudas

by Roberto Lavidez

I like you

as clay

and sand

I hold you

and shape

you

as you

shaped me

I touch you

and you open

like a faded

rose that

revives for

me alone

my breast

opens like

a bough

light’s

poppies

quiver in

our hearts

the water

flows and

sings

the sky

overhead

is a warm

corolla

your heart

of earth

lent

fertility

and force

to my songs

odes of all

colors

and sizes

seraphic

azure or

violent

odes to eat

odes to dance

odes to track

to be and

not to be

between

waves

that flooded

the universe

with light

of song

I paused

suddenly

to dedicate

a line of

my ode

you would

think that

horses were

galloping

across the

sky

white

mountains

fall

chairs and

armchairs

fall

and so

it was

that night

shadow

and space

earth

and time

something

that flows

and falls

and passes

oh

the land

of nights

we have

never lived

©robertolavidez2014  

when am I not

Saul Williams

by Roberto Lavidez

if I am now

when am I

not?

I am

the storm

that will

make your

sunny days

unbearable

there is

no escape

from the

time and

place

where

fiction

occurs

the game

of happily

ever after

love is

a cruel

farce

I cry out

from the

sinew

out from the

agonized

clutch

of my chest

there is a

meditation

on dying

on mornings

when a song

is played

and the

only crying

of bitter

pain is

pressed

into pillows

suddenly

everything is

so comforting

lakes frozen

to the

bottom

a forest

cathedral

a trembling

voice

that sings

there was

no way

to say

goodbye

that last day

I tried

the guilt

that I feel

is freedom

I say

I am

the apple

that announces

the gravity

of a given

situation

how sad

it is

to be

revered

by everyone

except those

your heart

bleeds

for the

most

if we could

stop and smell

the flowers

we planted

long ago

maybe

I will

find it

under

the rug

or swept

into a corner

that I

never visit

are we

so loving

that we love

what hates us

that we love

what breaks us

who told you

you could

expose

your wings

©robertolavidez2014  

Edward Thomas

out of the wood

of thoughts

by Roberto Lavidez

I have

come

a long way

today

on a

strange

bridge

alone

some eyes

condemn

the earth

they gaze

upon

some wait

patiently

till they know

far more

than earth

can tell them

time swims

before me

making as

a day

a thousand

years

I could

not be

as the sun

nor should

I be

content

to be

as little

as the bird

or as

mighty

as the sun

we look and

understand

we cannot

speak

except in

trifles

and words

the most

weak

it is enough

to smell

to crumble

the dark

earth

the oak

saw the

ages

pass in

the forest

they were

a host

but their

memories

are lost

if I flew

now

to another

world

I’d fall

I sought

for nests

wild flowers

oak

sticks

and moles

both far

and near

out of the

wood of

thoughts

that grows

by night

to be

cut down

by the

sharp axe

of light

from

somewhere

in the

bushes

by a bird

over and

over again

a pure

thrush word

sometimes

a thought

is drowned

by it

sometimes

out of it

climbs

all thoughts

begin

or end

upon this

sound

and all

was earth’s

or all

was sky’s

no difference

endured

between

the two

if I should

lose my

head

why…

I should

want nothing

more

©robertolavidez2014  

the world

of Lorca

by Roberto Lavidez

out in

the world

no one

sleeps

no one

no one

let there be

a panorama

of open eyes

and bitter

inflamed

wounds

agony

agony

dream

ferment and

dream

this is the

world

my friend

agony

agony

the naked

look on

my face

trembling

in alcohol

and launching

incredible

ships

through the

anemones

of the piers

I want the

powerful

air from

the deepest

night to

blow away

flowers and

inscriptions

from the

arch where

you sleep

the dead

decompose

beneath the

city clocks

war passes by

in tears

followed by

a million

gray rats

who could

imagine my

sadness

the look

on my face

was mine

but now

isn’t me

how hard

they try

how hard

the horse

tries to

become

a dog

how hard

the dog tries

to become

a swallow

how hard

the swallow

tries to

become

a bee

how hard

the bee

tries to

become

a horse

©robertolavidez2014  

Soviet writers

laugherize laughily

( Khlebnikov, Akhmatova,

Pasternak, Voznesensky,

Mandelstam )

by Roberto Lavidez

it is to

tear away

the outer layer

from objects

to see

the world

without it’s

wrappings

vicious

schemes

and bargee

walls

clearings

dissolve

into us

as night

dissolves day

as the windows

dissolve into

the garden

and suck in

the lilac

and only

kisses are

left to us

as fuzzy as

the little bees

that die when

they leave

their hive

what if

the universe

must wear

a mask

what if

there are

no latitudes

that don’t

ask to have

their mouths

puttied up

for the

winter?

you and I

are a

mountain

of grief…

you and I

will never

meet

it seems

to me

I am

speeding

in a cart

in a jolting

dash across

a frozen

field

my life

has been

secretly

changed

and flows

along

another

course

past other

landmarks

and I

do not

know

my banks

o laugh

it out

you laughletes!

that laugh

with laughs

that laugherize

laughily

slowly

I get out

my glasses

and it’s really

as though

the chimneys

craned

their necks

and the

muse’s barely

heard voice…

and we will

cherish

this hardly

audible

rustle of

feet for a

thousand

years…

then at night

poetry

I’ll squeeze

you dry

to the

health

of my

greedy

paper

I’ll pass

as image

enters into

image

and as one

object

cuts through

another

it’s a disgrace

and signifies

nothing

to be the

story on

everyone’s

lips

it is

unbearable

when

undressed

in all the

posters

in all the

papers

having

forgotten

that there is

a heart

in the

centre

the more

I thought:

and I too

out of crude

weight

will some day

create a thing

of beauty

for the quiet

joy of living

and breathing

tell me

to whom

should I

offer

thanks?

©robertolavidez2014  

the song of

Jim Harrison

by Roberto Lavidez

I’m an

old man

surging

upriver

on the

back of

my dream

horse

that I

haven’t

seen

since I

was ten

out of

almost

nothing for

practical

purposes

nothing

then back

as ancient

children

to the great

nothing

again

the song

of man

and water

moving to

the ocean

nothing to

console

the morning

but the dried

grasshopper

on my desk

who fell apart

at my

powerful

touch

I see today

that everyone

on earth

wants the

answer to

the same

question

but none

has the

language

to ask it

in truth

I am puzzled

most in life

by nine

horses

many of us

live full term

never seeing

the bullet

the empty

plate of

hunger

the invisible

noose of

disease

a few years

back

I began to

lose the

world of

people

I’ve spent

a lifetime

trying to

learn the

language

of the dead

of course

we are

condemned

to life

without

parole

until the

gods usher

us in to our

executioners

who live in

a hot

windowless

room

always dark

you walk

through

doorways

in the mind

you can’t

walk out

then one day

you discover

that you’ve

learned

to fly

were it not

for the new

moon

my sky

would

collapse

tonight

so fed by

the waters

of memory

on a

cool night

there is

a break

from the

struggle of

becoming

I suppose

that’s why

we sleep

we want

to sleep

a long time

not forever

but then

to sleep

a long time

becomes

forever

doom

should be

ashamed

of itself

it’s so

ordinary

happening

to billions

of creatures...

would

I still

love the

creek if

I lasted

forever?

©robertolavidez2014  

searching for

John Milton’s

Paradise

by Roberto Lavidez

as one

from sad

dismay

recomforted

and after

thoughts

disturbd

submitting to

what seemd

remediless

those thoughts

that wander

through

eternity

to perish

rather

swallowed up

and lost

in the wide

womb of

uncreated

night

for man

to tell

how human

life began

is hard

for who

himself

beginning

knew

of all the

trees in

paradise

that bear

delicious

fruit

so various

not to

taste

that onely

tree of

knowledge

planted by

the tree

of life

nor did

they not

perceave

the evil

plight

in which

they were

or the fierce

pains

not feel

how many

ages as

the years

of men

this universe

we have

possest

and rul’d

in manner

at our will

th’ affairs

of earth

because

wee freely

love

as in our

will to love

or not

in this

we stand

or fall

o heav’nly

love shall 

outdoo

hellish

hate

giving to

death

and dying

to redeeme

so dearly

to redeem

what hellish

hate

to prayer

repentance

and obedience

due though

but endevord

with sincere

intent

mine ear

shall not

be slow

mine eye

not shut

o innocence

deserving

paradise

if ever

then

then had

the sons

of god

excuse

to have bin

enamour’d

at that sight

but in

those hearts

love

unlibidinous

reign’d

nor jealousie

was understood

the injur’d

lover’s hell

©robertolavidez2014  

R. L. Stevenson

through the ages

by Roberto Lavidez

in spite of

our wisdom

and sensible

talking

we

on our feet

must go

plodding

and walking

the beauties

of man

are frail

and the

silver lies

in the dust

and the

queen

that we call

to mind

sleeps

with the

brave and

the just

from out of

the dainty

the rude

the strong

from out of

the frail

eternally

through

the ages

from the

female

comes

the male

in dreams

unhappy

I behold

you stand

as heretofore:

the unremembered

tokens in

your hand

avail no more

to goodness

or greatness

to be good

and die

or to be great

and live

forever great

fixed is

the doom;

and to the

last of years

teacher

and taught

friend

lover

parent

child

each walks

though near

yet separate

time was the

golden head

irrevocably 

said

but time

which none

can bind

while flowing

fast away

leaves love

behind

still I love

to rhyme

and still more

rhyming

to wander

far from the

commoner way

long life

and short life

the last word 

said early in

the evening

there lies

the bed

and yet

I think

I hear

the words

repeated

plangent

and sad

on every

wind

that blows

the Gods

are dead

a word

that began

to go round

a word

a whisper

a start

hope that

leaped in

the bosom

fear that

knocked

on the heart

my

indefatigable

pen

I here

lay down

forever

men have

used

and left me

and forgot

©robertolavidez2014  

C.K.  Williams

appears again

by Roberto Lavidez

there are

matters

that can’t

be coped

with in

reflecting

on life

or love

or sometimes

it seems

anything

at all

the struggle

I thought

was all

my own

with the

horrors that

affected all

humanity

what an

unreasonable

demand

the word

asks of the

structures

people

contrive

to erect

against the

insistent

demands

of gravity

the thoughts

that rage

with your

voice

with your

words

your fear

your dread

your terror

and your

roaring

desire

which?

quick!

which?

too late…

too late

again

appears again

disappears

appears

vivid in 

the brilliant

sunlight

again is

gone

again is

there

one thinks

Rimbaud

again

his crippling

gift

his own

plunge

towards

death

forlorn-looking

language poets

hawking books

that haven’t

sold for

decades

and won’t

ever

to have

your voice

wrenched

from the

exercise

of the will

what other

tendrils of

the soul

would be

torn out

with it?

reality isn’t

dimmed

diminished

thrown out

of focus by

my struggle

with myself

who would

bring me

back through

these erasures

and annihilations

my oblivion

my sleep?

they don’t

sleep

but rather

just lie there

seeming

to need

to rest

from the

exertion

of existing

after all had

subsided

you were

given to

understand

that was that

you nod

and nod

out you’re

taken by

those waves

of tremulous

chill in

the layer

between

skin and

flesh

would

I want

to know

how an

old lover

whom I

last saw

when she

was twenty

would look

at seventy?

actually

I would

©robertolavidez2014  

W. Berry

in the stillness

of the trees

by Roberto Lavidez

I have come

to the end

of what

I have

supposed

following

my thread

of song

I am done

with apologies

if contrariness

is my

inheritance

and destiny

so be it

the mind

still hungers

for its earth

its bounded

and open

space

the term of

its final

assent

I come

into the

peace of

wild things

who do not

tax their

lives with

forethought

of grief

to imagine the

thoughtlessness

of a thoughtless

thing is

useless

the world

is greater

than its

words

to speak

of it

the mind

must bend

and so

as the old

lie and

the young

depart

where shall

a man go

who keeps

the memories

of the dead

suddenly

I know

I have

passed

across to

a shore

where I

do not

live

I’ve lived

in two

countries

in my life

and never

moved

it is

dangerous

to remember

the past

only for

its own sake

dangerous

to deliver

a message

that you

did not get

man has

put his

history

to sleep in

the engine

of doom

terrors are

to come

the earth

is poisoned

with narrow

lives

to be sane

in a mad

time

is bad

for the

brain

worse for

the heart

we’ve

come round

again to

short days

and long

nights

time goes

that there’s

a little

of the good

left over

from a

few lives

is a comfort

of sorts

in the

stillness

of the trees

I am 

at home

©robertolavidez2014  

my apologies

Maxine Kumin

by Roberto Lavidez

I understand

we did this

I understand

we may do

this again

before it is

done to us

I do the

same things

day by day

they steady

me against

the wrong

turn

I might

have swum

down looking

soundlessly

into nothing

down

stairways

and alleys

of nothing

under these

extenuating

circumstances

your mind

may make

absurd

leaps

everywhere

on this

planet

birth

I think

I hear

burned

babies

screaming

screaming

in the

basswood

by my

window

I close

the book

I am

reading

in which

there’s

a picnic

in the

country

before the

Great War

at least

there

says the

dream

no mysteries

stupidity

said

Immanuel 

Kant

is caused by

a wicked

heart

repent!

bliss is

belief

but where’s

the higher

moral plane

I roost on?

I grind out

a butt

and think

of the

waiting

bourbon

the sun

goes down in

disappointment

where have I

come from?

where am I

going?

one works

I suppose

because

It is

the most

interesting

thing

one knows

to do

think of

the language

we two

same and

not-same

might

have

constructed

from sign

scratch

grimace

grunt

vowel

I want to

apologize

for all

the snow

falling

in this

poem

so early

in the

season

in case

we

outlast

the winter

in case

when the

end comes

ending all

matter…

©robertolavidez2014  

Billy Collins behind

a double espresso

by Roberto Lavidez

love is

not as

simple as

getting up

on the

wrong side

of the bed

wearing the

emperor’s

clothes

to consider

the ruination

of love

a wisp of

smoke

rising from

a chimney

if there

will also

be a sun

and a

moon

and will

the dead

gather

to watch

them

rise

and set

who could

tell what

the next

moment

would hold

another drip

from the

faucet?

and who

cares if it

takes me

all day

to write

a poem

about the

dawn

I was only

behind a

double

espresso

and a

single hit

of anti-

depressant

I only

need to

slide into

place

the image

of Leonardo

at a table

by a

window

but where

are you

reader

who have

not paused

in your

walk

to look

over my

shoulder

to see

what I am

jotting

in this

notebook?

would the

heavy

anthologies

remain

on their

shelves

the word

that was

in the

beginning

and the

word

that was

made flesh

those

and all

the other

words

will cease

and get

my mind

off the

poems

of others

even as

they peer

down from

the trees

living life

to the

fullest

is the

only way

I am

probably

being

too literal

minded

here

I admit

to regarding

my own

birthday

as the

joyous

anniversary

of my

existence

©robertolavidez2014  

stuck with

unknowing

(Morse, McCaslin, Boskic, Lau,

Kenney, Holme, Rose, Gardiner,

Hagen, Schneberg, Roberts, Braid,

Rian, Reimer, McHugh)   

by Roberto Lavidez

to Proust off

disaster

to Proust

ourselves

off in

shower

of circling

image

stuck with

unknowing

all these

years

I wonder

blind

I will

walk on

earth

it will

rain

endlessly

I will

drown

unaware

I could

have fallen

forward

forever

the air

tasting

like honey

stillness

opening

at the

centre

of my

body

I am

infected

with dreams

at the

first moon

of conquest

I respectfully

request

to be

killed

I cannot

say

whose

empty

house

it was

that burned

throughout

the wrinkled

night

there was

no Canadian

hush of

things

not to be

talked

about

not all

of them

ignored

genocide

someone

is stealing

anatomies

skin of fish

bones of

bird

a step

toward loss

no colors

the glass

the leaves

the branches

all gray

charred

bodies

resurrect

themselves

noticing

a faint smell

of smoke

in their

sleek hair

for some

a seed of

instinct

suggesting

something

else

may

eventually

begin

your skin

fizzes with

the hot

and cold of

possibility

on this earth

it is always

morning

somewhere

as if we were

Baudelaire

surely Focault

never drank

so much coffee

in one sitting

and Virginia

Woolf wrote

in spite of

and not

because

of her

depression

teach us

to bear life’s

senselessness

and our own

insignificance

let’s call that

sanity

©robertolavidez2014