Unfortunately I have not had a lot of space in my brain to remember poems with all of the travel, navigating other cultures, languages and trying to teach English. I have been able to be pretty consistent about writing a poem or two a week. Though they need much editing, I wanted to share three poems that I have recently written with you, they are reflections of either things I have seen, been prompted by or read during my travels or thoughts. Comments and critiques are welcome, they are works in progress (i.e there are probably some typos, gramatical errors and elements i want to change)

This poem was the result of visiting a photo exhibit of Peru´s 20 years of civil war from 1980-2000. It was one of the most riveting exhibits that I have seen. The name of it was ¨remember¨ in Quechua, the indigenous language in peru and the exhibit was put together by the truth and reconciliation commission .

To Remember

In a cold white room surrounded by 179 black and white portrayals of myself

are some of my deepest tragedies frozen in time

These images make me wish I was blind

but I have a duty to emerge from the cloak of oblivion

open my eyes

and remember

It took twenty long years to digest this raw and rotten

internal conflict that churned deep within this belly

poisonous gas bubbled up

until I was overcome with a case of deadly diarrhea

and the body of this nation

spit out 69,000 thousand lives

into a murderous abyss that reeked from

disappearances, violence and war crimes

Yes this is me in all of my mess

Right here is the aftermath of mayhem and massacres

in that mountain of bare naked bodies

screaming with blood

Is evidence of how this country was brutally butchered

Do you see me over there?

In the of faces of orphans with scars reaching from their eyes to their lips

in the military arresting the guerrillas

and mothers fleeing with babies on their hips

There I go again in the hands of

women armed with guns to protect their homeland

I can also be seen at marches and rallies resisting and taking a stand

The testimonies torture ears

and the images ache eyes

but I have made a choice to emerge from this deadly past

by facing the facts reflected in this mirror of the terrible truth

This is me

These pictures are the proof

that I violated women and killed innocent youth

The loss is irreparable

but this collage paints a portrait that bring to life the death

experienced by our land

To remember, to reconcile ,to process

and to help my children understand

So we do not make the same mistake ever again

We remember

Arenal

As you all know I visited Arenal, an active volcano in Costa Rica last month. I wrote this poem thinking about what it must be like to live in the wake of an active volcano. About 40 some years ago, the people in La Fortuna did not know Arenal was a volcano, they thought it was a mountain. That was until it erupted, killing 80 ppl and leaving gaping dents and damages in the land. There is a man made lake where the town once was and when the water is low, you can still see the church steeple. The view from La Fortuna is green because the larva never flows on that side, but the other side of the mountain is grey.

At the foot of an active volcano

My house is situated at the foot of an active volcano

beautiful to the eye

lush and green on one side

a mountain reaching toward the blue sky

Only I see the results of what is hidden inside

your reverse hide

gray, rough and dry

I know you have deadly heat building

up at the core

When you will erupt I am never sure

I flinch with fear

when I hear the rumpling thunder

in my ears

that means your anger is near

I sit scared that your scotching

larva will escape

leave me bruised and beaten

red with blood gushing down these mountain

peaks that I call cheeks

For 40 years you have been exploding at night

not like clock work

you like to take me by surprise

you are quiet in the daylight and then in the evening

strike me with all of your might

I cry scarlet tears

my scars harden and leave black marks

evidence of what happened in the dark

The first blow was the hardest

It came out of nowhere

the person I know was just a mask

my vision of you went up in smoke so fast

in the heat from the gas

You threw ten ton rocks at my face

Permanently denting my sense of security

our marriage

died many deaths that afternoon

In one instance you changed from my sun

to a wolf howling over me in wake of a full moon

I sat with my head in between my knees

in disbelief

How could this be

You were such a natural phenomena

I loved to climb those peaks

Everybody thought you were so meek

but you never erupt to the east

where the world could see

only in one direction disturbing my peace

To survive

through the years

I damned up all of my tears

into hand made lake

the water was real, but the landscape was fake

I would cover your destruction

with a fluid smile built over that town where our loved once lived

When the weather is nice

and your blows don’t reign down so hard and fast

I see the steeple of hope

the highest point in our old town

I remember the life we had that is gone now

Why I stay at the foot of an active volcano

I cant answer the why or the how

I guess I believe that one day

That pressure inside will cease

that larva will dry out

And you will stop erupting

Talking is who I be

So, I just changed my mind I have a few other poems, but I realized that they are kind of, well maybe depressing is not the world, but they are not pick me uppers. So I leave you all with this one, this was written from a writing exercise about trying to explain the position or personality of somebody completely different from you. So I wrote this poem about people who talk to much. Enjoy!!!

Talking is who I be

Some say

Silence is Golden

Cause two ears and one mouth is a hint from God

to listen twice as much as you speak

But who can imagine going through life without even a peep

Don’t listen to those sayings about talking

my phone bill tells me it ain’t cheap

I don’t know  nothing about silence

I talk from the moment I wake in the morning

until I lie down to sleep

and when that gets deep

I have conversations  in my dreams

If my mind done gone too far from home

I leave a message at the beep

I admit I my mouth runs like water

I just cant hold it in

I know  doing it to much is a sin

but I cant help but tell you when

I spoke to such and such

or that I love you so much

my list of things I am going to do today

or what I need to buy for that event in may

that’s exactly one hundred and eighty one days, 5 hours, 3 minute and 20 seconds away

Some say

that my talking runs people away

But I will follow you wherever you go if you try to stray

I don’t even bother me that the only word you have said in this conversations is hey

That’s all I need for my words to breed

This mouth is in heat

so I have to find a pair of ears  to mate with so I can offspring my words in a heap

In my view talking is loving

and that’s the one thing no one can ever do too much

I talk cause I am overflowing with words, feelings, prayers and such

Talking to me is like a tender touch

A warm glass of tea

or a buffet at lunch

Its soothing, moving and fills my soul

Abundant cause my words just free flow

I cant be bothered with choosing them

If words were my keys

Every second I would loose them

You looky here

there are things that just need to be said

ears that need to be filled

and minds that need to be fed

I can’t keep all that is happening in my life

all bottled up in my head

Mock my words you gonna want to hear my voice when I am dead

And though my talking you may dread

I don’t even notice

cause when you ignore me

I talk more instead

I talk to the breeze, my verbs never freeze

I talk to the wind, so he can carrying my words out to the sea

Location dont mean nothing to me

i do it on the telephone lines and to people on the street

Just being who I am

You can’t stop me from being me

So just shut up and listen

cause talking is just who I be