November 24, 2015

Soulful Singing

Filed under: Music, Poetry — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , — migueltio @ 7:44 pm

People are like

a song one to

be sung from

beginning to end.


Some songs are

sad causing us

to tear up with

a heavy heart

over the tragic

events piling up

on those who sing them

despite their lives’

best efforts.


Some songs are

angry over every

turn taken with the

tone of a Johnny Rotten

and The Sex Pistols hit

declaring there is no one

else who is right on

any given day.


Some songs are

upbeat grooving to

the rhythm on

their neighborhood street

a smile is their

style as they roll with

the changes being a person

you really want to meet.


Some songs are like

a beautiful sunrise loving

and accepting of

anyone of any

color of any gender

of any belief of any

faith as you

melt while

they touch your heart.


Some songs are

toxic like the old

45s DJs used to break

they complain about

every effort anyone

makes to project a

day’s light while they

instead bask in their

own continued darkness.


The songs that last

that endure on the

charts of life’s changes

are the songs that

sing out their best expressions

their “listeners” never forget

weathering through

the negative lyrics

toward those that shine bright.



November 21, 2015

Old New Again

Filed under: Poetry — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , — migueltio @ 9:50 am



So many things old

old and outdated

old and been there

done that don’t care

so last Tuesday are

coming back around

rising again from below

the ground as if they

are new as if they were

invented just last Tuesday.


Retro is the

name of the show. How did

it happen? I do not know.

As a child in the 1970s

everything old was just that

everything old was totally flat

everything old was tattered and worn

only new things new styles

and new songs were the accepted norm.


In the 1970s I liked

The Beatles or I should

say I was allowed to

like The Beatles because

my mother would not allow

Kiss, Led Zeppelin, David Bowie, or

Black Sabbath to enter her

house or cross her path

paranoid we would fall

into a drug infested wrath

while my friends all liked

the new sounds, the

new songs, the new

styles while my liking

The Beatles did not

draw many smiles.


In the 1980 the

60s became cool

in the 90s the 70s

and disco again would

rule, as it was funny to

see all my students

in school liking the

songs that seemed

long gone long

dead way out of

time in my head.



Now the 80s have come back

and the 90s are on the way

every Friday morning my favorite

Top-40 station 106.7 “The Border”

plays 2 hours of anything from

back in the day, as television,

movies,  and even Broadway

are renewing  plots, ideas, and

characters of an older

program, or long forgotten play.


Styles of clothes, sports

uniforms, accessories,

are bringing back old

looks and forms

that used to be

old, patterns that seemed

all washed up all worn

out all replaced by what

the new was supposed to

be about.


Vinyl records around

for it seemed like forever

replaced by cds.

Would they come back?


But lo and behold

there is once again

an LP-making mold

maybe to remedy the

sad state that songs

online are pirated and

sold leaving artists and

royalties out in the cold.


There is an

ever growing list

of what is new

from what was

old what you think

is out of style today

may be tomorrow’s

new gold.




November 12, 2015

So November

Chillier days,

skies of many greys.

That is so November.

Fading daylight,

Holidays in sight.

That is so November.

Fall almost gone,

snow turning on.

That is so November.

Colors going brown,

as the leaves are mostly down.

That is so November.

Honor our Veteran ranks,

and a day to give thanks.

That is so November.

Coming very near to

close out another year.

Spreading good cheer,

while we bring loved ones near,

to celebrate

in high gear

that which we

will always remember.

The eleventh hour is


that it is so November.


November 10, 2015

An Identity Shared!!

Filed under: Book, Poetry — migueltio @ 8:24 pm


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Will Freedom Last Forever?

Filed under: Poetry — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , — migueltio @ 7:54 pm

We walk free day

after day to wherever

we happen to be going

focused on our destination

while in our mind knowing

that no one has the right

to be slowing us down

from our progress ahead.

So many cry out today

about Socialism. When

they do, do they really know

what TRUE Socialism is

anymore? Do they remember

the long Cold War when

we all feared that nukes

could settle the score?

Do they remember The Wall

and Reagan’s call for that

wall to finally fall?

How funny we kids thought

of the ways Soviet

kids must be taught

that they could only

be what the government

could see, keeping them

from being what they

individually thought.

My biggest memory I

can never dismiss

was how Russians

and Cubans once

Christian faithful

were barred from Christmas

every year the same

statement on Christmas

Night on the nightly news

that “The Soviet Government

officially recognized the existence

of Christmas but dismissed

Santa Clause as a product

of capitalist propaganda.”

Every year that same

statement from Tom Brokaw,

Peter Jennings, or Dan Rathor

about places where

freedom and joyful

celebration did not matter.

Do we believe all the

political opinionated chatter

that hardline Socialist

or Communist western nations

could again climb

the ladder steamrolling

their people into a flattened

sticky batter leaving them

to starve while the leaders

get fatter?

Freedom for children

to simply play and climb a fence

instead being blocked by

a wall and troops stiff

and tense. Let us hope

that for all, freedom will


“past tense”.


November 5, 2015

In The Bleak Mid-Moment.

Filed under: Poetry — Tags: , , , , — migueltio @ 10:29 pm

You have to think that

it is not a wonder as

you drive down the many

mean streets the meaner

they are in the recessions

of the night that twenty

minutes from now someone

one of either gender shows

up to plead for help in

the nearest ER.

The babies cry in their

mothers’ arms as they

themselves shed many

tears turning them over

to the sitter or if

they are lucky to

abuela who will

hopefully keep them safe

as she is off to work

trying to second guess her fears.

Keeping your eyes open

up the block and down

why do they need hundreds

of Starbucks, Dunkins,

Walgreens, McDs, BKs

all over town hoping every

kid everywhere may want

to wear a crown or

eat a burger they were

told to by a clown as

the face of economics

keeps its’ stoic frown.

The bodega opens

at six as the gates are lifted

by the long time owner

and his brand new partner

whom he hopes will take it

on as he dreams of retiring

as he sees the character

the vibrancy of his block

in the face of more gentrification

slowly decaying

and his patience expiring.


October 28, 2015

Miles In Our Moccasins

Filed under: Poetry — Tags: , , , , , , , , , — migueltio @ 6:09 pm

We walk so many

paths some are

sunny and full of

bright vibrant colors

some are drab and

dreary more dull

darker somewhat eerie

as we move from one

life event in a whole

day or just a few hours.

So much awaits us

as we try to steer

into the winds of change

ahead as we hope and

dream to steer clear

of every unraveling loose

thread that may lead us

to destruction to end

us up dead we

desire instead to

stand at the head

navigating with momentum

not hiding out in bed

helping out with compassion

those who cannot tread

through floods that surround

them in rising waters that

could drown them as

other efforts only bound

them in a jacket of lead.

We walk a path no matter

the surface of softer rural gravel

or harder urban cement

of sandy coastal beaches

or grassy central fields

every path has its light

every scene

can be blazing

with color so bright

through eyes willing to

see that changing scenes

can be amazing

from a beautiful new

mural to a cow

quietly grazing

we cannot fix our eyes

as the sun and moon

complete each phasing

toward narrow fixed horizons

that we are only willing

to be gazing

a path outside our “comfort zone”

should not be seen as “brutal hazing”

wherever that path may lead

from Maine clear to Beijing

we cannot let a storm be

our only norm

we must open

our eyes

our hearts

our minds and

stop the senseless raging.


stop the raging.

October 21, 2015

Minds Need Help

Filed under: Poetry — Tags: , , , , , , — migueltio @ 6:29 pm

Does it hurt to eat

a watermelon after

nine o’clock while

believing that the

safety in numbers

will protect from

the lead that  flies

in a swarm more

dangerous than the

killer bees crossing the

border specifically in

order to feast on

their fix of your milk

and honey tricks?

The winds of change

cannot blow the

danger out of range

unless we know

the real star of

the real show instead

of attempting to obstruct

the more popular flow

while the desire to

see their name and

fame grow

thinking its right

in the dark of night

or early one morning

giving absolutely no warning

that the unbalanced mind

operating unkind

is discharging the lead

like an uncontrolled throw

it’s their mind

that needs attention

from the doctors

that know.


Pan De Muertos


4 loaves of Pan De Muertos just made today!!

October 18, 2015

Days of Freedom Reminded

Filed under: Poetry — Tags: , , , , , , , , , — migueltio @ 9:42 am

(Written during my August visit to DC, forgotten about, and found again)

A morning free a day

a few days free from the constant

rumble so deafening the rumble

of fans so deafening to the mind not

able to think to the ears not able

to hear.

Exploring today among alabaster and

pillars that remind me of the freedoms

delegated to all within these borders

I am calmed down if only for a

few days with the fact that freedom

has granted me the ability to have

a home that soon will be dry

and back to activity.

The relaxation on a shaded

bench overlooking a National pool

as gentle and still as the breezes blowing

my way I observe many people of

many races hearing many tongues

of many lands some strolling

separate some holding hands

all here to celebrate

the gifts honoring freedom

reminding of its great given beauty

as well as its






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