migueltio

September 30, 2016

Why?

Filed under: Uncategorized — migueltio @ 9:22 am

Why does a child kill?

What does a school have to drill

that a child might kill?

That is a sickness

that does not flow inside me

but makes me quite ill!

~Miguel

 

September 25, 2016

Lives That Matter

Filed under: Poetry, Uncategorized — migueltio @ 2:19 pm

Do Black lives matter?

Do White lives matter?

Do Brown lives matter?

Do Yellow lives matter?

Do Red lives matter?

Do Christian lives matter?

Do Muslim lives matter?

Do Jewish lives matter?

Do Hindu lives matter?

Do Santeria lives matter?

Do Sikh lives matter?

Do Shinto lives matter?

Do Buddhist lives matter?

Do Confucian lives matter?

Do Native Spiritual lives matter?

Do Female lives matter?

Do Male lives matter?

Do Transgender lives matter?

Do Heterosexual lives matter?

Do Homosexual lives matter?

Do Bi-Sexual lives matter?

Do lives of any nation matter?

Was not the world meant

for us to share?

Were not our minds meant

for us to be aware?

Were not our hearts meant

for us to care?

Why do we keep on

shooting?

We are not in video games

or using guns that fire air.

A life gone is a true loss

not losing a playground

dare

we need to make SAVING

NOT KILLING lives the top story

of A Current Affair!

 

~Miguel

September 18, 2016

When Will It End?

Filed under: Poetry — migueltio @ 9:23 pm

Maybe Green Day

was on to something

“Wake me up

when September

ends.” Not a bad

thought not a bad

idea September a

death toll of

the enjoyment of

Summer not yet

the color and crisp

of October

aside from some

birthdays including my

own and others I know

it’s a frill-less

fruit-less month where

darkness begins to creep

in and warmth begins to

creep out as the geese begin

their flying vs and all the

birdsongs have begun

to go south leaving behind

the call of crows making

me say no wonder the stores

want to jump from Back-To

-School to Halloween where

foliage and festivity

dominate the scene.

Go away September

for another eleven

months.

 

~Miguel

September 11, 2016

The Towers I remember

Filed under: Photography — migueltio @ 1:43 pm

I photographed The World Trade Center on 3 different occasions in life.

The largest on the left was taken when I was 12, in 1981, while we were on the Circle Line Cruise Boat that goes all the way around the entire island of Manhattan.

The top right with the towers far away is a view from a shuttle between Newark Airport and Kennedy as we were on our way to LA in October of 1982.

The bottom right was taken aboard the boat going to Liberty Island in June of 2001, just months before 9/11.

I will never forget them, or the many who perished on that day.

September 8, 2016

“Dunkin-Ing Down”

Filed under: Poetry — migueltio @ 12:04 pm

We are dummying down

to ethnic culture

we frown

we want the

same old

same old

all over town

wishing that other

cultures, races, and

languages in the

East River would

DROWN we think that

high rent for trendiness

should wear The Big

Apple’s crown.

 

On this block a Starbucks

and a Dunkin

onto the next block a

Starbucks and a Dunkin

onto every other block

a Starbucks and a Dunkin

it’s not a wonder that

our diets and our

weigh-ins are FLUNKIN’!!

 

From all the calories they
sucker us into we are

clunkin’ down the walk we

have dusted over the chalk

every vision and every voice

that wants to rise up and

talk about why their expression

has made new generations

balk about food, art, and culture

made by hand replaced by a

processed, un-natural brand

slowly turning back in time

to when everything was bland

with no excitement or color to

make the city grand we once

used to believe than not all

should be the same we learned

cultural cleansing like in Nazi Germany

was a sad, unspeakable SHAME

but today we forget and play

a similar game forcing out

any culture we see as

different or inane.

 

~Miguel

September 5, 2016

Adirondack Paradise

Filed under: Poetry — migueltio @ 4:25 pm

DSC03179.JPGAwakened by early daylight

my mind contemplating my

first move of the morning

hour as my eyes take in a

single loon swimming among

the many cloudlets of morning

mist.

 

First capturing him in photo

he calls to me not by his

beautiful sustained swirl

but almost telepathically he

calls me to enter the waters

that at such an early hour

only he appears present.

 

I hear his call and decide

casting any doubt aside

that on this early misty lake

is where I want to be paddling secluded

paddling free among the mist floating

just above the surface as the sun

rises higher above the nearby

mountainside.

 

In my kayak on this

beautiful lake no other

vessels in sight

no other campers awake

I paddle in solitude over these

crystal clear waters from one

side to the other, to the cove,

past the beach, hearing more

loons call to each while occasionally

I stop paddle to breathlessly float

letting my eyes and my mind take

every note of the pristine beauty of

which my morning journey is allowing

me to thankfully experience.

 

~Miguel

September 2, 2016

Forward Focused

Filed under: Poetry — migueltio @ 4:49 pm

Shadows of destiny

passing by as a day

flows into night

like a lake’s current

moving thousands of

stars that keep coming

like the future we are

called to enter which

approaches as an oncoming

locomotive that we may

or may not be prepared with

a ticket to know our upcoming

destination toward a

horizon of unknown aptitude

that constantly surveys

our attitude of our position

our emotional platitude

of what we see of what

we feel of what we sense

with what we deal hoping

the road before us will

contain a sense of appeal

toward the oncoming days

ahead we guard that injustice

will not steal.

 

Miguel

August 31, 2016

Espiritu De Amor

Filed under: Poetry — migueltio @ 9:05 am

El Paisaje de La Vina

recibe un beso de su espiritu

cada dia que abre sus ojos.

Cada salida del sol es un renacimiento

de la feliz lo que recibio cuando

las uvas nadaron  en las bendiciones

de su primer aliento.

 

Bendice todas las vinas,

las flores, arboles, y la

munificencia de la tierra.

Ella trae en su corazon un amor

por la tierra de su mundo

mas alto que un gran sierra.

 

El vintero trabaja la tierra

segando el vino para su

generacion.  Ella solta las

frutas este vintero del labor

de sus brazos de passion.

 

Para el, ella es la diosa de su

cosecha.  Dedica su labor a ella

por su cultivo  rico.  Ella lo da

mucha adoracion y afeto voltaico.

Con sus besos ella lava el cultivo

de pelo que el sudor del vintero

cultiva a su pecho.

 

Para el, el perfume de ella

es como el perfume de

una uva rica y el sabor de

sus  labios  es la dulzura

del vino de fabrica.

 

~Miguel

August 29, 2016

Time Transitions

Filed under: Uncategorized — Tags: , — migueltio @ 9:34 pm

The sky still rich in

vibrant blue the trees

still rich in chlorophyll

green.

 

Summer still so bright

with sun is starting to

show its August aging

with mornings much quieter

than months ago

with the sound of

“new bird radio”

as now the crickets

have stolen the show as

their chirp in the field

is more sustained and slow.

 

Nightfall is beginning to find its

way sooner little by

little one day darker earlier

than yesterday then the next

holding out like the day before as

it always begins inconsistently

as more geese begin to fly

within their V a visual

death toll to the

humidity that will

diminish its

overwhelming grip on

me with Fall taking

over inevitably.

 

~Miguel

 

August 22, 2016

Sitting Out In The Drought

Filed under: Uncategorized — migueltio @ 10:00 pm

Sitting out on the

deck on a hot dry

evening slowly spooning

wild rice soup.

 

Sitting out slowly spooning

wild rice soup surveying

the combinations of green

and brown below.

 

Sitting out on a hot dry

evening hoping for rain to

come to kiss the land

and the plant life below.

 

The land below me

both brown and green

full of dryness

full of drought

my mind uneasy

full of doubt.

 

Sitting out on

this hot dry evening

I realize how fortunate

we are as the dark sky

fills with each

shining star.

 

Just to the north

just to the west

there is no green in

the grass to be seen

all is brown all is

dry no water in the

creeks all the deeper

bodies lower down.

 

Many more birds

than usual having

fled so much drying

so much dying of which they

have been routinely fed

sitting out I hear

the crickets now inhabiting

their parched dry bed

 

~Miguel

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