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  • Writer's pictureTLALOCO


Updated: Feb 17, 2020

Whether in a poem a song or a sonnet, language greets us first in our mind, then our heart and sometimes - when we are unconditionally willing - to the core of our soul...

I am drowning

In a sea of desire

And the only one

Who can save me

Is you

_Christy Ann Martine

How should we like it were stars to burn

With a passion for us we could not return?

If equal affection cannot be,

Let the more loving one be me.

From "The More Loving One"

by W.H. Auden

It sometimes takes years,

To learn that the source of all happiness,

Comes from somewhere else,

Beyond money or material things,

It comes from love.

Because love is rich

In commitment, trust

and always passionately unconditional.


Just because someone is poor

Or has little in material wealth

Doesn’t mean their dreams aren’t big

Or their soul isn’t filled with the spirit of life

Or the love they feel,

Is any less than yours.” (Unknown) Your task is not,to seek for love,

But merely to seek and find,

All the barriers,

within yourself,

that you have built,

against it. RUMI

Paths in Poetry (Songs)

Jaded, got a broken past,

Trying to get narrow,

got to be fast,

Cause I'm losing,

time in the sun,

Trying not to end,

what I haven't begun...


"Yesterday's Gone" Despues mi dijo una arriero,

Que no hay que llegar primero,

Pero hay que saber llegar...

Jose Alfredo Jimenez

"El Rey" Got a baby's brain and an old man's heart,

Took eighteen years to get this far,

Don't always know what I'm talking about,

Feels like I'm living in the middle of doubt...

Alice Cooper


We, this people, on a small and lonely planet

Traveling through casual space

Past aloof stars, across the way of indifferent suns

To a destination where all signs tell us

It is possible and imperative that we learn

A brave and startling truth

And when we come to it

To the day of peacemaking

When we release our fingers

From fists of hostility

And allow the pure air to cool our palms

When we come to it

When the curtain falls on the minstrel show of hate

And faces sooted with scorn are scrubbed clean

When battlefields and coliseum

No longer rake our unique and particular sons and daughters

Up with the bruised and bloody grass

To lie in identical plots in foreign soil

When the rapacious storming of the churches

The screaming racket in the temples have ceased

When the pennants are waving gaily

When the banners of the world tremble

Stoutly in the good, clean breeze

When we come to it

When we let the rifles fall from our shoulders

And children dress their dolls in flags of truce

When land mines of death have been removed

And the aged can walk into evenings of peace

When religious ritual is not perfumed

By the incense of burning flesh

And childhood dreams are not kicked awake

By nightmares of abuse

When we come to it

Then we will confess that not the Pyramids

With their stones set in mysterious perfection

Nor the Gardens of Babylon

Hanging as eternal beauty In our collective memory

Not the Grand Canyon

Kindled into delicious color, By Western sunsets

Nor the Danube, flowing its blue soul into Europe

Not the sacred peak of Mount Fuji, Stretching to the Rising Sun

Neither Father Amazon Nor Mother Mississippi who, without favor,

Nurture all creatures in the depths and on the shores

These are not the only wonders of the world

When we come to it

We, this people, on this minuscule and kithless globe

Who reach daily for the bomb, the blade and the dagger

Yet who petition in the dark for tokens of peace

We, this people on this mote of matter

In whose mouths abide cankerous words

Which challenge our very existence

Yet out of those same mouths

Come songs of such exquisite sweetness

That the heart falters in its labor

And the body is quieted into awe

When we come to it

We, this people, on this small and drifting planet

Whose hands can strike with such abandon

That in a twinkling, life is sapped from the living

Yet those same hands can touch with such healing, irresistible tenderness

That the haughty neck is happy to bow

And the proud back is glad to bend

Out of such chaos, of such contradiction

We learn that we are neither devils nor divines

When we come to it

We, this people, on this wayward, floating body

Created on this earth, of this earth

Have the power to fashion for this earth

A climate where every man and every woman

Can live freely without sanctimonious piety

Without crippling fear

When we come to it

We must confess that we are the possible

We are the miraculous, the true wonder of this world

That is when, and only when

We come to it.

“A Brave and Startling Truth” was published in a commemorative booklet in 1995 and later included in Maya Angelou: The Complete Poetry (public library).

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