Palm Leaves

Palm Leaves

I've always liked hands;

they craft and mold,

shape and shift, 

creating unwritten histories

woven through transparencies:

veins -

life's blue reminders,

love letters interlocking 

pulsing hearts and hidden skeletons.

Fingers laced with calluses,

bruised from mistakes and excuses.

their gold embellished promises,

wrapped around four digits,

number discrepancies

and unspoken apologies

strummed across rusted strings.

I discover maps along palm paths;

notes scribbled and memories nibbled 

on the hitchhiker's thumb

released from the confines

of a closed fist

begging for escapism,

longing for Home.

Boney knuckles clutch a

Bible,

handcrafted margins

whispering prayers,

questioning conflict

and the exchange of a ticket.

xx

a poem

Fourteen

Fourteen lying on

The sidewalk waiting

the exact metro station where I wrote this poem

Stopping for everyone

Except himself

Alone in a crowd

And happy with

The gain of money

But it is not the

Glint of a coin or

The power obtained

It is the privilege

Of being free

Those with the liberty

Of money are able to

Be free with ease

It is hard to feel

At ease with the world

When your stomach

Is empty

And your body

Is broken

Much like your spirit

So stop and think

Fourteen is your

Ticket to freedom

to the fourteen, 

rach

de la misma onda

De la misma onda

Luchador del amor

Bonita del alma

Listo de la mente

Viva del espíritu

Profundo del hilo

Resuelta de palabras

El silencio, a veces 

La vibra de la vida

El foco de la tranquilidad

La forma de pensar 

El ser un poco solitario

La vista del mundo 

Mareomotriz de lazos 

Olas de sensaciones 

la paz es parte del amor, 

rach

a poem (1)

roanoke

never express
or digress
gravel for miles
in sunshine showers
tree covered hills
where a secret spills
of madman chatter
and nothing is sadder
than things unseen
or forgotten dreams

I want to live in Roanoke someday--
they seem to be everywhere, in almost every state,

rach

when thoughts run out... poetry comes out.

17 days sitting blue

'cross the room

i barely move

there you are

but i'm here too

sorrows taste like

chewed up food.

see far away

my mind can't stay

i have roles to play

that lead me to

dusted fingerprints

on creased maps

hearts do not obey.

my eyes see stars

yet blurred by cars

and fancy cigars

ash tumble down

longing to choak

on roadmap smoke

it's time to leave this town.

go your own way,

Rach