Tuesday, July 31, 2007

Poem #212 of 365

I make mudras,
with a flick of fingers,
sleight of hand,

trying to make water,
shower magic,
reveal itself,
sluice in spills.

I am waving
my hands to
and fro, like
a Copperfield
pro, and the
mirror reflects
me in mirth.

How silly I
appear as water
does not whet
my appetite to
come clean.

A few drops,
a spurt and then
abrupt it stops,
my hands suddenly
freeze as poised
as a pair of
hands in prayer,
but nothing is brought.

So I flourish again,
gentle to the left
and gentle to the right,
two soaped palms
in flight, waving like
wands and trying
to make the water,
create the spills,
enjoy the rinse.

(i sometimes get amused, at times annoyed, with no-touch sensor water faucets)

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Monday, July 30, 2007

Poem #211 of 365

I cooed you to sleep with volumes, terms tan carinosos
as to sugar the hardest stone,
but you were such a jewel, the perfect baby brother,
and it was almost hard to believe
that you were here for real.

Baby in blue, that was you, a brother blue ideal
in knitted booties, plaid cotton hats, and suits
for baby gents out for daily strolls.

We taught you to walk, with guiding arms
uplifting your grasping pudgy fists,
until one day, surprise for all,
you showed us your brave steps
amidst the rusting machines
at the nighttime laundromat.

Up and down the street, you wildly played,
and I envied you the many friends your same age
living along our block,
maturing at such an equal pace.

You showed yourself as leader,
the boo boo that commanded activities
in all front yards, but everyone was charmed,
sno-cones and slurpees lured you to their welcome mats.

Your hand-stitched batman cape was a security cloth
and it clung from your neck all summer as the archives
prove, you perched in trees, against blue impalas,
crouching by the curb.

So what made you cry and forsake the cape,
tell me: when did you lose the hero super powers,
and what light inside your deep brown eyes
lost its wattage,
and made you go dark?

As if I didn't know...

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Sunday, July 29, 2007

Poem #210 of 365

Never to the ocean again,
never again to sea,
and I cannot let you believe this,
I won't allow you to give up dreams.

You speak of beach and
fireside dance, and I long
to see you return to those days
of youth and guile.

Let your memory be the
future, as you linger on
the past with fresh detail
for the time to renew your
frolic, to float in the present.

Mary, go swimming,
Mary, walk the beach,
be oceanfront now
even as your troubled life
holds you back, makes you drown.

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Saturday, July 28, 2007

Poem #209 of 365

i cannot be a blonde-haired
of intercultural goodwill,
running interference
between cooties from this
country and that.

i cannot be a blue-eyed fairy
all bibbidy-bobbidy boo,
waving a wand over
stinky foreign policy dookie,
with dimples in her smile.

i cannot even be a lincoln log cabin
back-to-nature philosopher
whose writings bring
humility and moderation
to introspective consumers.

all i can, however, manage to muster,
in this equinox
of debate, debacle, and downfall,
is a robust optimism,
sundry hope, and
a one-way rant to the heart of hearts
within your body--
where i might make medicine
that revives your engine
so you can help me problem-solve
some solutions and
slow this meltdown way the fuck down.

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Friday, July 27, 2007

Poem #208 of 365

I look for the diaper change
fold-down table
whenever I hear you speak.

Your infantile leadership is
a baby's soggy nappy
on our Constitution, and
we need to change you now.

There is no need to airbrush
in the crocheted bonnet,
it is perceived easily
when you point and mug
for press corps nannies.

One day, you will get the
dose of formula that will
help you grow up out of
that pompous playpen,

the White House you've
made your Jump House,
and time-out in the corner
might someday wean you
off the tit of our national
integrity that your greedy
mouth has just about sucked

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Thursday, July 26, 2007

Poem #207 of 365

Abdullah cupped the phone
to look at me,
and squinted before he
spoke: "Are you Catholic?"

"What are you?"

I've seen characters
from the Koran
scrawled on the inner
wall of his mechanic's

and he has just
spoken about a tall
blonde blue-eyed

so I guess it's time
for him to learn
some things about me.

I pause for a moment,
and enjoy his curiosity,
but then plainly

"I was raised Catholic and
even went to Catholic school."

"That was the past, what are
you now?"

Again, a pause, to not seem
convicted, but to evidence
a contemplative weigh-in.

"I respect people, other religions--
whatever they believe--I know you
are Muslim, I know people who are
Catholic, Jewish, Baptist."

His squint softened, but clearly
he wanted clarity.

Again. "For me, Buddhist
philosophy has been very useful,
to help me manage my emotions,
my responses to things and people.
Buddhism has taught me more about
compassion, forgiveness, humility."

"What is that," he asked. "I've never
heard of that." His "heard" sounds
like "heared". Nonetheless, he is
clearly listening.

"Buddhism originated in the Far East,
India, Tibet, Nepal."

Clarity shown in his face: "Oh, you
mean, like, the Buddha. So, you are
for the Buddha!"

"No, I don't worship the Buddha," I
continue. "It's more the philosophy,
the ideas, that are important to me."

He begins to nod with tentative
understanding, and I feel this first
conversation about belief systems
is done for the moment. I want to
pay my money and drive away.

Abdullah worked on my transmission,
he serviced it in more ways than one.

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Wednesday, July 25, 2007

Poem #206 of 365

I mingled with the gathering gloom
of the red zone air and the blinding
heat, yes, I hung there in the ether
of impossible lungs,

and I chose to break into hives
and scald my elbows
and reek like cloistered armpits.

Damn it, I'm Texan, and this is
late July, and I'm ready to face
the ferocity of excruciatingly
hot sunsets.

I'm ready to bawl my eyes out
when the a/c won't help, for
how else can I keep these epaulets
we know as farmer tan lines?

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

Poem #205 of 365

look at you and your half-hearted leg!

you have not even the excuse
of a maimed combat vet

nor the reason of
an arthritic pet

or the result of
a crippling collision.

no, you limp,
you stagger,
you buckle
and turn lame,

every time
you're asked
for the truth.

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Monday, July 23, 2007

Poem #204 of 365

gnarls barkley sped on past
ignored his wings
he won't be flying much
if he touches down on darkness

don't take his selection
now despondently
his is the star
that will careen to crash

and the shorts of chino
that you stitched in time
to save nine
they will perspire and
prosper even as his
integrity cracks
and tears unevenly

for it's these men who
should sallow yellow,
bequeath their gulp
of culpable and stack
regret under their ribs

instead, it is you
malingers frail,
your stomach goes sour
with feather rot and
stupor steps

this is what it's like,
you are what it hurts,
even flying wings feel torn
when angels get rejected

[for A]

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Sunday, July 22, 2007

Poem #203 of 365

I will answer this,
will relent and take this call,
but only because
I need to talk to
this person

and she will have
the answer to my multiple questions---
hmmph--I will get two
questions answered
with one call.

I'm all for super-maxi
communication efficiency
and absorbency,
with wings.

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Saturday, July 21, 2007

Poem #202 of 365

I see you shifting in your body,
adjusting shoulders and weight
to take on a new disposition.

Are you ready to wear a new role?
Can you learn specific lines, can
you speak them in the correct voice?

I am patient, watching you age
into the desired flavor and tint,
a popular vintage that will draw
new fans to you.

I think you can do this, I know
you will grow, and all I'll eventually
need to do is step aside and let you be.

[watching Dom and Bre transition into a new young woman]

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Friday, July 20, 2007

Poem #201 of 365

My chronology collapses on the floor
when it gets shoved off my desk,

tea leaves could make sense of this
if only i would sip the sips.

Rob swats at me with a butterfly net
but I told him I must migrate

and get lost in my own sidecar
without a destiny or driver.

This inadvertent girl doesn't
respect parallel parking spaces

and forgets to care about clocks
in the middle of weddings, work.

I would headbutt adulthood if it
meant I could stay in the backseat

of the chevrolet, swallowing wind
and negotiating innocence.

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Thursday, July 19, 2007

Poem #200 of 365

How can you delete Sekou?
How can you trash that file?

I’ve saved so many things
that have gone useless,
dead beyond dust.

Birthday ribbons, old holiday cards,
a cancelled stamp, a souvenir pen.

Ken, Devin, Michael,
you’re still in my yahoo
address book, and I cannot
bear to strike you off.

How can I push a key to erase
you like that, so thoughtless
and dismissive?

It will have to be accidental,
I'll have to be drunk on Shiner
or tequila shots, and I'll be
singing high-volume and
slightly off-key. I'll conjure
some chaos, so it appears

I'll hit delete and delete and delete.

Of course, in the hard drive of
my heart, you'll have permanent
folders. Forever to no end.

[Thinking of Sekou Sundiata who died yesterday. He was a poet-mentor of mine died and i am a bit out of it, i've just felt like drinking and listening to his cd over and over. I can't believe i will never see him again. He was in austin a few months ago, and i really really wanted to go see him/his show, but stupid scheduled crap here kept me from going. Now i'll always have that regret........]

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Master poet SEKOU SUNDIATA has passed to th' otha side...

I just got the news a few minutes ago from Lorna Dee Cervantes, via her posted bulletin on myspace.

I LOVED/still love Mr. Sekou Sundiata. He was a mesmerizing soul with a soothing voice. His poetry was infused with jazz aesthetics and he was impeccably rhythmic, eloquent, and humble.

I last saw him in Taos, New Mexico, at one of the last Taos Poetry Circus summer festivals. He was very chill, though always
ready to engage. A very beautiful brother...

He liked my voice--he said it was "smooooooth."

We met in Amherst, MA, at a hiphop aesthetics symposium on-campus at UM. He and I were randomly assigned to the same dinner table at the opening banquet. Turns out, he spent little time at the table because he was the keynote speaker/performer. This took place midway btwn. 911 and the invasion of Iraq, so times & temperaments were pretty turbulent.

I gained permission to record Sekou's presentation on minidisc, so you know i'll be listening to it tomorrow. What he spoke of was comforting, empowering, yet unabashedly charged with a righteous indignation about the mistakes of our nation's leaders. A standing ovation, yes, we gave Sekou one of those.

You can access an mp3 of Sekou reading "the sound of the memory" at this site.

Read more about him here.

from "Droppin' Revolution":

"People be droppin 'revolution,'
just like it was a pick-up line,
you wouldn't use that word
if you knew what it meant:
it ain't pretty, it's bloody, it overturns things..."

Thank you for the inspiration, Sekou. The rest of us poets will carry on with your legacy in our hearts.


Dear Fam,

We regret to inform that our dear Sekou has passed. Today, there are no words. It is a devastating loss for us and the poetry community but even more so for his family. Please keep them in your prayers.

An official statement from the family:

At 5:47 AM on Wednesday, July 18, 2007, my beloved Sekou Sundiata passed away.

On behalf of Sekou and his family, thank you all for your expressions of love and support and for your prayers. Cards can be sent to 296 Stuyvesant Avenue, Brooklyn, New York 11221

Details regarding funeral arrangements and donations will be forthcoming.

Maurine (Kazi) Knighton

Message from the members of New York City-based spoken word troupe UNIVERSES:

Be thankful that we knew him. He blessed us with his voice, his words told our stories, and his energy lit a room the moment he stepped into it. Be grateful. Celebrate his life and expect that we will see him again, one day.

Mildred, Steven, Gamal, Ninja

Wednesday, July 18, 2007

Poem #199 of 365

I wrote a script that's got legs. Very hot legs, and they wiggle seductively from under the bedsheets, and they run with muscles of lava vocabulary, hot and thick, you can't not hear them.

I'm working on a film idea that's getting uppity. It wants a crown and calls herself queen. I tiptoe into her living quarters so noiselessly on the mornings I want her to speak to me. She insists I work on my knees, deep into the day-for-night day.

I have a dance concept in my head that wants to be an apple. It's got crunch and it might leave you with a sweet taste in your eyes if you get to watch it. This dance falls on your head to make you stop and realize, and maybe make you writhe out of that straitjacket that keeps your physique locked down in postures of societal correctness.

I have a melody in my mouth that is a planet. She wants to whirl around the earth, singing herself to sleep and bliss. She casts shadows on part of me, but awakens me to light in other ways. She has rings around her that are tambourines keeping the beat. She wants to make dancing fools of all of us.

All my creative acts are pompous, elegant, majestic, and planetary. I call them names, they give me head. We whistle at one another, thinking that each is in need of taming. They have a leash for me. It keeps me on the right path, typing these phrases, humming these songs, stepping these dances, acting these lines, shooting these scenes. It is a long, long leash. I am testing its length, and so far I have made it to upper Mongolia, the Galapagos Isles, the Nubian desert. I roam far to find my legs and crown and apple and planet. All the while they are in my head.

But I continue roaming anyhow, so long as that leash is long, so long.

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Tuesday, July 17, 2007

Poem #198 of 365

your subject line made
me tense up,
made me curious
and concerned.

this penetrates deep
and gives me pause.

it hurts to hear young people
hurting, though we all know
and must accept that human
life can be fraught with
dragging-down moments,
regardless of age or social context.

apparently, you have lost someone,
you're hurting moaning mourning...

i am sorry you are
i am glad you are

in that place of feeling
something deep
and uncontrollably

or so it seems in the moment.

most important, in that moment,
you are ALIVE, HUMAN, because
you have a heart.

your heart works!
celebrate that.

if you feel anything,
even if it's pain,
that shows you're alive & open
to the potential of your life.

put your hand on your heart,
and give it some thanks,
say "Hey heart, thanks for
feeling something,
thanks for beating
for me.
Now, please help
me feel something
different: calm, relief,
expansiveness, acceptance,
and help me become
curious about the next
moment, to love."

write again, soon,
lemme know how
you work through
the moment(s).

(letter to a young Lucha)

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Monday, July 16, 2007

Poem #197 of 365

Who makes the moon
take dainty steps
as it hastens toward the letter o?

And will it respond when
i ask to dance in its light,
a chance to tap like
that sliver of silver?

Who will join in investing
a heartbeat, a twilight surge,
to summon a love that
upswells, and shows
the shadows as unnerved?

I ask too many questions
in the dark, so willful is
my mind under the pull of
the lunar tide.

It brings some fullness to the sky
as the eyelids flutter
on our rounded faces, but when
the midnight shows its hour
we'll howl with glee and moonshine traces.

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Sunday, July 15, 2007

Poem #196 of 365

I'll have nothing to do with you.
I have cut off my arm to not
hold your hand. I am bleeding
on the sidewalk, but that's okay,
it will be considered art by
morning. It will be titled "Red blossoms
from angry skin" by curators with
MFAs and New England accents.

And I will not invite you to the
wine-and-cheese reception.

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Saturday, July 14, 2007

Poem #195 of 365

Lowan, a New Mexican friend, investigated
the benefits, for nursing babies, of suckling
on the breasts of mamas who laughed.

So he set up mamas to comfortably
sit, watching video after video of
comedies and funny movies. They
breastfed their babies soon thereafter.

The more they laughed, the better the milk.
Better for the baby...if the mamas liked
Marx Brothers and stand-up comedy.

That aphorism "crying over spilled milk"
has never rang so relevant.

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Friday, July 13, 2007

Poem #194 of 365

i don’t know who is the more
flippant with food...the kid
who stuffs the defrosted
frozen meal, warmed-up
just enough to call it cooked,
into a bag and shoves it
at you through a shop window,

or you as you grab it away,
toss it into the passenger
seat as you rev into drive,
and then tear off the wrapping,
to stuff the tasteless product into
your never-satiated mouth.

when these actions summon
a burp, you pronounce yourself full,
you call yourself fed.

flippant with food.

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Thursday, July 12, 2007

Poem #193 of 365

You snapped a picture
of your pup with an
imaginery camera
between your thumbs,

and I imagine the boxes
that could fill a store
if all the fascinating childplay
games you have

thought up in five decades
of life could be packaged
and shelved in a vivid
shop that would probably

have to be named something
like Moms R Fun
or She's a Child For Life.

I would have a membership
discount to that store, and
I'd browse continually to see
what has been added to the
inventory. My laughter would
echo against the walls and
ceiling, and my imagination
would brim with joy.

So, keep snapping make-believe
pictures and drawing smiley
faces on the piles of wood
in the neighbors' yard,
and dressing your dolls in our
baby clothes. I love the kid
you remain to be and I know
my mom will always let me go
over to play at your house.

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

Honoring raul r. salinas: poet, elder, activist, and educator

Compas & amigo/as:

I write this with a sense of urgency, as our elder-poet, the Chicano educator and activist raulrsalinas, has experienced a noticeable decline in physical health within the past six months.

As you read this, there are two important things being organized on behalf of honoring raul--while he is still with us.

In Austin, where he has been working steadily for decades, a benefit/performance is being scheduled for AUGUST 25th, 2-7pm, at the MACC (Mexican American Cultural Center) downtown.

As well, some of us are trying to get fast-track approval from the City of Austin (Parks & Recreation Dept.) to have a room/space within the MACC named after raul. You can read the letter I submitted in support of this initiative [see below].

Many of you have worked, studied, performed, and, yeah, partied, with our dearest raulrsalinas. If you have ever wanted to show him gratitude and honor for whatever he has shared with you, now is the time to send him a note, give him a call, or--very much needed now--mail him a check.

The programs (Red Salmon Arts, SOY--Save Our Youth) which raul founded long ago are desperately in need of more solid financial footing. If you can help in this capacity, that would be wonderful.

But--as we are also a people very rich in spirit, your prayers, good wishes, and white sage burnings--your good vibes will always be a blessing.

With love, to you all!




---------------- the letter ---------------------

July 9, 2007

Warren Strauss
Austin Parks and Recreation
P.O. Box 1088
Austin, TX 78767

Dear Mr. Strauss:

I am submitting this letter in support of the initiative to officially honor writer, community activist, and educator Raul R. Salinas by designating a space within the Mexican American Cultural Center (MACC) with his name.

To permanently attach Raul R. Salinas’ name to a space/room within the MACC will be to honor the legacy and commitment of Salinas, who has positively influenced and inspired many many people.

As a literary artist, social activist, and a three-time Austinite (I now live in Fort Worth), Raul R. Salinas came into my life as an elder-teacher who motivated me to have a public life as writer and poet. My first time to ever give a public reading in Austin was at Resistencia Bookstore in the early 1990s. Since that time, Salinas has given me advice and good counsel, and has shown me the depth of his commitment to the Austin community-at-large, and its at-risk youth in particular.

No one could forget Salinas’ voice, powerful yet compassionate, as he led workshops in the Gardner-Betts Juvenile Detention Center or offered lectures at St. Edward’s University--where he recently taught several courses.

As a community activist, Salinas’ leadership has been crucial in many initiatives and campaigns, including the campaign in support of the establishment of the MACC itself.

Resistencia Bookstore, a vital community arts space--featuring wi-fi internet access and a literary reading series--would never have come to exist without the vision and tireless dedication of Salinas.

Salinas, as Austin living legend, has forged an enduring reputation among Hispanic/Latino poets and writers, youth advocates, and social justice workers throughout the state and nation. As a matter of fact, just yesterday I received a book of poems by a San Francisco-based writer which includes a poem inspired by Salinas (Mahcic: Selected Poems by Tomas Riley, Calaca Press, 2005).

It is my sincere hope that you will agree that Raul R. Salinas now deserves to be honored with a special naming ceremony at the MACC, so that generations of Austinites henceforth will remember Salinas with the reverence and respect that his life’s work deserves.

Sincerely yours,

Tammy Gomez

writer/playwright, producer
founder of Sound Culture

Poem #192 of 365

The bulldozers encroach my street,
we are surrounded at every turn.

Nothing is permanent here,
that is something I need to learn.

Yesterday I enjoyed Ramiro's public art,
but today it's debris carried off in a cart.

The machines are here and breaking up things,
and this is most painful for he who clings.

There is no ceremony when the ravaging starts,
no one to light candles or put hats over hearts.

We merely sleep through the change that takes place,
and curse the developers who destroy and erase.

But--the collective community has a voice in this city,
if we neglect to use it, for that I'll have no pity.

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

Poem #191 of 365

I was thinking about the HO-HO-HO
on your boxers
and about the CHEERS
on my bikini briefs,

together we celebrated
the season through the night
and brought in the new year
with those words on the floor.

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Monday, July 09, 2007

Poem #190 of 365

Mercury, you fucked with me
and made me penniless
in the shopping mall of your
mercy. Why make a
mockery of my humble
yearnings and selfless pursuits?

I did what you asked, I floated
dispassionately on your waters,
without raising my voice or
the bet on the table.

Why weren't you able to be
lenient with this never-did-
nothing-to-hurt-you lady,
why did you make me sweat
stress through my pores?

I have survived your last
hellraise, yet I am
downhearted and ill--and
even my voice is raspy,

But I'll see you in the heavens,
someday, and I'll turn retrograde
on your ass, and you'll be sorry,
yeah, I'll make you one sorry celestial rock,
no matter if it's predicted or not.

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Sunday, July 08, 2007

Poem #189 of 365

I glanced out the window into the night
and saw a huge bus make a wide turn,
around the corner it came
and if the driver had just sneezed
in that instant, i swear the
bus would have come crashing
through the glass panels,

but no, it turned smooth
and the driver was calm
as he nosed the bus onward
to its next stop.

And then, i noticed the two words
on its destination sign, and my
heart leapt at the same time as
my feet wanted to spree: San Francisco.

This bus was heading towards San
Francisco on this late dark night
in a dull town of restless people
sweating in toil to
make rent and pay bills, with
thoughts of vacation being just
thoughts, but tonight in a
split-second this bus came
as a promise for me.

I will go to San Francisco within
the next year, and I don't care
if the bus driver sneezes the
whole way there.

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Saturday, July 07, 2007

Poem #188 of 365

If we build a house of LEGO
and comb our hair with SLINKY
and cook our food with PLAY-DOH,

does that mean we're toying with our lives?

If we throw sage on MONOPOLY
and sprinkle cumin on CANDYLAND,

does that mean we're trying to spice up our game?

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Friday, July 06, 2007

Poem #187 of 365

Definitely, I am sleepy now.
I can barely keep my eyes open,
but my brain yelps a few words.
As I type, there is laziness in
the strokes, as the bed wants
to fetch me from the corner
of my eye.

I struggle to finish, and
complete this verse, but my
yawns outnumber the discursive
jolts, and I just wanna be in
my bedclothes curled up
wih my dreams, so I can
wake fresh with poems tomorrow.

copright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Thursday, July 05, 2007

Poem #186 of 365

Watch the animals when they agitate,
sprint from one room to the next,
they prick up their ears and tails
when all is seemingly quiet and still.

When the birds twitter and fidget
from one bush to the next,
and seem to be chirping
in their screechiest voices,
i take it they are on high alert.

But when a cat jumps in front
of your car and it's stretched
full-length like a breathing
accordion mid-song, you
wonder if it wished to be
struck, seeking exit
through your headlights,

as you slam on the brakes
to save its life
or maybe your own.

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Wednesday, July 04, 2007

Poem #185 of 365

i look down at my feet.
i’ve walked a long way.
and i see, well, actually, remember,
that i’ve got no shoes anymore.

i’ve been walking without shoes,
and i’ve walked a long way
for a long time,

and i’ve done pretty good
without them, so
my feet must be calloused,
they must be strong,
cuz i hardly noticed.

i’ve done without shoes
all this very long time.

that’s what it feels like
to walk
and to live
without daddy right now.

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Tuesday, July 03, 2007

Poem #184 of 365

Prince Bandar never invited me over for a swim,
and I never got to stop in at Barbie Benton's house,
but we lived for six months in the same little town.
They were eating off silver spoons,
while I was paid to clean them.

(in light of the news that Prince Bandar is now trying
to sell his mansion in Aspen, Colorado, for a paltry
$135 million)

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Monday, July 02, 2007

Poem #183 of 365

I stood on the "mountain"
at the Water Gardens
with an upraised and opened
golden umbrella,

wondering if my time
to be struck
would be coming soon,
as the clouds threatened
and the drizzle fell.

I turned from facing east
and my eyes alighted
on the western sky
and I did get struck,

by light and color
mixing in a
palette swirl
one often sees
in a puddle that has
been marred by oil.

A spill of tints and
shapes that slows
the gaze, as you
stare deeply for
a minute, loving
that in the seconds
since you spotted
this growing
display of sunset,

at least 8 people
have joined you
atop that concrete
precipice, so that
when and if
the bolts ever hit

at least you'll fry
watching the most
beautiful 7pm
Tarrant County sky.

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Sunday, July 01, 2007

Poem #182 of 365

Managing one's breath is the most beautiful thing.
That’s what singing is.
It boils down to that.

Yoginis spend decades, the bulk of their lives
in their bodies, perfecting the breath.
Inhalation and exhalation.

And meditators fixate on managing that breath process as well,
while swimmers, how could you get into water and glide,
float around in it without knowing how to suck and hold breath,
in the right proportions at the right time.

And when you are panting in my proximal location,
swinging me 'round and adjusting the angle with
which your hand cups mine, this is breathing
that quickens my breath.

And when, as with Mark, our breathing synched in rhythm
as we sank into bed. There is nothing like that.
Sharing two sets of lungs and feeling light as air.

Breathing and breathing, our sighs on the pillow,
sustaining our song.

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez