Tuesday, May 22, 2012

INTER-NOT



You log-on.
Your eyes are inanimate pixels.
You exude no masculinity.
Your language is a flat-argot.
You pose a stilted image.

I meet you in-person.
I see the sparkle in your green eyes.
I imbibe your masculinity.
I hold your hand, and know,
this is the electricity,
which I seek.

©TPuma/MMXII



Friday, May 18, 2012

COMMENCEMENT



I graduated/
shadow boxing in college/
sparring in real-world.

Thursday, May 17, 2012

ASTRONOMY



We masturbated under the stars,
as 13 year olds, in Hayden Planetarium.

Sinking and slinking into cushioned seats
lights dimmed and faded out,
as dark as death could be.

Leaning back, unzipped and unafraid,
left and right arms and thighs touching.

Grabbing each other and
pumping away,
as the sky moved above
with the tempo of Holst’s “Planets”
and a masculine oration.

My friend whispers to me,
“My father said that any time I do this
one less baby is born.”

TPuma/MMXII

Monday, May 7, 2012

PANANG



I met Buddha on 82nd street
it was an fortuitous meet.
He looked down at me, with eyes,
whose color I could not see.

A smile, an enigmatic shock:
Am I being mocked?

Whose hands seem as a relaxed joint
where fingers in opposite direction point.

Can I meditate and ask why?
About an Asian love that went awry.
Show me my nature this day
that drove my Asian lover away.

You have been asked a plea:
Do you have something to say to me?
Not about love Universal,
but about love Personal.

Can you only answer this task,
with inscrutable answers, I cannot grasp.

I fear I am not ready or worthy
to decipher your wisdom earthly.

For a love, I will never forget,
and a wound not healed,
with Buddha met.

©TPuma/MMXII


Sunday, May 6, 2012

POET

I.

Don’t tell me about the Poet.
I want to hear and read the Poetry.
No MFA’s or Chapbooks or self-pubs.
Let me feel your Poems.

Do not deceive with your
abstruse, abstract or obtuse words.
I need phrases and stanzas
that capture my being.

If you do not reach out to me
your poetry is irrelevant.

Let me decide if the poem is “you.”
Let me decide if the poem is “me.

Tickle me, flog me,
be my master,
be my slave.

Do something.
Don’t just word-process.

Emote with words,
to move me,
to make me love you,
to make me hate you,
to make me envy you,
to let me know you.

You the Poet
via your poetry.

II.

I want my words to reverberate
through your eyes and ears
and other senses
physical, spiritual and sensual.

How do I reach you?
How do I get to you?

I must read and listen
and observe and feel
through all my senses.

To write a word, a phrase,
a sentence, a stanza:
a poem.

My poetry is an act of love.
An obsession and a passion
and, an emotional out pouring.

Viewing the world through a prism,
bending sights and sounds and smells,
into linear sentences on paper.


III.

I see you write poetry.
I hear you read poetry.
I feel the emotion of your poetry.
I inhale the ambiance of your poetry.

Smell the roses in your garden,
let me draw-in the fragrance.

See the world through your eyes,
let me discern that in your words.

Make your sentences sing to me,
let me follow its melodic beat.

Let me fling my arms over head,
as I roller-coaster down that slide.

Let me inhabit your memories.

The pit of my stomach rumbles,
I awaken with a new awareness.

---------------------------------------------------












Saturday, May 5, 2012

CINCO de MAYO-2012

Toast us with Tequila
till you can't stand.
Break out the Margharitas
on both sides of the Rio Grande.

Come celebrate the day
no matter your ethnicity.
All you need to know is "Ole"
to join this annual party.

So, I don my Sombrero
and sequined shirt.
Today I'm Mexicano
and no one gets hurt.

No trabajo Domenica
I will sleep-in.
My head afire with Sangria:
PLEASE STOP THAT DIN!

Wednesday, May 2, 2012

ODE TO CHUCK TRIPPI-POET




He brings a scent of spring
a sense of autumnal color.
The loneliness of a winter’s night
the conviviality of a summer BBQ.

A genial host, a genuine mentor,
and a gentle-man.
A biting wit, that pricks
the balloon of pomposity.

A poet who sings in metaphors
as narrative.
Where emotions are laid-bare
in classical form.

We listen and read,
again and again
to discern the message.

And when we understand
the poetry,
we understand the man,
and get an insight
of our own nature.

Tony Puma/MMXII





Tuesday, May 1, 2012

ANOTHER BIRTHDAY-2012



A Taurean born this 1st of May
3 score year to a day.

The End gets closer in this scene
(not to worry)
I am looking forward to 2013.