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.

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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!

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

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.

COUNTER INCIDENT

Pleased with herself,
she deftly dropped the earrings into her bag.

As she heads towards the exit,
I anticipate mayhem.

Bells and whistles clanging, chirping,
retail-Dicks reading rights.

Nothing.

About as exciting
as my Wonton soup.

She escapes onto 6th Avenue
via the M2 bus.

My wrist watch did not stop,
nor did it revert to counter-clockwise.

The earth did not move beneath me.

What moral or ethical question
was begged or answered?

None.

And that was that.

An incident recorded as an entry
on an inventory spread sheet.

©TPuma/MMXII

CAPE MAY SKY

The clouds and sky
mimicking the salty surf
and ocean below.

A world turned
upside-down,
that only a child
could love.

REFLEXIONS/SENRYU

One dimensional/
the looking-glass deceives me/
I am not that one.