Para mi mama (To my mother)

Gracias, mami. Aqui va una poesía pequeña y muy simple, pero viene de toda sinceridad y con todo mi cariño. Desafortunadamente, esta en Ingles. ^_^

I can't ever know, I won't ever know. The amount of energy, the limits I pushed.

The late nights I caused, while you waited for me to return. Sacrifices on my behalf, not oftentimes appreciating them.

Sometimes, I feel like I get it, I feel like I understand the depth, the intensity of your love towards me. But no, it is still too mysterious.

On your lap I was raised, en tus ojos aprendi mucho, your prayers sustained me, you were a vessel for my salvation.

I still have much to learn in the way of being a son, todavia dejo mis cosas para el ultimo momento, so here's a hug, here's an I-miss-you-mum.

May you be rewarded for the efforts, rewarded for the cariño maravilloso, por el buen Señor Nuestro. I promise to not let it waste.

I can't ever know, I won't ever know, pero gracias mami, muchas gracias.

Live your life, she said

This poem is dedicated to Daniel Alcantara and Kessia Reyne Bennett.

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Live your life, she said [10.24.12]

Sometimes, I find my voice wanders to conversations I did not seek. Running quick, like predators are on the chase, I soon realize it was a trap.

G.K. Chesterton said mad men do not need reason, do not need an argument or clever rhetoric. They need to gasp fresh air into their shriveled lungs and mind.

Who is this writer anyways? To what goal does he aim? Who gave him authority to put ink to paper, and scribble something about love and spirituality?

It is in these moments, I think of you. The way you would run your hand through your hair, thick and black, proceed to utter a sentence beginning with, “Basically...”

And I ask myself, what will it come to? The fluorescent light casts shadows upon my bed creating a theatre from books and pens. Creating a make believe world I can turn off at any moment.

But that is not how this works, I am never one to wait, anyways. My mind returns to the scripture about fruit in season. “He doesn’t abandon,” she added.

No rest

There is no rest for the gossiper. There is no sleep for the unfaithful pastor.

There is no peace for the fanatic.

No strength can be found in a segregated church.

What silence can the bitter stand?

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There is no comfort for the matriarch.

There is no satisfying the church member who wants up.

There is no security for the legalist.

No meaning can be found in doubting everything.

What scrutiny can the people with God's name endure?

Tuning before Songs of Ascent concert

Photo by me I think the highs need emphasis, and what if that microphone gets pushed back a bit?
Oh and is this good volume for the harmony voice and what do you think about my keystrokes?
Feedback and mid's and reverb slow the process down enough to push us close to showtime.
Matt and Eric figuring out chords for this 'most fragile' song. I sound like I'm off, don't I?

Just do it. It sounds nice. I don't think it does, but no one ever does. Not of their own performance, anyways.

Something about monitors or sound bouncing improperly, uncooperatively, mind of its own.

The notes are plucked, taking us off to yet another interruption, an interrogation about quality. Is this muddy?

Eric, remember Union college? Play twinkle notes like that. Piano solo.

Don't pick me, I have terrible ears, ears not able to discern how balanced your towers are, or how twangy the strings strike.

We get off and come back. It sounded really bad and it's ok to say that in honesty, for the purpose of a good mix.