theLeftAhead

  Bullets beget bullets Bombs beget bombs Winter is never over Climbing higher Mount Certainty Reaching out for purer air Tree line blurred in the distance Pausing only to rest on laurels Looking down on tranquil canyons Echoed sensibilities offend Uninterrupted by sacrifice To be this high To have this view Stubborn knuckles hardened further Grander heavens scaled faster still No ropes Support not needed This is too noble a…

Starin’ Through My Rear View – The Miami Heat lead the San Antonio Spurs in the NBA Finals five to four after coming into the AT&T Center last night and stealing Game 2 of this year’s series 98-96 in front of 18,581 properly cooled off Spurs fans. My fear coming into last night was that the Heat were capable of stealing Game 2 by forcing the Spurs into committing an…

Californication – Last night, an irrationally unsettled Scott Brooks played Russell Westbrook 45 minutes in the Oklahoma City Thunder’s 105-92 victory over the San Antonio Spurs in Game 4 of the Western Conference Finals. Midway through the third quarter, with the Spurs down by 20 points, Gregg Popovich pulled his top six players and let his third string play the remaining 18 minutes of the game. After the Spurs bench…

  Ward off the cold’s day virus with the warmth of my will Give me a Texas death sentence for everyone that it kills Keep my motives locked up in the frailness of the chase Chase the sacred moments that I keep at a thoroughbred’s pace Trace the steps of synchronization like a bowling pin on the swivel Cross my game over, like it’s luck, with every ankle breaking dribble…

Alone in a raft of contumacy Paddling in an ocean of apathy Throwing out the net. Droplets of salt water Burn the eyes as passers by Forge ahead with unwavering focus. Stubborn discipline in rhythm “Our boats shall not be rocked.” One by one Tunnel vision. Two by two Impermeable banter. Four by four Impervious rancor. Approach, reproach Then rescind into the distance. Keep surveying impatiently A connection within oar’s…

  Justice is a musket Primitive and rustic And which ever way you thrust it Them instincts getting trusted This shit stinks I’m disgusted From the missed winks It’s corrupted To the chain links System’s busted So these sentences Constructed Off a few kinks Fingers dusted When the hood sinks Like a bucket Here’s the hoodwink “Kill ’em, fuck it.” ________________________________ Black and white. No gray. Written July 2013 in…

Somos trabajadores, somos fuertes When we’re taken for granted, somos pacientes Resolute, we gather and we share Planting seeds, somos jardineros Power in numbers, wisdom in cooperation When we struggle, somos un colectivo Without shelter, we brace the storm together We don’t forget, somos elefantes After sacrifice, we’re asked to sacrifice some more When our shins are kicked, no somos victimas We organize, we organize, nos organizamos If a rubber…

Editor’s Note: This poem hung on the wall in my father’s study in my childhood home. It was written to my dad by a group of his Southwestern University students in 1965. There is an illustration on the poster board which is signed by the participants of the project. However, I do not know who the author of the poem is or who illustrated it. Clearly, my dad had an…

For Heather & Josh Wayward memories fade to make room for a new Awake, you float through butterflies to a familiar rhythm Of curious bliss that is nuzzled against such old Wonderment, you knew as a child to anticipate magic That heightens your senses and codifies a borrowed Resolve, you pine for the future but dance in the moment Of yearning blown softly from your lips towards the blue Abyss,…

For Mom When we walk, we walk towards our memories. Every step of the journey, we walk towards our memories. We put one foot in front of the other, guided by faith. We can’t go back, and at times that makes us want to stop. Our past is before us, but always out of reach. One foot in front of the other, following our memories. We long for a shortcut…

To the September 17 Occupiers: “Moneyman” By Lupe Fiasco September 14, 2011 Hey Moneyman the crowd is outside. The past, the future and the now is outside. The teachers and cooks and the drop-outs too. Word on the street is they looking for you… Hey Moneyman they saying whats the score? And how much blood have you spilled on the butcher shop floor? Those numbers keep running but what they…

For Charlotte, and all who have worked or taught at The Learning Tree Time passes in on the cool autumn breeze The wise, old tree contently chuckles, it has long since made its peace with time Like clockwork, the children run up to pick the fruit and play in the shade Such joy the young faces bring the old tree, so filled with enthusiasm and wonderment The tree nurtures the…