To what despair…words that are but a glare.

     To my despair it could written, lethargically, desolate, and all that is hidden. The words rage from within, as one who ascends to summit it all. Yet the barren descends, and gathers the fall. 

     Yet, my words will spring not, nor come to be. Yet, to my despair I gather it all. If, I had but a word I’d render it all…I look to leaves, if they would but fall. 

Let it fall…let it fall on it all.

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The empty Moon…the full Son.

The day is full of its unending woes, the night barren…yet, the moon is full. Full of wonder I sit and wait…as if looking for its shadow to confirm my presence, I present myself to find my soul …my very essence, His eternal present.
His sun, my skin…His Son, my soul. If I had but a moment… a story would unfold.

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To free or not to free…that is my question?

I’ve long to free my words, as if penned up in some bird cage. The solitude of the pulse less pen, it whimpers to bleed its ink as if time had frozen still. The sheets of white crumble in my hands as a marque of a snow capped mountain…my words in the valley, long for the summit of summer.
When it’s stroke bright, brought forth the cascade melt of the streams that quench the words sealed in the canvas of my heart. It is sealed like the ink, like blood running through my veins…my pulse skips a beat, spirals, slopes…will I ever write, is there hope?

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Who do you Beat for Tony?

Funny thing, yesterday I found myself talking to an old friend (former best friend, one who was closer than a brother) dating back to 1981. We grew up with many similarities, however, were extremely different in many ways. We both are Hispanics (this makes me laugh, BTW, His Panics???) and grew up in the same street. However, he really was into House Music, Kenny Jammin Jason, and Prince…yeah, Prince! It was the in thing to do for the vast majority of Hispanics living in the inner city of Chicago. I on the other hand was fascinated by Jazz, the Blues, Classical and international music. There was something about the mellifluous sound, in which, I allowed filtering my soul.
Don’t get wrong, I enjoyed Run DMC, Beastie Boys, etc., however, it just wasn’t me on a continuous loop. I haven’t listened to quite some time someone coin me a white boy, nearly two decades ago until yesterday. Yeah, Tony…thanks for the reminder. I would get grief from the guys because I would listen to Chicago’s WNUA, Smoooooth Jazz, and not par-take inasmuch to WBMX or WGCI.
I’m extremely fascinated with the likes…the originals. Take Billie Holiday, AMAZING woman who had less than three minutes to cram as much of her soul into a track. That was the deal back in the 30’s! Today, we have some music that seems infinite at times, with no real beat, no stroke and it seems like emesis all over a vinyl canvas. I remember as a child, teenager and young adult attempting to play the sax with my hamster filled cheeks with air. Pushing air out, while I held on tightly to my lips to produce some of the coolest and silliest sounds ever, tone, sounds of freedom.
I’ve surrendered many of things from the past, however, this sound, this rhythm, this old boy now beats to the sounds of the Lord feet! His face, His touch, He’s got class…it’s all about Grace…now that’s jazz.

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For the truth is…

The truth is in Him, He alone can set you free from the bondage of despair and lies of John 8:44.
I was confused…so dumbfound, I looked for answer in this world so compound.
I once recall looking for wisdom in a shelf…only to discover it was He…Himself, that would illuminate my soul.

To the one true God…I found, my love…mi Amor!




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I Hope …Not to return Home!

I was hoping to use this as an intro to a possible book.

The Homeless, the Hopeful.

“MY EYE, LOOK AT MY (explicit) EYE” as the patient shouted! There was no denying one was captivated to provide medical care by the ever increasing shouts of agony, suffering of his ever present pain, heck I felt his pain indirectly, in a sense. Metaphorically! He stood up as the medical team exam him in trauma room STARR B. It’s as though the very agony kept him from lying in a supine position to receive the dire care he needed. He kept on with the same oratory statement, “My EYE, MY EYE, HE STABBED ME IN THE (explicit)EYE,” for a second I was drawn to the same wormhole, in which I can vividly recall the first stabbing I witnessed.
It was a warm Chicago day, I still to this day can feel those days and night of humidity that succumbed one to the point you wanted to peel your skin right out of your dripped, wet, sweated body, for relief. I recall sitting and watching the box, and out of nowhere screams and shouts bellowed into our cramped second floor apartment windows at 915. I along with mother ran to the window, a synchronized race if you will. A crowd gathered at the sidewalk. There they were, two men arguing over something or another, till this day I have no knowledge of what was said, the adrenaline solely kept my visual eyes from escaping the scene. Like a predator to a prey, the one who was doing the most shouting tripped the other individual whose backside was facing us over a pole-like two foot horizontal fence that encapsulated the yards. I, without warning would witness a dreadful sight that lingers from time to time. However, no longer terrified by it!
A dagger, knife…hell, it appeared to look like a sword from where I was standing, he shanked him. NO MIRE! Don’t look! Shouted, mother as she had slapped the frontal portion of my head so fast it knocked me flat on my back, next to the dining table. Living on the second floor gave us a bird’s eye view of the park, and nature I had hope would replace nurturing, it would never come to resurgence. I, being ignorant and curious as it captivated my senses disregarded her plea and cry. I was four years old! We had just moved to the corners of Sacramento and Walton from Division and Monticello. Mother had no idea; I had sneaked over to an adjacent window. The facade of the apartment had six windows, and I had to look, as if I had to be witness to some major development idea of a norm in my life. Shocked! He kept stabbing him in the abdomen as he was trying to pierce his very soul. It wasn’t enough that he would have perhaps died, it was one stabbing after another.
It was the last vision I had of the Emergency Department, where I had served for almost seven years, ironically! My time had come and gone, and it was time to spread wings and leave the sepulcher of misery, depression, and anger that I was forced into at the hospital. It was meant and never meant for me to become an Emergency Medical Technician, it never once crossed my mind. If anything, I found hospital to be bloodcurdling growing up as a child. I never had a pleasant experience, except for my tonsillectomy, given the fact that my younger brother had his done first and ice cream was on the menu. It was a forbidden passion of ours, that is, the pleasures of sugars and gumdrops. However, in retrospect; it’s been two plus years since I resigned from the hospital and school of medicine and I have been blessed immensely as well. It was there that I met the love of my life Katrina, and she continues to blossom her love for me in a way that I never comprehended or understood. It was there we witness the life of both our children on the fourth floor L & D wing of the very same hospital. Truly, it has been more of a blessing than a curse! I NOW consider pure joy when faced with trials; it took forty-two years to realize this. NO, I’m not super human; however, I have a super-natural Lord that has been ever present with me, from the womb, until now. And yes, ever so grateful that I have both eyes…it is with the eyes of my heart, in which I now see.
The way I see it, He, the Lord Jesus Christ was saving me even when I wasn’t saved! I was blind but now I can see. I was lost in a compounded world of hate, gangs, drugs, crime, and despair and now I have been found, once more. I’ve learned that, though Every Man Tries, not every man prevails.

And this, my tale!

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The empty shelf of lies, the barn house of His wisdom

The truth is in Him, He alone can set you free from the bondage of despair and lies of John 8:44.
I was confused…so dumbfound, I looked for answer in this world so compound.
I once recall looking for wisdom in a shelf…only to discover it was He…Himself, that would illuminate my soul.
To the one true God…I found, my love…mi Amor!
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