Thursday, March 21, 2013

Thank you to Carlos

I was never very sure about performing my poetry. Ever. Until I met a man, who still doesn't know how much he affected my life. Carlos Contreras. He is poet from ABQ, and I met him at a slam once, then a workshop later on. He is awesome, and a true comedian with crowds, and his poetry is amazing to read, but even better to see and hear live. I'm sure a lot of his work will eventually make its way here. However, today I leave you with less of a performance, but an introduction to who he is, and  maybe he can influence you as he has me. Click------> Carlos and his Poetry

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Fifteen Ways to Stay Alive--- A Zombie Poem

Fifteen Ways to Stay Alive- By Daphne Gottlieb
  1. Offer the wolves your arm only from the elbow down. Leave tourniquet space. Do not offer them your calves. Do not offer them your side. Do not let them near your femoral artery, your jugular. Give them only your arm.
  2. Wear chapstick when kissing the bomb.
  3. Pretend you don't know English.
  4. Pretend you never met her.
  5. Offer the bomb to the wolves. Offer the wolves to the zombies.
  6. Only insert a clean knife into your chest. Rusty ones will cause tetanus. Or infection.
  7. Don't inhale.
  8. Realize that this love was not your trainwreck, was not the truck that flattened you, was not your Waterloo, did not cause massive hemorrhaging from a rusty knife. That love is still to come.
  9. Use a rusty knife to cut through most of the noose in a strategic place so that it breaks when your weight is on it.
  10. Practice desperate pleas for attention, louder calls for help. Learn them in English, French, Spanish: May Day, Aidez-Moi, Ayúdeme.
  11. Don't kiss trainwrecks. Don't kiss knives. Don't kiss.
  12. Pretend you made up the zombies, and only superheroes exist.
  13. Pretend there is no kryptonite.
  14. Pretend there was no love so sweet that you would have died for it, pretend that it does not belong to someone else now, pretend like your heart depends on it because it does. Pretend there is no wreck -- you watched the train go by and felt the air brush your face and that was it. Another train passing. You do not need trains. You can fly. You are a superhero. And there is no kryptonite.
  15. Forget her name.

Tuesday, March 19, 2013


Another day has come, leaving us with only remains of our sluggishness, our restless bodies search for the way into the soft chamber, and we lay there, thinking, pondering what happened and what could have. You dream in your subconscious state, dreams full of wonder and wishes. Only then to awake to another day filled with activities leaving you clinging to your chamber, trying to lock the door.

Monday, March 18, 2013

My Silence

Challenge Failed. So I present to you, a poem I've been editing for awhile :D

On a humble raft, I found myself in an ocean, 

Its minuscule mast casted a shadow across my eyes, 

And I saw silence speak. 

I spoke to the wind, 

For it to carry my message into a distance, 

For its effect to take root in another ear, 

An ignorant ear. 

I heard whispers among the crested waves, 

As if they were spreading rumors about me. 

The wind swept up those words 

And gave them to me. 

Being all alone now 

I shouted to the congregation of tiny droplets, 

Falling from the cheek of God, 

For keeping me alive. 

You see…. I came here to die. 

The winds gentile palm set me on a splintering vessel. 

Set course for serenity, 

And I sat and I listened, 

Not for the whimpering of another gust, 

Nor the pitter patter of raindrops, 

But I listened to the silence speak. 

The sea held its breath, 

Sunshine froze above my skin, 

And I swore in that moment, 

I’d be eternal. 

I spoke to the wind and its own obscenities, 

The obscure origin in which it was born, 

But I was overcome with its inquisition as to who I was. 

At the time I was a boy… 

running from the notes of a different chord, 

I thought there could be no flats and sharps in life if you had no middle C, 

And look where that’s left us? 

With a sea between you and me, 

I was running from a past that I hadn’t endured, 

Remembering memories I hadn’t lived, 

I was afraid of a nightmare I hadn’t even dreamt. 

It was a time of turmoil that constructed this heap of wood 

Floating into this moment 

That brought me here to speak to the wind, 

So I spoke, 

And dropping to my knees, 

I bowed my head in prayer even when I knew nobody was listening, 

And I begged to return home. 

To the shore I came from. 

To the land of my Mother, 

My Father, My sister, my Lover. 

I needed for the limp sail to fill with hope, 

For the wind to breath into my soul 

And push me towards the horizon 

Where a sunset will stretch across my mind, 

And amongst painted colors 

You’d draw a new life for us, 

A new beginning in-between the shadows of thought bubbles 

And clouds. 

Where we will kindle a new flame with an old spark 

And maybe even upgrade this relationship 

To an ark. 

Pull it into port and pour ourselves some 

Peace. And Quite. 

We’ll toast to tranquility in a nonexistent breeze born out of my silence.

Saturday, March 16, 2013

Anyone Out There?

If anyone reading has any suggestions to improve my writing skills, or would even like for me to share their own poetry here, please email me at 

I would greatly enjoy hearing from anyone viewing this from another computer screen. 


I wonder if you miss my touch,
My un-dustable fingertip grip on your reality,
The kind they write stories about.
I used to wonder why roses were never white,
The violets always blue,
and how it ended up relating.... To You.
I wonder why I'll write another poem,
As if a pen can stitch words together to close my wounds,
Its ink cleansing open scars stinging with memories.

Friday, March 15, 2013

Haiku #4

Well, technically I am 30 minutes late to making this post on Friday, but here it is anyway.


Take a singular
Hydrogen atom, and then
you split it in half.

Thursday, March 14, 2013

Haiku #3

I find myself lost 
In the eyes of new lovers
and of the old ones. 

Wednesday, March 13, 2013

Friendship After Love - Ella Wheeler Wilcox

This is the shortest poem I'll recite at Nationals.

Friendship After Love
By Ella Wheeler Wilcox

After the fierce midsummer all ablaze
    Has burned itself to ashes, and expires
    In the intensity of its own fires,
There come the mellow, mild, St. Martin days
Crowned with the calm of peace, but sad with haze.
    So after Love has led us, till he tires
    Of his own throes, and torments, and desires,
Comes large-eyed friendship: with a restful gaze,
He beckons us to follow, and across
    Cool verdant vales we wander free from care.
    Is it a touch of frost lies in the air?
Why are we haunted with a sense of loss?
We do not wish the pain back, or the heat;
And yet, and yet, these days are incomplete.

I am going to Nationals for Poetry Out Loud!!

I forgot to post on here some exciting news about me! I will be representing New Mexico at Nationals for Poetry Out Loud ( Here is the link --->Poetry Out Loud National Finals Info.). Poetry Out Loud is competing with recitation of other authors poetry. We memorize 3 Poems, and recite by memory to earn points, which decide who did the best. I will be traveling to Washington D.C. for this competition! I am very excited to go and be there, and I will be posting things from that trip as well :D

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

Haiku #2

Humans make no sense,
We desire what we cannot
Ever hold as ours.

Monday, March 11, 2013

If Life were a Movie

What if Life were a Movie?

If life were a movie,
Good would triumph evil,
Every time.
Every single bullet would find its way to its victim.
We could have second takes,
Have coffee breaks,
Never having to worry about failure.
If life were a movie,
We would be the actors to anothers show,
Our fate in their hands,
Faith held together by words.
Stunt doubles would take the hits,
And our bruises would pain another.
Love would prevail,
He would get the girl
And they’d ride into the sunset on horseback,
To be happy forever.
If life were a movie,
Our thoughts would be open for another audience,
Every scene of senserity will be viewed by others.
We would never be alone.
Never feeling the emptiness of seclusion,
Nor the warmth of welcome.
 But life is not a movie,
Evil can rule our world,
And consume it,
Our ammo runs out,
We only get- one take.
We can’t pause,
We can’t stop,
We will mess up,
And this show…
This show is ours.
Our fate is our own,
We take the blows,
May never pull through,
Because that man cannot hold his love
So he takes the loss of a lovely girl,
Never riding into the sunset.
Yeah, You’ll be alone at times,
Sometimes it will seem like your only friend is a mirror.
In dark ditches of  despair,
Without comforting smiles,
There won’t be simple trials,
You’ll find rivals,
But our moments will be our own,
Unviewable on dvd,
If life were a movie, I’m sure some of you won’t complain,
Enjoying blissful walks with a stranger,
Along cardboard roads to that place over the rainbow,
Because to feel life,
To learn,
To be… you.
You have to be part of it.
The person behind the curtain,
Who doesn’t grant wishes,
But finds the truth.

Sunday, March 10, 2013

Haiku #1

As for my poem of the day, I present a small haiku. Here is to a first of many.

I never asked for
your sympathetic words of
sweetness to hold me.


 Click ------> "Tomatoes"- Shane Koyczan

This is amazing.

Saturday, March 9, 2013

Love and Peace

Love and Peace

This was the first peace I had ever felt,
And for every passing moment...
There was a regret about leaving them behind.
A memory,
The grass was cool there,
Sunshine through eyelids,
I was dreaming.
Lips getting heavy when words graced my ears,
Breaths getting slower as sweet silver tongue filled the air,
With a voice composed in the key of grief.
This was the first peace I had ever felt.
A pause in the time in which we were living,
Lonely and beautifully,
Searching for answers that didn't exist.
The bliss of sweet kisses on sun bathed lips,
There was love.
There was denial,
and still simulated seductive smiles hold elegant ardor,
To this jester of love.
Living from the time we were able to pull swords from the rock we called our hearts.
Time still passes.
Time still passes.
Time passes,
Even when minutes turn to days
just like dates fade to just dinners,
Time still passes.
The renaissance rebirth of your absence, 
Medieval magic glistening in your eyes,
An enlightenment of new emotions,
Because this,
This is a revolution of evolution,
Where "We the People" declare our love for each other,
Where Darwin explains how our love can survive if it is the fittest.
Where Newton discovers how matter should move us,
That in the space where we blow kisses
They have a constant velocity until an outside force interrupts us.
We have history together.
And although chemistry is next period,
Why don't we start class now.
We can piece together time,
second by second.
Talk about all the inventions and conventions that led to this moment,
Where we have everything but the emotion.
Because that.... That is what we need to establish.
What we get to break ground on,
And discover our sense of relationship-ism,
We can do this.
You just need to believe that this will change,
That even in this ever-changing world
I know I'll still love
The first peace
I ever felt

Friday, March 8, 2013

Hospital on the Hill

Some of the people in poetry club gave us a prompt today, forcing us to use ideas we wouldn't normally use. Here is an unedited result :D

We face a degree of lose,
Whether it be over a difference of skin color,
or the feeling in our stomachs when we carve names into a tree.
They stay there for a lifetime,
Carved Deep,
As if we'll always speak this much french,
and our brains will never be as confused as they are,
We often describe this mutual feeling as being..... "Melancholy"
As if seeing Jack Sparrow sail under an aquamarine flavored sky
Was like finding yourself again.
We cannot hold life as we do children, 
Because peach skin is an illusion of our own being,
as if that was all we were,
All we will ever be,
But lets say....
and Me,
We build a raft.
A raft to float through sarcastic comments,
and then we find ourselves at a hill.
From our pockets we pull our swords,
Pen caps pop and on that hill,
We'll draw a hospital.
A hospital where the infamous Dirk Pitt stops being a historian,
and begins being a lover.
Not a lover of history,
Not of Battles and bruises,
But of the conflicted differences
That leave us drifting to a hospital on a hill.

Thursday, March 7, 2013

To Hold Paradise

Hey there. I wrote this in class today, and I'm not sure if I will elaborate on it, but for the time being, I like it just like this.

To Hold Paradise
Hold thy grief in hands palm tree,
Grains falling from hour glass onto thine scarred fingertips,
The break is just beyond your grasp.
Calm waters out of reach.
Still unable to hold paradise,
Her hand takes the place of ink inspired beaches,
Words caught in her sunbathed skin.

Wednesday, March 6, 2013

A Zombie Apocalyptic Poem

This was inspired by a love. And my love for zombies. 
Coincidentally, I wrote this shortly before I discovered Warm Bodies.
Awesome Book. Awesome Movie. 

A Zombie Apocalyptic Poem

In a world dominated by zombies,
I though I’d be a hero.
Thought I’d keep running along a road I knew would end in a chasm.
Falling down into the sky where just around the corner 
the lost souls of the wandering undead would welcome me.
You see,
I can’t  gain the grounds to make myself believe 
it is worth living in a world where death is inevitable.
You can’t fight it.
Sure I can fire a gun,
Wield a knife,
But I can’t withstand the weight of every sleepless night spent waiting for death.
Its inhuman to understand this idea.
I looked into her eyes, the eyes I first fell in love with.
I felt her still, she held my gaze as she did on our first date
And despite the blood stains on her tattered sweatshirt 
and the chunk of skin removed from her crooked smile,
She was beautiful.
Her left hip didn't seem to carry the swing she had when she walked,
 decomposed fingers curled around an object lost forgotten,
I held that hand,
And that hand held my heart.
She was my first true love,
And although her figure was now of rotting flesh
 I could not drop the gaze of an unbeating heart because the 
pump pump 
Pumping of my own drone out my senses,
Because all I saw were her lips,
All I heard was her voice
And all I felt was her embrace.
wasn't the hero.
Wasn't her hero.
To accept death was to accept every moment could be my last,
Our last,
wasn't the savior plowing through fields of the dead,
didn't pop 9mm into skulls,
Or send machetes through the skin of someone else’s lover.
I was behind locked doors,
Laced with 2 by 4's,
Plywood framing out my fears of the world I once knew.
Where the bigots that messed with me carried on an ordinary day...
Moaning about the rest of the world.
My own groans were conceived in the starvation of my own preservation waiting for my last meal at the end of a barrel.
I was ready for it all to be over,
Ready for the devil to unlock his gates,
Ready to be saved,
You see I’m unsure of my religion,
I’m unsure if holy arms great you at white gates,
Or if I’ll come back with a new body,
But how can life exist past death?
If heaven is so great, why aren't we already there?
And how am I to be reincarnated if all new life ceases to exist?
There is no hope in a zombie apocalypse.
Because thumbs will only get you so far,
And words can be great for the history books,
But sentences can’t fix a society that isn't there.
Metaphors won’t heal the infected,
Assonance can’t end the frustration in my starvation for this preservation of life.
I can’t begin to explain this disease,
Its inhuman to understand this idea.

Hello Again

I haven't posted in such a long time... I guess the words just... stopped. So I'll be posting more often now, I'll make it a goal. Even if there is just a long endless rant of haiku's. If anyone out there finds this, I want them to like my poetry. I think it is getting better. I hope. So enjoy my words :)