Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Sonnet 38: My knees are made of glass, but I still dance


By Aurin Squire

My knees are made of glass, but I still dance
Calypso bass hits the clicking 'dra
Cameroon fish'men shout with lil' prance
Mama se mama sa ma ma coo 'sa"

My arms swing wide and slow when chopping Cane,
of dark Cuban mulatto church ladies.
my American back winces in pain
as I bird leap with people from Haiti.

Senegalese sailors cast'anets gold
snare snaps a high-hatting Sambelele
Carib' Curry stewed w/ Ghanese sold
in a waltzing round'bout rhythmic sway.

Akimbo'ed legs churn air into my light
A dancing carnival spins harvest night.

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Sonnet 37: Mandala

By Aurin Squire

Choosing to swim across the great salt seas
Climb Mt. Meru at universe center
Amass fortunes and give away for free
Pales to knowing the mandala to enter

Hidden worlds masked in front of my nose,
facing the 10 cardinal directions
Extraordinary and normal pose
guides offering traveler protection.

Pinpoint particles comprise the pittering day
Encircle each atom, each dance, each breath
Wading into light pool scattered away
All illusions in a molecule of death.

Send out and then withdraw the light from the heart
Mandalas makes each day a work of art.

Monday, March 29, 2010

Sonnet 36: Swoon

By Tatiana Suarez-Pico

It's really hard to gage how much it's too much
when you're putting yourself out there
if giving is enough, if this is too fast, when we touch
I'm mortified it will be terribly wrong to care-

if I give too much too soon
if this is what happens to mothers who give it all
at too cheap a price and as they swoon
pass it on to their daughters that this is how the story will fall

if i just knew the right amount
had the right formula, a blueprint
these barriers would be easier to surmount
my hand wouldn't fight hard against a bed that feels like flint

i don't know how much it's too much, it keeps me up at night
tears spring from eyes wondering why, i have to get it right.

Sunday, March 28, 2010

Sonnet 35: Lost in Routine

By Matthew Paul Olmos

and how do we spend out days, lost in routine
taking subway cars and internet screens
slight difference in one day what's in between
then back over that bridge, only to do it again

and how do we let each day passing just pass
how many hours do we do what we love
how many days do we put behind us just past
an there must be some plane or elevation just above

who gets to live each striking minute just struck
breathing like how they want to
who gets to sleep only in positions for themselves they've cut
sleeping only at night or when they are done doing what they do

there are a finite numbers of times you'll get before we lay to set,
an why do we waste them lazy, an held, an so indebted in debt

Saturday, March 27, 2010

Sonnet 34: New York

By Matthew Paul Olmos

Looking at New York, the past years in play
nights over bars and all ways towards the stage
drinks of unending and drunk to amaze
and East Village mornings like the perfect day

Corner rooms in Manhattan with love five flights up
and Hell's Kitchen live-ins laying like marriage
save Columbian distractions shutting my shit shut
and evenings in Brooklyn, my bed partners left unsaid.

I could be happy in Barcelona as far as I know
and the theatre in Germany
and the something just across the ocean's throw
but I don't know what's left in me

keep on keeping on in this city i love,
but strangely ready to go, maybe I've had enough

Friday, March 26, 2010

Sonnet 33: Diamond Angels

By Aurin Squire

In presence of Diamond Angels I dwell
Peals of nectar from the heart's bell sung
Echo twirling through the sapphire well
Unending sea when the instrument's rung.

Gypsy ladies signal voodoo trances
Sirens wail and roar cross the ruby sky
Blood-drinking witches w/ cauldrons dances
Hypnotize demons with their lullabies.

Axes and knives cover the wheeling star
It turns faster and closer to the throne.
Slashing and hacking pieces flung afar
Seed split open, and then we're alone.

Meditative waves cross universes
In deceptively simple 14 verses.

Thursday, March 25, 2010

Sonnet 32: Her hair matched the burnt car

By Tatiana Suarez-Pico

Her hair matched the burnt car
black silk strands which ends rested gently on her shoulders
like small hands, palms up, this from afar
cupping dark blood and battlers.

It looked as though there was a white sheet behind the car
a cheap set in a theater
Hope concentrated in the space without the glass surrounded by tar
but you could only read her preoccupation hither

Hope that punctured thoughts distilled from her eyes
her ears were deaf to the mutiny
Silver dotted pleas, stars, jumped like gadflies
disappearing in mid air briskly.

Her eyes smeared with pain were encrusted in her "skin" crayon face
Soon all that worry will fall like white cement on the land that is her birthplace.

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Sonnet 31: Ending Winter

By Aurin Squire

"It's not long now," walked the winnowed voices
Hushed footfalls whispering round the red room.
All the hemming and hawing over choices,
Winter's wedding dance with the autumn groom.

This dancer turns cold, while that one coughs rouge
And the band beats the pace with their fists.
One touch unveiling the subterfuge
Of the bride covered in November mist.

Light gently kisses the slate covered sky,
Murdering black crows blanket the air
With the vows sealed, the wedding flock cries
bride and groom steel eyes and icy stares.

What did we do to deserve such a double?
Our mumbled prayers for marital trouble.

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Sonnet 30: It all tastes like funeral ash...

By Aurin Squire

It all tastes like funeral ash to me;
exquisite feast set out in banquet hall.
Tonguing down the bile, a bitter dark sea,
A casket'ed table for bearers pall.

It was a long time coming, we sigh sips.
Now we gather 'round plates of dust
Scooping the dry mulch between our lips,
as our gray eyes flicker off the rust.

From a distance the feast looked amazing,
Staring through the cherry-stained estate glass.
And we rammed against hall doors, complaining
of the plundered spectral treasure amassed.

So we say Grace at the table of ash.
Our stolen jewels worn like funeral sash.

Monday, March 22, 2010

Sonnet 29: Step Back and Give Up

By Aurin Squire

I step back and give up
Cure me so I can rest a spell
Turning thoughts inside empty cup
Whispered prayers into hollow shell.

The nectar pressed from diamonds spills
Down and running through the crease
Dripping light in autumn chills
Delusions dancing never cease.

Riding on the winds of deeds
From past actions done in lives endless
Merit fields sowed in white and black seeds
There the poison tree sways unrest.

All potential loaded from past events,
Even this body, this mind, this moment.

Sunday, March 21, 2010

Sonnet 28: So Long Do We Wait

By Matthew Paul Olmos

So long do we wait for life to find us
Tripping along by day
Stumbling over what we want just,
always afraid to to give take

So fast do we let time push past
Fooling ourselves by the hour
That the days will forever last
secretly know now is the only hour

And so instant can we change all of this
Just look what we want and do nothing but
Everything else is worth just above piss
Chase what we love an the rest just cut

I want to live ocean to ocean, and customs to customs,
So tomorrow I should quit every act and will that I never really in trusted

Saturday, March 20, 2010

Sonnet 27: Travel Writer

By Matthew Paul Olmos

What I want is to be a travel writer
Spring like a motherfucker out into the abyss
Just live an fly by night with her
And let no corner left unkissed

What I want is to give up the home
Let lie the garden an homemaker shit
Live by our days and only crash where we're thrown
Never stuck in life's family pit

What I want is supposed to just beyond one's only reach.
Impossible to make happen
an unlike the movies we see
It everything else I can only see trapped in

Dreams of letting go my day to day and money suits,
And spending all my time only on a life I'd actually choose.

Friday, March 19, 2010

Sonnet 26: Nigerian Sonnet Scam

By Aurin Squire

Greetings sir or madam and good day,
I'm a widow from the Ivory Coast
Dead husband had millions on layaway
Could use help but I don't mean to boast

Sir/madam bank account is all I need
To transfer the money safely ashore
Rewards for your American greed
by this African widow newly poor.

Sir/madam the money is quite splendid
$15,000,000 and 30 cents
but this offer is not open-ended
in your account will be no finger prints

Sir/madam time's a-wasting on this short deal
Something for nothing: surely this must be real

Thursday, March 18, 2010

Sonnet 25: Out On This Granite Cold Ledge


By Matthew Paul Olmos

out on this granite cold ledge once again
looking at the spill over into the empty of the crevasse 
my hands are shaking a thousand seconds to ten
as i peer over an cannot make myself out in the vast

thick an water’filled clouds are pushing past me
trembling by body like a homeless story
i do not want to be there just only me
so i look behind me an see her only

she stands shaking just like i do
smiling her face but stepping up close
i’m scared the granite beneath our feet will move
an i wonder how warm her body will be, God only knows

i hate myself to shiver everytime love echoes in the rocks around,
but this tiny voice pushes me forward an i know i can’t resist the sound…

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Sonnet 24: Florida Motel

By Aurin Squire

Front desk alias, split cash tab before
Side of Florida highway, cars shake the walls
Wedged splintered door into damp carpet floor
Slipped passed clerk when he reached for night calls

Red vomit in the bathtub wafts a stench
Our Previous was an alcoholic
We threw our jeans on the bench
Swallowed our fast food and held in the sick

We both knew a bad disease in progress
Spontaneity sapped and the thrill is dead
But we went ahead, no time to regress
Ramming the thin wall with the motel bed

Sighing back to his car we didn’t talk
Head slung low, the Florida motel walk

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Sonnet 23: there are plane tickets

By Matthew Paul Olmos

there are plane tickets and there is an ocean Atlantic
telephone wires and wireless lines
and underneath it all some shit'faced romantic
who maybe spends too much time thinking life is filled with signs.

the words in their letters begin to resemble a heart
each of them waiting for the other to scream out loud
that they would bet their hands to end this oceans apart
an so they let themselves up an on some far off cloud


there is a plane ticket and there is no more ocean
arrival dates and departure nightmares
there are two nervous hearts in motion
saying fuck it to the world an this is all that matters


there will be nervous airports and sweating arrival gates,
and maybe plane crashes, like so many before, or maybe safety landings and explosions all postponed to some far off never date.

Sonnet 22: we are never entirely sure

By Matthew Paul Olmos

we are never entirely sure of where happiness comes
always it steps in some sideways door
with this small, quiet breathing, no, more like hum
and we are so scared to hear it cuz we know we'll want more.

we are never entirely sure we want happiness knocking
never does it stay so long as it intended
its eyes wandering off to some new place stalking
and letting it in so quick to offend the offended.

and we never entirely believe in happiness at all
more of a cruel joke laughing
laughing as it stands so tall
and us so short, always up and grabbing.

i want to let this happy shit all the way inside,
but for the entire ride, my foot, just left out and off to the side.

Monday, March 15, 2010

Sonnet 21: i answer the door like some goddamned butler'man

By Matthew Paul Olmos

i answer the door like some goddamned butler'man
who isn't ever home
just only working in some foreign land
too scared to let well enough just alone

i greet my guests with a fake smile and a groan
hiding the underneath of my face
as if painting for them some normal of tone
never letting up how so exhausted is the outside of my face

and i let the evening grow over
like weeds becoming green
like the lines in my face growing older
yea, an i lie about everything

every single puff out of my mouth,
like some goddamned northern boat heading way, way down south.

Saturday, March 13, 2010

Sonnet 20: i walk down that downsided street

By Matthew Paul Olmos

i walk down that downsided street
to his house like some welcomed guest.
i don't believe in anything
an when i arrive i remember all the rest

of what's happened to me and him
our messy plates and laughing side by side
of everything that makes me just want in
an i know how stupid it is to sometimes try.

even though i bang my body against this concrete block
time an again
like some stupid someone who ought not
believe in love over sin.

i walk up that upsided street to where he calls home
an i know my thoughts, my body an heart, i just can't seem to own.

Sonnet 19: How Is It We Can Become So Mean

By Matthew Paul Olmos

How is it we can become so mean
up at 2 in the morning with your dormant heart
what once made you laugh an now you feel nothing
and the hours of the night pushing you further apart


how is it we move on with such ease
daydreaming the afternoons away from the past
with no regard for what anybody else needs
each day seeming farther from the last

how is it that beautiful never lasts
weeks can age somebody in your eyes
as though years have through them passed
as though the aging process has found them through their cries

and even at 2 in the morning when the world is supposed to support beautiful,
what we see and what is right is never so beautiful.

Friday, March 12, 2010

Sonnet 18: Silver Skin Gloams the Autumn Morning

By Aurin Squire

Silver skin gloams the autumn morning
Register dawn rise up from the harbor
Freights yawn 'cross rusted docks warning
Turn and look at cell clock, not even four.

Step left onto the cold wooden seams
Handful of green leaves from the packet
Buds unfurl in the long curled steam
Drums pound on my chest, a new day's racket

Plates of Potato chips and chocolate chip
Manhattan breakfast of salt and sugar sinks
Crunch, smash, gulp down the ship
Running to rehearsal and no time to think

Crash comes quick in the early afternoon
english muffin, mushrooms around noon.

Sonnet 17: Didgeridoo Man

By Aurin Squire

Didgeridoo man do you plan
Or are all you Australian freewheeling?
With a bamboo tube and metal soup can
your lifestyle choice looks so appealing.

How do you even play a didgeridoo?
It's like the outback version of tuba.
You blow on bamboo and that's all you do
Farting noise bubbles like landlocked scuba.

Can you cry love songs in Didgeridoo?
Or make an ironic pair of lil snares
Guttual gurgling flushes through and through
Croaked like slithering dithering nightmares

Giggling tourist Sir Didgeridoo
Throw loose change at prehistoric flue

Thursday, March 11, 2010

Sonnet 16: Lingering eye contact on the c train

By Aurin Squire

Lingering eye contact on the c train
Exited DUMBO and felt the light tail
Walked under highway, started a light rain
Sensed his eyes hitting my head like a nail.

Walked for about 10 blocks in the wrong direction
Reversed and ran into my subway stalker
Smoothed out my pants and growing affection.
Turns out he was sort of an ebullient talker.

He was tall, gentle, light brown hair with a soft touch
Conversed over and walked in the rain
Ringing alarms sounded too much
Mind: "You just met on the fucking C train!"

Could be axe murder/con/junkie on the down low
Could have been a lover... I'll never know

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

Sonnet 15: It was a huge letdown

By Tatiana Suarez-Pico

It was a huge letdown
a velvet bag full of doubt
dropped on your head to make you drown
but what we do usually is pout

We sit there and think of the weight
of the stones that wear uniform gray
It's the bag that makes it hard to swallow all that citrate
We take the bag down and find a way to allay

Pick up the phone to make another call
We don't want to lose
Courage is gathered yet we stall
Time to refill the booze

We greet the voice on the other side
and our chances seem to glide

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

Sonnet 14: Grin On My Face Wouldn't Go Away

By Tatiana Suarez-Pico

The grin on my face wouldn't go away

I had to ask a friend it that was sane

her eyes drowning in tears, my lips danced a ballet

I caught myself trying in vain



My teeth fought to see the light of the night

What price did we have to pay

to know what it feels like to be right?

I don't care anymore to parlay



It still feels like a bunch of broken plates

refuse and porcelain dust

hurting bad, my breath abates

I tried fucking hard, this wasn't just



The grin undulates into a grimace

and I just wanna escape in a pinnace

Monday, March 8, 2010

Sonnet 13: I was on the look out

By Tatiana Suarez-Pico

I was on the look out
when dignity dropped to the ground
men in black were about
hancuffed him hard and down

I felt the thud, it swooshed against my ribs
like water spilling from the sea
some of it leaked out, small bids
that begged for him to be free

They ripped his body off the street
Shoved him into their marble castle
There, behind the make up counter, he will meet
his mother's glare, it's her son they hassle

I was just one of the many that stared
but when dignity dropped to the ground, that's a moment we all shared

Sunday, March 7, 2010

Sonnet 12: Simple Country Fool

By Aurin Squire


In "Decameron" the simple country fool falls into a shit hole

Ahhh, that's life for sure. Thrashing and screaming "Ayudame!!!"

Stripped naked, homeless and all his money stole

Running through the night streets, broken in one day


Came upon 2 thieves robbing a bishop's tomb, cleverly crafting

They convinced him to climb in with Christ Dead for profit

Fool tossed out the gems and they ran away laughing.

That's life: screaming from a stone grave, covered in shit.


Three jittery n' jinxed thieves came and unsealed the tomb

The naked, slimed fool lay waiting in the dark

He dug his teeth into the thief's foot, making a nasty wound

And 3 thieves ran screaming from the bishop's raided ark.


Out of came our laughing fool with the bishop's ruby ring shining bright

This is life: singing, running naked, filthy/rich into the night.

Saturday, March 6, 2010

Sonnet 11: Particularly Plastic

By Aurin Squire

Today I'm feeling particularly plastic
Taut, processed and artificial
if lit consider a dangerous toxic
a sad broken ritual

Nobody likes particularly plastic
Not soft nor easy on their eyes
Utilitarian multi-elastic
dull with no surprise

Carbon and poly put to pot pressure
kettle whistle and blue steam excess
thermo digits scroll out the measure
Marking the meter, mounting the stress

Pinching and poking particle persons plastic
Smiling, and grinning neon teeth fantastik!

Sonnet 10: He Called at 6.40 in the morning

By Aurin Squire

He called at 6:40 in the morning
Later he texted reconfirmation
Emails blasted gently scorning
dinner date anticipation

I'm trying polite
we share no common interests
I told him last night
in need of telecomm recess

But he keeps calling
And I'm too nice to stop replying
My middle class manners are appalling
But in my smiles I'm lying

How many times was I the unwanted caller erased
numbers forgotten and accidentally misplaced?

Friday, March 5, 2010

Sonnet 9: My Heart Was Pumping

By Tatiana Suarez-Pico

My heart was pumping, jumping in and out of its thoraxic shell

As I was running I realized I was angry again

Patience, trickling down like coins out of a bottomless pocket, fell

My pale face couldn't feign


I questioned why she left, I'm not yet ready to accept this answer

Remembering how it hurt made the corners of mouth bend

The wind matted my hair like a tap dancer

The memories closed around me like a cast ready to subtend


How could she?

Reasons embodied by crazy strands of hair pointing at all sides her

My shoulders heavy with time, plea

I don't understand what happened, help me infer


I still lose from time to time, to the dog mauling we call pain

I tell her it doesn't compute in my head and to please explain again

Thursday, March 4, 2010

Sonnet 8: There are Girls in the Room Next

By Matt Olmos

There are girls in the room next
There is room in the place beside
I almost wonder what the word sex
And sometimes I believe this is life

There is youth right just over there
There is age crawling out my door
I want the years younger to be fair
But I know my days young are overboard

And so inside the temptation I turn the volume way up
And I give a shit what goes
Secretly I know I've had enough
Full on these things that I've chose

So boredom will find me listening to their voices still
Aching inside and knocking for my poor lack of will

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Sonnet 7: There Was No Inspiration Today

By Tatiana Suarez-Pico
 
There was no inspiration today
Yet my life was a series of little explosions 
My mind sleeping just like in May
But I had luck with the world's commotions
 
Art, love, the fullness of a life well-lived
Hours and minutes away from me
I'm really thinking hard about this bit
Because this what I want it to be
 
Tears are parting in my eyes going left and right
Not falling, merely pooling
Anxieties and worries cover me with might
Not really standing, my knees faltering
 
I don't think I woke up today
It was just like that day in May

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Sonnet 6: Cinnamon is the key

By Aurin Squire

Cinnamon is the key ingredient
Lavender essence gives a fragrant bite
Corn starch if you must be expedient
Lemon syrup whip, froth, boil, chill on ice

30 day raisins, apples, peaches stewed
Turn once a day and then cover tight
Fruit condensation will begin to dew
30 day cake prepared on Eve's night

My grandmother'd make and then we'd bake
Fermented fruit into caramelized pounds
This recipe goes back hundreds of years
Each generation adds an ingredient to the round

Ingredients collective memory
We stir, pour and bake our history

Sonnet 5: The Man's Wife is Just Slightly Broken

By Matt Olmos

the man's wife is just slightly broken
her arms an lips an other parts lay still
they do not celebrate or play like the vows she's spoken
there are corpses that fight better against their will.

the man's mistress sounds like goddamned perfection waiting
she sings from the telephone wires quite in tune
she buys plane tickets and speaks so his old world is fading
and he can hardly stand himself what is coming soon

the man himself is so sick to the sound
that even his family is a far off thing
and so he speaks to being so lost, yet found
and the sin, oh sin is oh so coming

but for his wife who fights her fight
gripping viciously for her married life