Dreams Dismissed

Dreams Don’t

I’ve been sleeping,
chosen t’ be kept dreaming,
I’ve dismissed the plague,
kept the allegory vague.
I’ve written in song,
done nobody wrong,
I’ve drummed the beat,
for the marching feet.
I’ve run the rounds,
in circles all around,
I’ve cried out loud,
just to be drowned out.
I’ve pass’d my inhibitions,
gone with too much ambition,
I’ve critically parodied,
only to be buried.
I’ve changed the time,
but only in my mind.

About my poetry, I’d like to have a word edgewise before people criticize it. Pretty much, I just want to say that this isn’t intended to be “crafted” or necessarily “good” even — these are just what spews, ok better word, … spills out of my head when I blog. I’m not going for Robert Frost, Dylan Thomas, or any other poet. I’m just going for Kevin.

Rainy Day

I’m sick, plain sick. Headache, runny nose, then stuffy nose, congestion, wheezing, more headaches. Apparently, though, I’m not the only one … Julie and Victoria (my cousins) are also sick, and so is my mom, … and most of my school. Invariably, rain brings the flu to me and I guess everyone else too.

Speaking of rain, its raining all the time. This is a record year of rain in the SD and honestly, I love it. Not for what it is, but for what it brings. Never do the hills of California look as green as they do after rainfall. Everything just seems clearer, newer, full of life. Similar to what Pablo Neruda wrote in “Me gusta cuando callas”, the reason I like the semi-dead state of the world during silence (or in this case the torrent of rain) is how the world appears afterwards at the simplest smile of the sun.

Today I watched “The Motorcycle Diaries” with my grandparents in Spanish (Eng. subtitles). It is the story of Ernesto “Che” Guevara, the South American revolutionary of the twentieth cenutry. It was a vivid portrayal of the profound injustices and the depth of compassion (not to mention oratory skill) of Che. With Che and Alberto Grando (Che’s friend – *the actor is the real-life 2nd cousin of Che) at the helm of La Poderosa “The Mighty One” (their motorcycle) I got to talk with my grandparents over much of the scenery and the people they came across. Perhaps my favorite moment was in southern Peru where Che and Alberto went to a dance where the song sung was the Chipi Chipi. This ws my favorite moment, because as I lay on the couch, I heard my grandma singing along to the music … cantando el chipi chipi

“Deja que el mundo te cambia y puedes cambiar el mundo”
Let the world change you and you can change the world

Two Poems and a Homily

Missing Man

Dead destiny traveling now,
Faster than I can count,
Bodies across the sunset sand,
Tasting their dry breath,
Deeper truth can’t be had.
Choosing death, running fast,
Want to leave, can’t do that.
Question belies the truth,
Cannot choose. Am I strong?
Were we all wrong?
I tried to live, can’t be trapped.
Failing that, I search the sands.

Shadows

In the shadows lie the monsters,
Of the dreams not had,
Of leviathans not speared,
Of cunning men not yet feared.

Shadows do not lie,
Of truth they only hide the mask,
Of life they but give half,
Of liberty they laugh.

Shadows hold the weathered key,
Of phoenix life and prosperity,
Of a bitter November past,
Of the key, it’s you we ask.

Some English?

Woodsmen

Two roads diverged through the fallen town,
the twisted turns have kept us bound,
I saw in some distance a shimmering light,
summoning strength for the torrid fight.

Whose town this is, I think I know,
His House isn’t in the village though,
The path I take I already know,
I take the one that I take alone.

Two roads diverged through this grey town,
and though its paths lay clearly found,
I could not help but know I was bound
to take the one with the people face down.

I’m walking down a line,
they all say I’ve lost my mind,
In the end, I took my path,
leaving nothing for my shattered past,

And that, I hope, can make a difference

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eng3.g.2.11.05.Maturity
But while we believe in the unfettered glory of our proud and successful nation we are aware, it is to the news, the literature, and the people that we owe such consciousness, of our nation’s tempestuous past. We have not been perfect. And as in each adolescent’s life, as to which our country has been compared to, we approach a time in which we must take responsibility for coups, the wars, and the people. Not that we deserved 9/11. However, it is at times like these that such a country, blood-stained and pockmarked by scandal, becomes not wholly good nor entirely evil, rather, we are the country that is both the good team and the bad team. Knowing this, we will grow up.