Wednesday, May 11, 2016

April the Cruelest Month - Senryū and Cinquains

creative commons license 


















for an understanding of men who have no clue about women


the April days move | slow in snow wanting to be | rain blessing the ground

she cries about corn | how now it's being monsterized | how it is her flesh

wears more 
than protective
vest, she wears a tough flesh
overcoat. Not bullet proof, no.
it serves

keeps men
away, you know
the kind that prey, and stalk
women slight of stature, or off
balance

wearing
stand 'em up shoes
those kind that make you lose.
ones that say come fuck me ~ pumps so
untrue

the coat's
gotten too long
she wants to give it up
donate it to Goodwill ~ it's ov-
er kill

when men's
eyes turn to her 
they slide over the hill
her latest disguise is close to 
salty

couldn't hug her | enough to leave her there | sun child in the land of snow

she thinks
his mouth on hers.
how good it makes her feel 
knowing that morning, she did brush ~
her teeth

your days are overcast skies | your heart bursts like clouds | it rains from your eyes

everyday we shake our heads | because we can't believe | you in body are gone | we search for you on shorelines | in the songs of spirit birds

used to jump at shadows | inclined to take flight | now never afraid | to take on a just struggle | a battle of ideas

all her hopes and dreams | born a reality | his life her salvation

she speaks oracle | no one knows how to feel it | a flower opened

slanderings scurry | up and down the shoreline sure | I think of your mouth

winter reminder | driving rain from the Valley | golfball sized hailstones | April when corn is greening | foggy storms turn turbulent

you = happy | at times my greatest sadness | it's an up - down thang

She says let's dream on it | she no longer thinks | thinking has no heart

we celebrate | national sibling day | mourn our lost ones | and our parents gone long to land | of ancestors they've become

sun broke through grey days | a walk in the snowmelt | April showers frozen

the hawk is wind | razor sharp its insistence | to stay the course

snow in April | winter holds spring in its grip | everyone looks for sun

Spring rain spills in ropes | hopes for another green day | tomorrow today

I could
write abuela's
hair braids, her bun~
but what fun would that be?
rather write about her high tops
red dreams

she wore
them in the Spring
garden, planting her seeds ~
calabacitas born darkest
lime green

she grew
corn much taller
than her, barely five foot ~
sweet, abundant that tenderest
golden

green corn 
masa for best
tamales of the year
everyone helped shuck, newly born
heaven

because
it is April 
her almost birthday month
we sing her las mañanitas 
she cries

man gave her lemons | she made lemonade before | she bashed in his head | not really his head you know | but she visioned it in her own

women bleed so much | in so many ways | then become bad daughters | to mothers that don't mean them | no harm only the best good 



Copyright © 2016 Odilia Galván Rodríguez.  All Rights Reserved.





Friday, April 08, 2016

March Senryū 2016

"Crows in the Hood" by Comrade Foot. Creative Commons.

























for the ability to live up to challenges

we visit you here | in this place we can't fathom | with beautiful flowers

grand love
fathers \ daughters.
some, almost perfect, no?
there are those who could tell you truths --
to shame.

when you're proud to know | the boy you raised who grew wise | way beyond his years
that kiss was kismet | some past life holdover | now to get over it
wild blackbird warning | then car's back door flies open | wallet on the ground | 
Good Samaritan noticed | comes to your rescue saves day
old Havana | has her secrets hidden deep | in layers of paint
mysticwoman | she who sees beyond eyes | who hears the longtime voices
there are don't ride trains | ones that are going down wrong | sidetracked forever
the eyes have it | true windows to the heart/soul | what do yours say
she works in the dark | hands need no light to create | smooth and soothe the lines
people block the hate | with their bodies and prayers | close down the clown's cars |
until the streets can be safe | once more from this war on us
ancestral knowledge | sure as sunshine and moon rise | we are all welcomed
my dream peeps | are keepers and are not me | have their own lives to live
in shackles and chained | no respect for human beings | illegal they're not
kindness of strangers | takes you by the arm | welcomes you like family
sad for that hurt feeling | don't know why people hate | ocean bottom deep
in the morning | she will give thanks for being | for one more day |
to become a better human | to pray for health and kindness
tongues for justice | will never be silenced | from ashes rises fire
we geography | the maps and myths of our lives | places and people
beauty of the blush | of new flower bud just born | of sacred promise
new flood warnings | morning woke late and foggy | turned off her alarm
thunder beings roar | gulf waters jump up the shore | downpour on the brink 
going inward | to reflect on no reflection | mirror the darkness |
seeking out those specks of stars | your love that's become so small

hair clip
on the sidewalk~
rusty as the years long,
held up some beautiful tresses
back when.

so we dis-agree | about presidents and such | aren't we family |
we're not that divided | we both want peace and justice
land where you were made | where ancestors lived and died | a full life circle |
you piece together the songs | the wrongs no longer matter
a book is a world | enter its doors and go | journeying the unknown
the mother in her | makes them feel comfortable | is what makes them talk |
they open up like windows | on a bright sunny day
so much love is soup | simmered steamy with good will | veggies and chicken
hunger food for thought | and a quiet place in woods | where the raven calls
denial does no good | in friendship one must see | their own shortcomings




Copyright © 2016 Odilia Galván Rodríguez.  All Rights Reserved.

January and February Senryū 2016

Super Moon, July 12, 2014, courtesy Marie-Marthe Gagnon, Flickr Creative Commons.





February

for staying in the present todays, and for those sweet yesterdays that will never come again

lazy day Sunday | breakfast with a new friend | end and beginning
cool evening | sleeps and wakes a windy day | with gulf waves raging 
descarrilado | en medio de su mundo | tiniebla duro
derailed | in the middle of his world | hard darkness
torrential rains one minute | then hot sun barking | loudly on the street 
full snow moon | this is not June it’s winter | the false Spring’s singing | 
songs of fireflies and ladybugs | it’s certainly not summer 
full hunger moon | a desire for flowers | ready to spread wings
what you could have had | but decided to pass up | took love for granted 
you know what’s missing | are torn apart by grief | can’t figure out why 
a warriors heart | bigger than their whole body | often full of ache | 
the force of convictions | motivated by deep love
your good face forward | there’s no place for grief | so lead with a smile | 
think of your tears as wings | that fly over the gulf searching 
your big sun smile | loves every minute of joy | this work has brought | 
and Spring’s wanting to be sprung | you in every flower
love not a one day affair | it’s three-hundred-sixty five | twenty-four-seven |  
like you crave sun in winter | cool water in the spring
you are a love | from time before time mattered | you will always be 
we are witnesses | to the injustice | world of greed and hate 
you’ve become a saint | a prophet to remember | your teachings humble
there are trees that speak | skin’s related to bark | you listen content | 
always knew they are relatives | guarding you since you were young
his skin on yours silk | your young bodies seamless | no begin or end just two
you are everywhere | in every living being | it does my heart good 
of ghosts and spirits | we dream each other’s stories | that ignore borders 
imagining | a better world to leave | for future
when all the stars stared | down to find you in the midst | there you were in trees | 
a wind song kissing leaves | you always wanting verde 
story of her life | the best ones choose others | her picker broken
she is leaking grief | leaving its blue trickle trail | everywhere she goes 
the road gives you time | to know you are from there | home is where you are
she shakes her head | knowing it’s not really true | you have not gone on
they hang out their shingle | sell pretty new age snake oil | so buyer beware 
only her medicine | words that can’t be spoken | but sung aloud | 
can save her from sadness | that place of despair 
speak in fiery tongues | from our mouths encantations | fly forth in love 
you here in the wind | in the trees where black birds sleep | in the deepest song

January 

when you love without | an agenda about you | thinking you are it
dark misty coastline | driving rain and loving it | missing the unseen
those who make medicine | with their good words no lies | with their good hearts
the imposters masks | shall be ripped from their faces | take no places | 
that do not belong to you | your lies become the crows call
we try to understand | what can never be | how to move on
with the snow moon full | you say your final goodbyes | fly into the light
rest in peace | sweetest Rose of the valley | mother to so many
worn out your machine | called a body a temple | and you want to dream
beyond borders | you fly home to ancestors | who wait with open arms
hermano mio | fly home to the ancestors | to their resplendent arms | 
In Xochitl In Cuicatl
we worry in vain | about much we can't control | better to have glee
it's a new year | a chance at beginnings | give thanks every day



Copyright © 2016 Odilia Galván Rodríguez.  All Rights Reserved.

Saturday, January 23, 2016

Journey Home



For FXA,  February 21, 1954 - January 15, 2015


our mother water | cleared this day a greener path | came down in thick ropes

 ayer rituales | from that cradle where you grew | all your traditions

rooted in some strong | long ago red earth pregnant | possibilities

of that son you are | true to all you have become | in this world of spines

that would sooner pierce | than heal soul bodies with food | sacrificed from flesh

and the heart of it | is that life is just like that | thorny to shield soft

and vulnerable | though we mimic the strongest | ones rooted firme

deep in the forest | of our lives that don’t last long | we make our own way

don't regret the turns | taken to get to ends | that always come too soon

watch you breathe ragged | breaths from their shallow nests | you eye me and see

my soul reaching out | to soothe you hermano | as you struggle through

a warriors death | you are present for it all | strong in your resolve

to experience | your passing like your life | to the fullest

now you have taught me | one more thing eye didn’t know | to die with courage

worn out your machine | called a body a temple | and you want to dream

we demand dreaming | to take you into next world | light to guide your way

we pray for comfort | want no fear for your journey | in that place that calls you

near or far not gone | now the people want to flock | to your side to touch

that flame before it goes out | but not everyone | can be invited

to witness your flight | only the very dearest | for it’s your journey

eye am close but far | or a little distant | for fear of trampling

yesterday as you slept | eye read you Snake Poems | your eyes flew open

you recognized | your own incantations | spilling into the room

like watercolors | of our mother blue | splashing the walls

with our laughter | we chased away the shadows | tears became happy

eye am writing this | how we communicate | curando con palabra

changing their lead | into spun golden prayers | showers of pollen

to sprinkle hope | onto the heads of this world | some so hard can’t see

you take your book | out of my hands and recite | you channel from there

body in flames | a different sort of burning | you down to ashes
| waiting to fly out of them | resplendent in your journey

eye can’t imagine | a world without you in it | brother born of word

you a love warrior | fighting to stay present | to your last breath

eye struggle to know | what to say now that words | no longer matter
| except as prayers | except as incantations

we communicate by breaths | each one marks pain and promise | you still here with us

when eye read your words | tears spring to my eyes and fall | silently streaming

we are about the word | a business that is not one | blessings upon all

you’ve left Francisco | body that housed your spirit | now you’re all angel

beyond borders | you fly home to ancestors | who wait with open arms


Davis, CA 12 - 15, Enero


Copyright © 2016 Odilia Galván Rodríguez.  All Rights Reserved.

Tuesday, December 29, 2015

Achcauhtli



Pat Gaines/Flickr Creative Commons


dedicated to the Cēmānāhuac Poet Laureate Francisco X. Alarcón

You, King of Hummingbirds
of Monarch butterflies
of bluest gulf waters
whose waves rise the height of skyskrapers
to kiss winking stars
in overcast skies
You, a lighthouse
that has always beckoned me
from that shadowy place
of deepest dark
of being lost in tumultuous waters
of self doubt and fear
You, who is always sure
of the magia
our ancestor’s tongues
the glyphs of invocation contained
in sounds of sunrise and sunset
their energy transferred to
our own words
to the sacred stones that sing
sealed by the feathers of mighty birds
or a simple snap of our fingers
You, man of heart and wisdom
there is no place you can go
that the wind does not whisper
your name
its secrets in your ear
the eternal spiral that links
your healing words
to our lips
that flower
in flor y canto

IN LAK'ECH - HALA K'IN

Copyright © December, 2015 Odilia Galván Rodríguez. All Rights Reserved.




Notes:

Achcauhtli: Leader


Cēmānāhuac: the name used by the Aztecs to refer to their world. It is a Nahuatl 
name derived from the words "cē" one/whole and "Ānāhuac", which in turn derives 
from the words "atl" (water) and "nahuac."


IN LAK'ECH - HALA K'IN: Mayan for ~ I am you, and you are me.

Tuesday, August 11, 2015

July Senryū 2015

for the sweet circle of life


calabash of life | whisper your secrets in breath | of birth and of death

Clover turns over | summersaults in her belly | she’s getting ready

your son grows tired | of you moving on | without saying goodbye

now you dwell mainly there | just one foot in this world | here people wait

she is in between | worlds that call to her to wait | the seen and unseen

be-at-ti-tude | supremely blessed is she | with every heart-beat

in complex shedding | of bird's finery we see | the simplicity

he won't let her go | no matter how hard she tries | to pull away

citrus and terracotta | jasmine stars explode | their scent's earth and sky

she is still here | sometimes she opens her eyes | as if she’s only slept |
not in that way when one’s self | travels to the unseen

the nature of things | being in the moment | a dance between raindrops

preparing to live | parents make nests for their egg | swollen with pride

moving through the aperture | of life and death | a love labor

union in sound | drum voices thunder singers | spiral in motion

pastel skies that pass | days fly by fast flapping wings | as time moves on

sensuous pieces | that fit together | an elaborate puzzle

an almost baby | sleeps dreams and swims inside her | she prays for the best |
all life has to offer | a blue child being born green

madrugada calls | sleep talk she thinks is a dream | it's him from afar

new moon intentions | a wish and invocation | your heart's desires

sun breaks through to find | brain fog that refuses to | burn off

baby overwhelm | a child trying to raise one | young woman alone

silly assumptions | about appearances | a game of all wrong

Clover dreams color | sees the world through mother’s eyes | visions the future

his mom's on her journey | he saw E on the corner | dressed in red and black |
sharp and dapper lookin' | all pied piperish | but he don't want her to go |
not even with E | who's showin' the road | no she was the first woman |
who ever loved him | though like BB say | she could be jivin' too

niño Fidencio | de agave espadín | medicina viva

the last was the first | on his mind he closed/opened | listened with his heart

watery spirit | now you see there now you don't | moving between worlds

a molehill sometimes | a mountain to be climbed | feelings magnified

another run | a chance at a different life | beginning again

Bree because you're free | you climb and tear down their hate | decry their limp rag |
symbol of supremacy | of cowards that have no hearts



Poems copyright © 2015 Odilia Galván Rodríguez. All Rights Reserved.