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

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

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 

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

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

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.

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