Listen to the Wind
If you listen to the wind
It’s like listening to your twin
As it echoes rippled reflections
On the glass lake that you swim
It shows up
Blows up in your face
Leaving breathless whispers in its place
The wind paints with many brushes
Not particular whose innocence it touches
The wind will be your courseless guide
Take you on an endless roll coaster ride
Overturning stones like lies that cannot hide
Exposing misguided fortunes of ill-gotten pride
And so the wind screams as it races
Etchings of laughter that no one embraces
And yes there are beliefs
Of old wise Indian chiefs
That our story in written in the wind
Weather beaten, eroded, but not able to rescind
The pages of the Master Journal as they fade
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poem by Alfred Ramos
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In Death Row
They live in 8x4 cell
One step next to hell
A closet size cage
To hold in the rage
With no human contact
How does one act?
Most are not innocent
Most won't repent
Now they hardly see the sun
No place left to hit and run
They grew up on the wrong side
Always ready to fight and hide
All face maximum degradation
On the road to lethal injection
Creating ways
Of counting days
There are no more rules to break
What's to dream when you won't wake?
How does it feel?
To order your last meal
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poem by Alfred Ramos
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This House is no Longer a Home
As I walk down the lonely street
Knees get weak, can barely keep my feet
I see the fence, the gate, the porch
From where you gazed and lit my torch
I see the house, the room, the bed
Your voice still ringing in my head
You said you didn't love anymore
And you walked out the door
The walls were painted antique white
Semi-gloss to bring in the light
Pictures hung on every wall
With memories of us all
Now the fence is falling, the flowers dying
Tears fall through the cracks from all the crying
The gate is broken and no one can come in
It's a shame even the birds won't sing
But this house is no longher a home
You chose freedom, you chose to roam
This house is no longer a home
Like a beer without foam
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poem by Alfred Ramos
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Gran Torino
Let me tell you a story
Filled with blood guts and glory
Death, old age and prejudice
No boundaries to pain’s edifice
At war he was a hero
At home he was a zero
Has a heart of stone
But now he lives alone
With a six pack on his hip
His heart bleeding like a slow drip
He didn’t bother
To learn to be a father
Old school all the way
A 72 Gran Torino on display
He lived to work
Never anybody’s jerk
Retired from 30 years in an auto plant
Hoping for some serenity and no one to enchant
But slowly the world has passed him by
More black, more brown, more slant eye
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poem by Alfred Ramos
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