Of Fleeting Memories
Amidst a mist of fleeting memories
I miss the tweeting melodies
Miss greeting the feathered farm orchestras
of happy whistlers in the trees
Little footsteps slide across the kitchen floor
Mom walks in with groceries from the store
Grandpa is driving the tractor in the distance
And Grandma holds open the screen door
Sunny Vision
of a whispy field of wheat
My brother and I are shaded from the heat
playing hide and seek
'Come grab a bite to eat! ' yells grandma
we giggle as we jump out of the tree
and run up in bare feet
It's kinda weird and funny now
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poem by Ray Quesada
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Gentle Wind
Some children played happily in a tree
and one of them was dangling
from a branch, precariously -
but, with the faith and agility
of Youth.
A young man, no older than 23,
pulled up
on a rumbling Harley; Alpha and Insecure;
-
The driveway rocks crunched
like a bunch of ice cubes
under the big bike's tires
Bird silhouettes perched
up on telephone wires
-Innocence is to be revered
and admired
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poem by Ray Quesada
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Warmth Into Frost (Part 2)
Can you still feel your warmth
or are you covered in Frost?
The Warmth within is free...
do you feel the joy of Free Heat?
Or, do you lick the feet of the boss?
'Make sure those 'I's are dotted
and those 'T's are crossed! '
-'Right away master! Right way boss! '
The Pawns are lost...
No sign of Free Thought...
That's why ya gotta know what you are,
and know what you're NOT.
Can you hear the Voice clear,
in your Inner Ear, my dear?
Or, are you imprisoned by Fear?
Pull back the curtain my peers!
Listen here, listen here! !
Listen up, Shirley!
Listen up, Earl!
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poem by Ray Quesada
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Burn The Kings' Robes
I write to light tomorrow's flame
When I am gone and can fight no more
And i fight beside those who are the same
as I - the Freedom Rebels; the caged; the poor
I've sunk my teeth into the tyrants bars
and shrieked like a monkey attached to probes
I've summoned the heat from the very stars
to shred and burn the Kings' great robes
Because the Kings will smile with arms wide spread
and call on 'their people' to fight for a cause
then turn their backs, 'till half the people are dead
and find another reason to put Peace on pause
The people believe in the good of men
and the rulers exploit this fatal trait
They give answer knowing you've asked the wrong question
They use our very good faith as bait
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poem by Ray Quesada
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Hamsters
Hamsters in a hamster world
hamster boys and hamster girls
drive their cars and go to work every day
the unspoken 'social contract' is why they stay
WEll, this hamsters breakin' out of his cage
tearin' up the contract everybody obeys
his eyes are filled with beautiful sights once again
he's out the door and on his way
the hypnotized hamsters in the hamster world
don't understand the freedom he chose
he quit the contests and the hamster fashion shows
he took the side road; messy hair; simple hamster clothes
He doesn't hoard possessions to fill the Void within
He doesn't Race - so he doesn't have to 'lose' or 'Win'
he gives, he lives - Virtue, Laughter, and Love
he only looks ahead - not below, behind, or above
he's out the back door and on his Hamster Way
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poem by Ray Quesada
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Half Empty/Half Full
This coulda been one of those days
I didn't feel like writing
A day when drugs embraced me
And washed my thoughts away
This coulda been a day I didn't feel like fighting
When the minutes turn to hours till the end of the day
But, there will come a day when even drugs won't be enough
To forget mistakes and problems all surrounding us
Pretty soon this little world is gonna tear itself apart
I can feel it in my soul
I can feel it in my heart
I crack a beer, and out the window I stare
My glass half empty; my glass half full
Thinkin' about the rich, the poor, and all our affairs
I'm a fuckin' genius; I'm a fuckin' fool
The writers write, the singers sing
The poor stay poor; the rich hoard things
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poem by Ray Quesada
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Waitress Eyes
I stare into a lonely nighttime puddle
'Don't Worry' tattoo'd on her right wrist;
'Be Happy' on the left
-She puts out a cigarette
in the mushy ashtry outside
and i watch her as she walks back
into the organized chaos
Sometimes her mouth is sad
around the edges;
She's over-worked-
people's rudeness has
made her half life-starved
..But also, half life-charged-
-And it gives her all the more
reason to dream of living in India,
praying under stars
Her small, graceful hands
set glasses on tables
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poem by Ray Quesada
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Remain Always Asleep
With an endless supply of money
multi-national companies
lobby Washington D.C.
to crush our civil liberties
Politicians' pockets lined
our Constitution undermined
by bills and forms our 'leaders' sign
Try to speak the Truth - get jailed or fined!
SO TELL ME...
is it Identity you're trying to find?
Outside yourself? Outside your mind?
Attach your spirit to little colors and little flags;
name brands; cigarettes; and high-priced tags
I see ya, Alpha, so stern - Proud and steady
You've climbed to the top and now you're ready
The American Dreams just within reach
-F$%k others - just as long as your life's a beach
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poem by Ray Quesada
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This Perfect Beach
Happy energy, human energy, lingers in
the air around the Eastern American Coast
a small beach wedding - black folks -
I witnessed today - sunny, partly
cloudy, April 28th,2012.
The fizzy cool splish of ocean waves
on the shore give auditory illusion
of Coca-cola; of leaves blowing on wise
old trees; Stare at the secret,
gray-blue ocean
-Quantum universe Truth is revealed.
I'd like to die peacefully at the beach,
probably around the age 66-67ish
-the perfect death for anyone...high
on opiate; slow, contemplative
breaths; Serene, and surrounded
by loved ones...and with the feeling
that one's mission is over.
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poem by Ray Quesada
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Epsilons In Nail Salons
Go to work, get paid then spend it fast
You need more stuff cuz things don't last
forever. - Hurry! Run to the store!
Corporate slaves and Wal-mart whores
In this world it would be a crime to wait
Impatient infant - - look what you create
A life controlled from start to end
A shopping cart - your new best friend
Alphas; Betas; Deltas too
In 1930, Aldous Huxley knew
'End, don't mend! ' - 'Just buy it new! '
Push a button and it's done for you.
We sit possessed, engulfed in our distractions
Stimulation = Satisfaction
The joint in your mouth; the beer in my hand
American Idol; Brand Names; On Demand (and)
High-tech phones stuck to our heads
The drones; the clones; the walking dead
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poem by Ray Quesada
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