Poems
In my mind poetry is an exercise in writing without the crutch of concrete language and the adherence to rules. Though at times my poetry follows a formula (couplet, terza rima, etc,) I more often seek to capture a memory or emotion with all of its imagery and tangible objects, in hopes to ultimately transcend the ordinary and daily routine. I wrote most of my poems for a class at BYU, but there are some that were written before and after college. The poems I wrote in college followed formulas mentioned above that I will describe more in detail for each specific poem.
FOR THE FIRST TIME
(04/09/2009)
Pressed against the glass my mother
watched him vanish into the clouds.
Her oldest flew for the first time
to a place unknown – a place that
captured the world in its gloved fist.
A child’s laugh lived in an empty
room, where a boy became a man.
A year later and much had changed.
No carols in December snow.
Dinner for three but a fortnight.
A card for Jesus on the wall.
Alone with mother for the first time,
I heard her whisper on the phone.
A tear stained my mother’s cheek bone
painted on by nights on her knees.
A son’s photos, blind to that tear,
provoked sudden vows of silence.
I counted the lines on her face
as she rested from her worries.
Father arrived late and kissed her
for the first time in a long time.
First to satisfy my demands;
second to quench the lonely heart.
For the first time, I passed through life
as an only child and saw the child in all.
THE SHADOW THAT MOCKS
(villanelle – 01/17/2006)
When the shadow mocks his actions
Seas of glass shatter asunder.
Born anew are his infractions
If he welcomes his distractions.
Every blemish gives forth thunder
When the shadow mocks his actions.
Ashamed and disgusted he shuns
His carbon copies of blunder.
Born anew are his infractions
Glaring truths and fierce reactions;
Two-faced he screams twice the louder,
When the shadow mocks his actions.
Clouds float with constant exactions,
Shroud the thirst, bury it under.
Born anew are his infractions
To torment past satisfactions.
Will he ever escape we wonder;
Born anew are his infractions
When the shadow mocks his actions.
THE BRIDGE TO ILWACO
(terza rima – 01/30/2006)
The bridge to Ilwaco connects two states
and transports you to your native soil,
where the old evergreens are worth the bate.
On river and sea fisherman toil
to catch salmon. Lighthouses light the way
through a rain so fierce that it spoils
the hushed morning and perfect bouquet
of wild flowers. You try to atone
for the town’s sins, but to your dismay
the town is the same tasteless hole, prone
to litter your mouth with cavities.
Peep shows for a quarter, a whalebone
for the taking – the treasures are freebies
no longer around. The donut shop
mourns their loss and family tragedies.
A student’s mother marries a black cop
to which her son shoots himself in the mouth.
A room with a view from the treetops
still cannot help through flood or drought,
that swelled your daughter’s belly or blew
the light out. Once a festival of sound,
of kites, and sandcastles, now imbued
with bad taste and rotten seaweed.
The place you called home is more than askew.
HEADS OR TAILS?
(ghazal – 02/07/2006)
Two sides to a coin – night and day, left and right –
each walks its own path, alone and together.
A man swims in the ocean dressed in a suit and tie.
He flees from his wife and teenage son they raised together.
A woman’s face once hidden, now unveils beauty
behind sparkled eyes that catch the light together.
African boys carry automatic weapons
while their mothers shed soft tears in prayer together.
Star-shaped piñatas burst at the seams on birthdays
when a blind boy and a deaf girl swing together.
Two towers side by side stood for all to see
until the eleventh day, when they fell together.
Crippled children and an old Jewish lady travel
on a yellow school bus, singing lullabies together.
Wild flames lick the leaves from the forest stems
as the baby foxes and deer run away together.
An Irish farmer chops wood in the snowy hills,
far from home where babies are born, joined together.
And I, Matthew, ask the two sides – pairs
and polar opposites – will you fight or unite together?
THE QUEST
(couplet – 02/16/2006)
Twisting through the tangled mesh
of branches and pine cones, my flesh
crawled with sticky sap and sweat.
The further I climbed, the quieter the musette.
Fire ants pricked my spine
and crossed the tumor once benign.
The sun’s rays were blocked by a cloud,
in the shade, I was enshrouded.
I hoped this struggle was not in vain,
if the great height, the eye attained.
Dear God, where did you flee
when I reached the top of the tree?
At the climax of this quest
a bird’s view my breath arrests.
A flock of swans migrated
South to a warmish state
where lizards baked in desert heat
and time was told by a heartbeat.
But here the wind blew too quick
to conceal my fear and calm my stomach.
Do I have time to make amends
before my spirit to heaven ascends?
If not, I’ll fly with Icarus’ wings
and taste the cold that winter brings.
MORNING OBITUARIES AT MY DOOR
(blues stanza – 03/09/2006)
Everyday the newspaper arrived;
the morning of obituaries arrived
to remind me that strangers had died.
A famished child eaten by flies
joins the ranks who drop like flies,
while the rich share passive sighs.
A man awoke with no real memory
of his wife, friends, and yes, no memory.
His old mind and body he readied to bury.
A father of two caught in the undertow
swam to save his son in the undertow,
but he vanished, a waving echo.
A teenager heard voices in her head,
demonic lyrics and images in her head,
until she didn’t wake up from bed.
News of Aunt Peggy caught my eye,
breast cancer finally closed her eye.
She left before she said goodbye.
The list of names goes on and on.
Ignorance, something sure to depend on,
for all the good times now are gone.
SILENCE INVITES THE GLOW
(rimas dissolutas – 03/20/2006)
Under the Caribbean sun and clear sky
an American reclines on the white sand
of Culebra Beach. He wades waist deep to see
his toes touch the coarse surface of coral reef.
The tide rushes in and envelops the man.
Carried to shore with foam and shellfish, he breathes
the water into his nostrils, while nearby
a native girl extends a helping right-hand.
The girl greets the man with a silent curtsy;
the moment ignites passion with no restrain.
She leads him through Old San Juan to taste pecan
pie, fresh on the cobblestone streets. A warm breeze
blows in the tunnels of El Morro where dried
up cannonballs rest after war. The girl stands
with him in Plaza de Colón, shares secret
childhood stories, but he remains quiet and reads
her lips. Men play chess on stones while a woman
dances Salsa. To him this night is bequeathed.
On the Luminescent Bay, they do not pry
into each others’ feelings, but understand
that silence invites the glow that words clearly
chase away. For luck she gives him a four-leaf
clover from Yunque and makes one last demand –
a kiss by the waterfall before he leaves.
THE RECLUSE
(ballad stanza – 03/23/2006)
Naked on the bathroom floor, I sat
exposed to the cold air.
Mine fields were outside my locked door
and a sign that said beware.
People passed me in the chapel,
their minds always elsewhere.
When I tried, myself, to read aloud
music was all a blare.
No one found me in that deep well
till my clothes were threadbare.
A skeleton kept me company
in my darkest nightmare.
Years I walked the desert alone
and never cut my hair.
Now I refuse to leave this room
till someone shows he cares.
GOOD FRIDAY
(rondeau – 04/07/2006)
Once a year the Maya celebrate
the resurrection of Christ. From an ornate
cross, they remove his statue and spray
him clean. In an urna he parades
through town, carried by men whose mandate
is a test of strength they never debate.
They dance the Lord and walk him straight,
repeating the traditions of Good Friday,
Once a year!
Songs are sung that no one translates,
by hand, a carpet of sawdust, they create,
so that the Savior awakes and does not stray
from the Cofradia and the offerings on display.
Upon his arrival, his wounds they palpate,
Once a year!
AT THE FOREST’S EDGE
(sonnet – 04/10/2006)
At the forest’s edge, dawn crept, slow
and persistent, fighting a battle never to be won.
Balloons were life on a limb, a memory I couldn’t swallow
of birthday wishes and youthful breath stolen
before the candles blew out. A rose flowed
downstream, drowning in my anniversary of omens.
At the base of a mountain, my journey hit a plateau -
a ring buried in ashes awoke demons
from within and there was no turning back.
My reflection in the glass screen warped my brain.
Shrouding the canvas in a cancer infested black
cloth, was the portrait of my wife, and to her, said I,
unchain my heart to let it breathe. I, forever will be racked
with the scars of my inhumane acts. Nothing’s done in vain.
BEHIND THE PAPER CURTAINS
(ottava rima – 04/13/2006)
I am a father. Not by birth or adoption,
but with a pencil, I created and formed
the son of mine. Behind the curtains
made of paper, I protected him from the storms
of criticism. But what life was that, stuck in a coffin?
The flaws of his world were not fiction, but lukewarm
water that I spewed out. It was not he, who I punished,
but my own hand, if it did not write would perish.
FAREWELL EXAM, WELCOME LIMBO
(cinquain – 04/14/2006)
Farewell
is in order
to exams, fees, and grades:
four years have passed I am afraid.
A choice
will come
and force its way
into my brain like moths
burrow through cocoons swathed
in silk.
No place
to run, but fly
to the light and knowledge
embraced in my rite of passage.
Limbo
returns
if I ignore
the course of my studies,
then soon, “come join,” calls the armies
to war.
THE DAY THE ENEMY ENTERED
(sextilla – 04/14/2006)
The day the enemy entered
and stole my wife away, a six
lettered word was spoken, not heard.
The willows wept at our skeptic
friends, her tresses fell out, stunted
by needles. My mind conflicted
at the sight of such pain; hundreds
of miles away or in the same
cramped room, no hiding place granted
us an escape, no god to blame.
I stood by and watched her crumble
in landslides we struggled to climb.
Sometimes the struggle or the fight
weakened or crumbled my patience.
Could I escape or her take flight?
A wish to hide from the hindrance
of caretaking, miles down the road,
forged a pain built up to corrode.
Conflicts too great to bear – her hair
fallen and clogging the drain, sleep-
less nights, weeping unanswered prayers.
Compliments I spoke, stopped skin-deep.
To wife, no more I paid the price,
when the enemy matched my vice.
THE GOLDEN MIST
(04/14/2006)
The golden mist glimmered in my eyes,
a reflection of the memories we lost at sunrise.
Seas of glass shattered and tore
with each new dip of my oar.
The burden was more than a deep debt
when the fish broke through the net.
My heart wept great drops of blood,
from the veins there was a flood.
Wounds of years past and moments
gone on too long, now not silenced,
scream out through the scars and sinew.
A plea for air breathed anew
is heard on the highest mountain top,
sounds through the trumpet, the teardrop
and the deepest lung. For it forewarns
if it falls again, it will soar and adorn
the sky with songs of a burning fire.
All manner of things would then transpire.
