Poetry

DH photo

By

Norberto Franco Cisneros

Integrity Is Coming To America, Soon

Once the dream was to make America the shining light of the world

America has become the fallen, the ugly, the distrusted.

Living with a neophyte politician with destructive ambitions of a 3-year old,

the transmutation has proven to be very difficult in deed.

Respite is months away or maybe four or eight years away,

maybe never.

We alone have to remove the stench and pain inflicted on us

defecated by shills with only a white conscience with dark motives,

hell bent on annihilating the working family

and intent on destroying the fair and just America we all strive to have.

We are the hope of the world.

The lies they peddle will not prevail or stand unchallenged.

We are being devoured by the forces of manipulation, indifference,

bigotry and the all mighty, self-consuming profit motive?

This seems to be what we have become, but are we?

Will Democracy, Truth and Justice return to America?

How ’bout just plain old integrity

to make America truly great again.

Truly inclusively great again.

Careful Thought And Laughter

The sun rose, the moon set

Life’s wheels went into reverse

And Mount Rushmore does not have a new face

The groundhog went back into his hole

Santa did not deliver gifts to the poor

Food prices went up and the cost of health insurance isn’t coming down

And prayer does not work for me.

My United States has been infiltrated by major bigots

And little racists rule the roost

But we’re fighting back

Because we know love is real

Negative thoughts and the forces they command

Always falter

Paving the way for what comes next

a brighter, hopeful future with less chaos

Dying is not for always

Living is

Life is affirmed by the happiness laughter exhibits

and the stillness Death shows is only a passageway to the Light

The sun rose, the moon set

As they always have

But we hold on to careful thought and uplifting laughter

Much needed in a world in sorrow.

My History

A torment of pain transcended the eons of my ethnicity, engraving on the white pyramids of Chichen-Itza my life. Walking the pebbled courtyards and confronting the descendants of my own slaughtered and sacrificed families these bronze skinned children selling Chiclets to visiting world tourists sparked a flash of memory carrying me back to my youth to a dream of a thousand-fold days of humid summers where we swam the cooling green waters of the cenote and watched our mothers washing clothes off the river bank.

Every now and then, looking over our shoulders, we sensed an unknown presence long ago embedded in our DNA; dressed in shiny metal clothes, lurking behind bushes, their evil faces, anxious faces, blood soaked faces gave us fear of visions of a foreboding destiny.

At that time of our youth, our laughter clung to these ancient pyramids as gum clings to hair and blood smells waft into nostrils. Next to the Templo de Muerte (Temple of Death), the children sang grieving hymns; their angelic voices rang throughout the valley honoring the victims that had been slaughtered a forever ago. Those cantankerous European specters that won’t die still litter the blood filled paths to our haunted history.

Anguished, archaic tears mixed with the suffering of today’s tears feed an embedded legacy of despair; a legacy that among other things in other places and later times created wonderful things enjoyed today: shiny roaring automobiles, moving pictures in boxes, music on wires flowing incessantly. Their bewildering, cacophonous sounds surely not understood by the architects of these pyramids.

But in this land where I was born, these lands deeded to me by my ancestors, lands that are mine, but not mine, lands in which I am equal, but not equal, lands confiscated with impunity by the privileged gun that left our families with sickness, deprivation, hunger and death while men with golden hair lusting after our women, acting intolerantly and reprehensibly carried a lethal hatred towards all of us.

Centuries have come and gone, but their abhorrent behavior and venomous hatred is still ingrained in their bosom… maybe forever.

I have yet to comprehend the upbringing of such people. What monstrous elders spewed life into them, taught them the words of a benevolent Jesus Christ, then blessed their horrendous, despicable acts? The length and breadth of their vicious cruelty is inexplicable to me. It has given pause to my sense of mercy and justice enough to choke my ability to put it into human context and explain it to my children.

Norberto Franco Cisneros

My poems have been published in the following publications: Indiana University Journal Chiricu; Avocet Review (Avocet Press); Snow Jewel (Grey Sparrow Press); Ilumen (Mouthfeel Press/ Sam’s Dot Publishing) and several others, including e-zines, Black Petals, Ruhatish and have been a Featured Poet in Poetry Soup.