Jackie Lopez
Surrounded by Masters
The chihuahua relishes the sun
and decides to fall on her back
amid the tall grasses to feel it’s
warmth pass through her body,
generating charisma.
My nephews, the Three Wise Men,
ages 2,3, and 4
have come to witness my resurrection.
And they bring me the gift of hope.
They will hallow my name.
The desert flower bends with the wind
reaching the earth that built her house,
and recapitulates when she knows she is wrong.
The crows in all their blackness,
seduce me to undetermined crimes to humanity.
My response: rehabilitation and healing as opposed to incarceration.
Surely we all know what a cry for help looks like.
Don’t whip me, and send me to the sugar fields.
I have enough cavities.
Give me an education, and I will emancipate you.
For there is more to loose morals than a vice.
The joy of Enlightenment does more than entice.
Speak ill of others, and you speak ill of self.
There is nothing sufficient in either one,
except the misery that such words cause.
I’ll give you an earring for every word you enunciate as being
mine.
Jump-ropes in the Bronx were meant for those who know their
time.
Little is left to say that only apples can proclaim.
Seeing as I am the benefactor of some
I argue for a play.
After the death of my reputation
(Which as a teacher that is all that I had.)
I decided to be reborn again,
and tell a new story.
That 2000 years ago I was in love with a prophet
that knew my name
and loved me.
I was considered an adulteress just by virtue of being
educated and a follower of his.
They tormented me with stones
and I threw them back.
I was an angry messiah wife then.
This time I turn the other cheek.
I’m single.
So kiss me and bless me and let me be on my merry way.
This is my way of sharing the truth
as was visited upon me by the Holy Spirit Historian.
He remembers me well.
And I him.
Surely there is John the Baptist
that will enhance my reputation now.
I see him near the river.
He’s about to let a puppet sink in morals.
Ask me no questions and
I’ll tell you no lies.
I am flying through the skies.
For have you not heard?
Jesus came to visit me
and now all I get is applause.
I don’t believe in NAFTA.
I believe in people.
I don’t believe in nations
I believe in people.
I don’t believe in insults.
I believe in you.
I am surrounded by masters.
Madness Has It’s Perks
I’m so frightfully enlightened,
that I must confess,
that madness has it’s perks.
I go to sleep with a smile on my face
every evening.
And, “why?”, you ask,
if the great majority of us are living
under a state of siege?
I say,
“It’s because a locomotive passed through my house
on Wednesday
and brought with it an elephant
as big as a door nail,
and I’m about to salute him with everlasting faith.”
Let me tell ya’, if sanity is about survival
with a penny in a handbag, then, I’d go for it.
But with a million bucks, few are happy.
I think that madness is an opportunity to fight
the Romans off Jesus.
And that is exactly what I did.
I am compassionate beyond par and full of grace that’s happening.
I’m quite the spellbinder on the dance floors.
I speak truth.
And liberty is what I am all about.
Madness is an opportunity to leave all behind, and seek
the Kingdom of Heaven first.
The jobs, the reputations, the opium of the masses, prime television
were not for me.
I was more of a mover and shaker of sorts.
I sought the Kingdom of Heaven not only for myself, but for the masses.
And what, pray tell, is the outcome of such fervent declarations of
research on the matter?
Well, that, I, myself, am quite happy.
When it boils down to it,
I’m quite jealous of myself actually.
How dare I have more happiness than a mountain full of leopard
skin hats?
I should go on the Home Shopping Network and sell
third eye-ness.
I’m quite an extraordinary child that shops gallant houses of ill repute.
And is quite mischievous when she lets you in on her message
which are flirtations without recompense.
Let’s get down to the nitty gritty.
Who are you in relationship to compassion without par?
Are you a bullet proof vest to my arrows?
For I am the cupid of enlightenment prospects.
I’m quite beyond Little House on the Prairie happiness.
I’m in an adobe house on the beach with the Lord.
You blaspheme, hapless child?
I do so without regret.
I am quite translucent in my truth.
That to adore God is not a popularity contest.
It was quite a disreputable, lonesome project.
But the good researcher in me kept me going.
I need to thoroughly understand my journey
into this West.
Of which we all yearn for in one way or another.
A castle could not compete for your attention.
Nor a man.
I wanted you.
Why? Because only you could have fulfilled my soul’s desire.
Thank you very much for your attention.
May we continue to evolve in our poetry,
and speak truths.
I love you, God.
Before God
Before God, I made statements.
After God, I made poetry.
As a Taco Shop Poet,
I was on the brink of fortune and shame.
I decided to turn my back on them when they proclaimed
they knew the Holy Spirit better than I did.
And when they threatened to publish me
I hid
because I did not have my grammar skills intact,
and I was afraid that I was too experimental on the radio.
I knew all the problems, ills, disenchantments, traps, but I did
not know the solutions.
Soy
Indigena
Africana
Espanola
blues.
A historian by trade,
and a bodhisattva by night.
I made statements such as:
Activists are spiritual people.
We have been conquered, and this is the resistance.
Listen to me, I’m educated, and I know
what it means to be on the CIA list.
I am on fire, and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing,
but I am sure going to write about Wilson
and his blaming us women for having babies on our immigration camps
outside of toads Ville,
where we work the grape fields,
and on a good Saturday you see me preaching to the people.
That there is more to life
than being a bodhisattva on the rocks.
And that it is better for all to know the truth
that I saw the Kingdom of Heaven for us all.
No one is free while others are oppressed.
Speak ill of me, and you speak ill of self
for we are one.
I am so blessedly sure you love me too.
So speak the truth,
and don’t let the guns bother you.
I am all for an open society.
I hear they have transparency in Mexico now.
After much research,
I have come to the conclusion
that the only thing that will saves us is
evolution.
To Latin America I say,
“ I am glad that “pureza de sangre” was your ticket to fame.”
And that Benito Juarez was president.
To the United States of America, I say
“I am glad that merit was and is in the game.”.
But to those who are otherworldly I say ignore
your red marks and just exclaim
God Blessed truth.
We are one.
Your soul pleases me.
You are so beautiful
in all your hate and want for my love.
I have often seen someone who feels they have to compete with me.
“Judge not, neither condemn, for scarcity at the table leaves
hunger to ascend.”
I have been unkind in focusing on the secrets of
the Universe Complete.
But now you have my complete
total attention, love, shoulder to cry on, and effervescent Christ spirit.
I am totally, and completely yours.
You are my savior.
And I totally, utterly, love you, like a California girl,
who knows when to say, “when”.
Give me a hug this Christmas.
And I will tell you that you/I did this together;
you were the un-named thorn on my side.
For you said, “ Why must the rich be always so beautiful?”
And I say, “Why must I hide to right this?”
To write this.
Your hair is long.
Your body is smashing.
You have always been a dancer.
And I know you give no clemency to Guatemala.
You say that they have given you nothing for
all your turmoil.
All I say to you is:
I was born there, and I look just like my grandmother
la saint
who taught you to give unconditional love,
whether you are as handsome as my grandfather or not.
He was the looker.
I’d like to think that I am a bit of him too.
So very blessed African
So very blessed French.
But there is no one as pretty as the dancer who taught me to dance
amid hell, mayhem, disrespect.
I danced through it all at UCSD and all the fine schools above
to come to the conclusion:
No one is as pretty as the one who loves.
This is what happens when you let a ghetto bird loose “On the swine.”
he becomes translucent on the vine.
Remember I am not a “she” or a “he“.
I am your soul divine.
Speak the truth.
I dare you.
I am beyond
gender, race, or class.
I am your soul mate.
Hear me twinkle
in Santa Clause’s eyes.
Happy Kwanzaa!
