Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Kitty Parson Mar 2012
I'm starving to death, Daddy,
wandering around campus
with nothing to do for an hour.

I just went into the sketchiest
sketchy-mart in the city,
and they have chorizo chipotle
corn-nuts. I didn't buy them.

Daddy, there's this creepy guy
here. You know how much
longer you're going to be?
Means
"I am sausage"
in Spanish
It would also be the best name ever for a luchador.
The Dedpoet Feb 2016
Whether I'm out on Military Drive
With my Ruca cruising the street,
I can't stay alive
Without that special meat.

I'm talking bout early morn,
Looking for a place for some comida,
When you need that taco like food ****,
You need it in your Vida.

Yeah, you have buevo ranchero,
Or maybe some bean and cheese,
But I need me some vaquero
To fill my Mexican needs.

So make me a taco,
Make it chorizo and egg,
I'm just a typical vato,
Cmon, please don't make me beg!

And now you know about my favorite dish,
Eating Mexican is like a granted wish.
From the San Antonio series of poems for my city.
Joshua Martin Oct 2013
The representative from Ohio
wipes his *** with Jose’s brown
palms after a bout of verbal defecation.
Luckily, Jose’s food truck houses

a small sink in the corner where
he can wash his hands in between
baskets of chorizo prepared
for rich politicians.

Sometimes Jose scrubs so hard dream flakes
rub off of his skin and he throws them
into the wastebasket to be picked
up by the sanitation workers who

eagerly jump like frogs in orange vests
into the waste of Americana. When
the Representative stops by for
a plate of carne asada, Jose’s

dream specks pepper the beef
and his salty sweat flavors
the inside of the burrito. He grills
the onions and green peppers with

a dash of minimum wage and
boils the rice in a mixture of blood
and pieces of his heritage.
He serves the meal in a white Styrofoam

tray and drizzles it with cheese flowing
from an open wound. The receipt is an unpaid
medical bill, the drink an icy reminder
of his future sipped through a straw.

The nightly news tells Jose
the Representative is bedridden
with a stomach infection. He
complains his insides feel like

a million ***** feet kicking the lining,
like unheard mouths with rows of
sharp teeth gnawing at the liver.
Jose to the tv: tonight we’re not starving.
Alan S Bailey Jul 2024
Completed Jimmy Dean Breakfast

Sang to the tune of Micheal Jackson's original song Billy Jean-1983

Verse 1
With the milk poured-bowl of cereal, hash-browns and melted cheese
I said, "got coffee grinds, sugar and cream and a cinnamon bun-
a fried egg-on your toast golden brown.
Yea a cinnamon bun-with
a fried egg-on your toast golden brown."
Said "I just added sour cream, to the bagels with Philly cheese,
These pancakes almost burned, flip em' now-with a cinnamon bun,
a fried egg-on your toast golden brown."

Pre-chorus
Someone once told me, "be careful what you do,
Syrup goes terrible with salt... (Hee-hee)
And melted butter drippin' "be it food that's on the grill
And just add chives to as well, cold pizza's
Good breakfast to!"

Chorus
Jimmy Dean, Breakfast Frill's on,
Bacon and Chorizo-just put the Griddles on,
Ya' know-the Waffles are almost done...
I just put the Griddles on,
Ya' know-the Waffles are almost done...

Verse 2
For forty danishes and for forty pies, granola on the side
Choice of sausage or oatmeal with jam? Pineapple and ham
And a fried egg-on your toast golden brown.
So next some cream of rice
Some croissants should do just fine
(Yea, real nice) Do just fine! (A-hoo!)
I asked could we have blueberry muffins (please?) lemon cakes with whipped cream
Maybe even Frittata's and strawberry's on the side, they should do just fine (Oh, oh)
With a fried egg-on your toast golden brown.

Pre-chorus
Someone once told me, "be careful what you do,
Syrup goes terrible with salt... (Hee-hee)
Whatever kind of pasta you eat
Huevos Rancheros with chili's
Beef hash and sauteed mushrooms
Even got egg omelette's too

Chorus
Jimmy Dean, Breakfast Frill's on,
Bacon and Chorizo-just put the Griddles on,
Ya' know-the Waffles are almost done...
No-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no
Jimmy Dean, Breakfast Frill's on,
Bacon and Chorizo-just put the Griddles on,
Ya' know-the Waffles are almost done...
Just put the Griddles on,
Ya' know-the Waffles are almost done...

(Break)
Woo! Woo!

Chorus
Just put the griddles on, uh
Ya' know the waffles are almost done
Jimmy Dean, Breakfast Frill's on,
Bacon and chorizo-just put the Griddles on,
Ya' know the waffles are almost done
No-no-no, no-no-no-no
Just put the griddles on,
Ya' know the waffles are almost done

(Outro)
Just put the griddles on
Waffles will soon be done
Put the griddles on
Yeah, yeah, Jimmy Dean, Breakfast Frill's on,
yeah, Jimmy Dean, Breakfast Frill's on, uh
yeah, Jimmy Dean, Breakfast Frill's on, uh
yeah, Jimmy Dean, Breakfast Frill's on, uh
Jimmy Dean, Breakfast Frill's on, uh
Jimmy Dean, Breakfast
Jimmy Dean the sausage king and lots of breakfast food while sang to the tune of the well known song Billy Jean by Micheal Jackson.
Food humor lyrics Weird Al Yankovic style!
I was listening to Joy Division, then I had a vision
About your momma in the kitchen, making me a chorizo.
Then in came Deanna and said "Wassup, my nizzle"
So I slapped the gurl in her face and said "*****, don't **** with my niece, yo."
This ain't a real story, so homie step back
If you don't step back, Imma smack you in the crack.
David Barr Feb 2015
Las Ramblas takes me into the olfactory and gustatory folds of a multicolored bocadillo, which led me to the breathtaking and fearful tunnels of El Chorro.
I have identified those at Sants who maintained deviant motives and gazed upon the beauty of those tree-lined streets of fountainous resignation.
Nevertheless, the combination of manchego and chorizo leads me to those meandering roads of Andalucia where the Sierra Nevada can be witnessed from festivals in Pastelero and Villa Nueva in a midnight breeze.
The best sopa de acho is to be found in Antequerra.
david badgerow Apr 2015
i appear with boots and a saucy smile on
in the doorway while she's cooking the women
gossip over the sizzling pan of hot butter
under her heaving chest on the stove

i'm wearing a magic cape mimicking a windmill
with my bright pink ***** standing *****
big as a barn in the morning sun
lusting after dominance
fat and wrapped like a chorizo sausage

she sends a half-wave into my
direction of space and says--on the counter
i'm ******* an older latina lady with a chiquita banana
deep in my mother's kitchen with
the sticker on the tip of my **** for reference
as the sun dances and rises just
before pancake breakfast

her dank breath smells like
pollo broth and fiesta cigarettes
but her **** is wild soft and new
like a banana being peeled and sliced lengthwise
warm ***** hanging on either side
fat enough to be chewed on

psychedelic salsa blares
on the radio all morning
and i'm holding her skirt up to
reveal beautiful hips and thigh muscles so
i can **** her harder and faster
at her request

hands fly and the big bowl of
seeds spray downward in gravitational collapse
she's singing mexican gypsy secrets
with a cigarette lit and just hanging lopsided
off her lipsticked marshmallow lips

she's holding a yellow crayon in one hand
like she'll be scribbling notes shorthand
and dribbling cane syrup over my naked body
with the other as the floor begins shaking and
the walls shed plaster the cupboard doors creak
on their hinges and mom walks in the room looking at me
like i'm the crazy one

but the cataclysmic miracle is done
senorita is kneeling and wiping my ****
with an authentic mexican flag handkerchief
her sweat and my *** cooling on her thighs
working holes in her new blue kneesocks
and i'm re-zipping her dress over the
glistening expanse of her brown back

she stands trying to fix her freshly ****** hair and
we both light a cigarette try to forget the whole thing happened laughing at our secret as her cherry toes finally uncurl like an ember drifting in campfire smoke she just juts a hip out licks her lips again and smiles

"bueno."
Maybe she was Russian black or
maybe my imagination,
but she moved like snow on peppermint,
slow and tasty and
much to my amazement,
she melted lines upon my face and
I,
stepping light on all the right stones
making magic with these old bones
melted into her.

With several leaps into frustration
my destination marker hardly
changed at all, though
I had run through cracking panes of glass
where reflections would not let me pass
I saw the end.

She blew a kiss and disappeared
I flew into a rage and feared that
I would die,
but
angels do not work that way they
reappear another day,
and so
I wait,
with pepperminted tongue in cheek
I shall be silent and not seek
another one.

Russian black or red or white
snow and peppermint at night
is my desire.
I light the fire and wait for her
to come and dine with me
and share my appetite.
Rayos Feb 2011
Me gusta TEQUILA
Me gusta CERVEZA
Me gusta BAILAR
Sobre la MESA

Dame Limon
Dame La Sal
Dame un Cabron
para BAILAR

Me gusta CHORIZO
Me gusta JAMON
PERO MAS ME GUSTA
BAJARLES EL CALZON
Jedd Ong Nov 2014
has died

And tomorrow brings
Forth a helping
Of ham sandwiches
And chorizo rice,

And a cold glass of milk,
And vitamin pills,
And sleepy morning sunlight
Clinging to baby eyelids.

The world unraveling,
Yarn by yarn to reveal
A cracked expanse:

Dingy suburbs alternating
With shiny metal subways,
Flimsy straw huts,
And highways,

Schoolbooks once mandatory
Depicting every one of them.

The bell rings and
Suddenly footsteps seem
To linger if but for a second,
Encasing its victims
In a universe where time stops—
Stood—still

Still enough to wrinkle,
And feel the soft nudging

Of naked wrist against
Wrist-watched wrists,

Breakfast crumbs against
Crumpled lips,

Rotting umbrellas against
Sweating hips,

Oxen straining against
Grass-strewn rifts,

Coal dust against
Swollen lids—

So tolls the bell
And ends
David Barr Dec 2013
I miss the fields of Andalucía, where the Sierra Nevada can be seen in the East from Costa Del Sol perimeters; and community is something which far surpasses the façade of being in the same room. Sliced onions in the abode of La Villa Rosetta will permeate the Milky Way on Spanish rooftops, as herds of goats amble along mountain roads. But let us forever remember that chorizo is beautiful, as she proudly displays her scent against the turrets of Algeciras. I love a fiesta, because familial chords remain uncut.
Anais Vionet Sep 13
I am a student in Paris, a med-school freshman, one of the crowd.
This week is all introductions, orientation functions and instructions.
“Settle in, get your books, parking passes and find your classes.”
I got my ID - I’m a Vip in the bourgeoisie - does that look like me?

Freshmen join a ‘buddy program’ so things seem less hostile
I met my buddy last week, she’s the consummate boss - effortlessly busy.
She’s got my folder (oh my), full of check-lists. I’ve yet to see her smile.
She’s a third year, from Chamonix, a town in the jagged Alps, near Italy.

If you want me, right after classes, I’ll be at Les Deux Parisiens,
a shaded coffee shop across from school that feels like a garden.
They have everything - from coffee to pizza and martinis - it’s awesome.
For 17€ : try the ‘La Campione,’ pizza with beef and chorizo (sausage)

I am a student in the misty rain, stepping carefully on cobblestones
- they pool water geometrically - I’m heading home (6 Av.) walking alone.
Nothing’s still, classes end at noon - it’s the city, sidewalk’s are full, Ubers uber, mopeds mope, bikers bike, people scatter, umbrellaless commuters.

I haven’t made any new friends yet - I’m not worried - I’m just beginning.
.
.
Songs for this:
Day Tripper by MonaLisa Twins
Café Europa by Quadro Nuevo
Count Contessa by Azealia Banks & Lone [E]
Robinson Crusoe by Art of Noise
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 09/13/25:
Consummate =  of the highest degree or accomplished.


6 Av. = what I’ll call Grandmère’s hôtel particulier
Ma Cherie Mar 2017
I look at my friend,
and sadness drops an anchor on that heart,
I'm sure it's hoping to port here,
as tears well in her eyes again,
I ask "are you alright lady?"
an you probably,
know the answer was NO.

( My fur baby,
or as I believe-
a spirit animal,
my familiar -
but not for dark witchcraft,
ha, no,
this is just...a ....story ....yeah, a story,
about my Tanley cat )


Cooking dinner oh boy, meatloaf-
chorizo sausage, pork an beef,
and I am distracted in every way,
I refuse to make something that's not,
delicious an with the right ingredients,
anything is possible,
now exhasted and sipping wine-
why he just climbed right up my leg!
"Ouch guy!" as I pull him off my jeans,
looking over at her,
still emotional,
while trying not to seem rude,
"he's so strange"  I chuckle warmly,
I pat his sweet furry head,
and shake my finger at him-
no no darling kitty,
go wait there in your bed.

She forces some kind of smile,
then I look at his eyes,
and he just looks -confused.

I pat his sweet little head again,
rub his chin and pick him up,
I'm just too busy with nightly chores,
to listen to his heart-
at present,
so I walk over to Melissa,
and rub a feeling hand over her back,
trying any words of reason,
but reasoning with a tumultuous heart,
is sometimes impossible,
I know, from experience sigh
I know little Tanley cat
you want to help and I'm sure we will,
I feel her an his angst.

A half hour later, or so-
as my routine feet amble across,
the old an quite cold hardwood floor,
over to a chair against the wall,
where Melissa and the roommate Tom sits
at the bar still playing cards,
a pleasantly surprising game of rummy
though she still can't see in that tunnel,
I make my way,
over to a chair and sit -
at looooong last,

Ahhhhhh....a very deep breath
as eyes close fractionally,
and I sigh deeply for,
taking a well deserved pause,
as my latest invention bubbles,
eagerly in the oven -
as I have still to feed everyone,
Lil Tanley comes to my feet with an offer,
I look down and nod for him,
to come up
and he gladly obliges.

Now I love animals,
I always have,
but I've had few in my adult life,
mostly as a child or teenager as,
my living pods didn't allow,
for such wonderful critters,
smiles

I have always thought myself,
to be- somewhat at least,
awake to my life maybe,
but I suppose,
awake doesn't always,
equate to being aware,
and awareness is the thing,
that taught my heart to share.

While life being such as it is,
I didn't have many,
opportunities to learn
much worldly wisdom
other than what we knew-  
these little furry spiritual souls
are already enlightened,
gratitude is what I think they hope to earn,
soft and sweet sometimes,
always independent,
little tiny furry sentient beings maybe,
well sounds crazy, I dig,
but I think so anyway-
an here's only part of why.

Tanley had been waiting,
an meanwhile-
we had considered adoption,
somewhat early,
for what we thought,
so shortly after the death of Spanky,
my first really close spirit animal,
the others I hadn't allowed
for time or space,
some touched my heart- but Tantan?
he's the manman,
he knows his special place,
he is a pure heart-
that I know well,
he attached himself with a needle
and thread to mine,
maybe an ancient spell was cast,
not a bad one,
if so- this is all good,
I have a warm relationship with my spirit guides these days-
didn't always understand
that part to well,
I'm not "psychic" -
maybe sensitive and very easily tuned in-
my empathetic antennas going off,

An let me again stress,
this cat is very special,
chosen for us,
I am certain of it,
and he is just so unique-
an I know I know,
like every mom says,
and it's not completely -
understood either,
by anyone -
well he is cute and soft,
but everyone,
an I mean EV-er-Y-OnE,
comments on his "beauty"
- drawn in moth to flame like,
I have seen many adult lost-
totally mesmerized
four at once for over an hour,
all participating in his fun.

He is like a newborn gift,
just weeks young he came-
not now but 5 months old,
infusing all our hearts with simple joy,
he helped us bear the Winter's cold,
from the amazing connection,
we ALL so obviously share,
an Lil Tanley he so wants to care,

Now my Tanley cat looked at me again,
then her, though this time -
persistent like,
in parroted movements,
repeating his message
though I am still resistant, apparently,
until the emergency emotional bulletin,
comes through and BINGO-

Oh, now I get it boy!
Then suddenly I realized,
he wants to comfort and to help her!

Alright go ahead I hearten his request,
as he is hesitating though not wavering,
patiently, and sweetly waiting,
for her soon acknowledgement,
I say to them all-
" He wants to help, just look"
and I pat him again,
"go on now" he looks again,
at all parties, inquisitively,
she looks at him
all her insecurities prominent,
but softly her heart eases -
he stretches from my knee,
to her upper arm,
her comfort means he pleases,
outstretching paw like feelers of hope.

She smiles a teary thanks,
silently in her head,.
I can hear it with my heart,
and **** it all to hell sometimes,
that hearing -
some parts of a heart
you rather not know,
but his I listen to gladly,
and I see him rock,
back and forth like an,
Olympian runner trying to save,
someone and maybe who knows,
perhaps we lived in another life,
together I wonder,

Maybe somewhere in beautiful,
and ancient Greece together,
as he always does this just before,
he jumps, one, two - up we go,
onto her left shoulder and finally,
he finds his warm perch.

Ever since first night we got him,
just 8 new weeks old -
too soon I know -
but my poor heart wanted him,
to be with his family which is us,
he desperately needed to find his home,
still big for his age and not sad,
well adjusted was this furry strange,
and wonderful little misfit,
the one the other lady didn't want
and not suffering his momma's loss,
too awful bad at least.

Tanley cat went straight to his employment,
taking very seriously his task,
with such concerted effort,
it's not as if I ask,
as he willingly and unselfishly performs,
a dazzling balancing act
- a feat of his desperation to stop,
sadness and his ugly friend depression,
as he is purring,  
and trying to groom her lovely hair.

He burrows his head into her hair,
bunting her sweetly,
showing he's in love,
giving it his best effort,
looking at me for approval,
he has every bit of it,
and all of the attention,

A warm smile finally breaks the spell,
my heart feels that anchor weight lift
in all our amusement,
as  he burrows into her neck,
looking for some small reward,
for that solace gifted,
as she gratefully giggles a tiny bit.
and a wee little light seeps in,
through a teenie hopeful crack,
in sweet tired dark sad eyes
I see a glimmer of hope.

Ma Cherie © 2017
Seriously this happened an was really amazing! I love my little Tanley cat so he's such a darling! ❤❤❤ sorry I've been away so much hope you are all well!
Celebrating something you briefly learned and you expect a few dozen people in the plaza, calm and content celebrating the May revolution that happened over 200 years ago.

You step off the subway, walk up the stairs to the sidewalk and it's foggy from firecrackers and grills filled with chorizo. Banderas waving with Eva and Peron's faces. Drums pounded as the people sing VIVA LA PATRIA.

You're alone, but somehow not afraid because even though this holiday isn't yours, you recognize the nationalism they sing of. A nationalism only a porteno could possibly know and love and understand and feel and celebrate. But for that day, you overcame your extranjero and smiled at the kids waving their flags, your friend using two hands to eat choripan, the hunt for locro, and the mosh pit that was trying to get the closest view of the concerts and firecrackers.

When you return to the states they'll remember it as Memorial Day, but you have learned how to celebrate 25 de mayo.
'What time is it', asked the rock, who had turned to dust, and the voice replied,
'rise o-clock'
and the legend began.

Rumours ran rife that the man with no wife had returned, someone burned bushes in honour but that had been done before.

The rock that was dust blew away but returned as a man and I hear people say, Peter, you're cool, but Pete was no fool, he knew there was a reputation to salvage.

In Virginia on a blue ridge a cowboy, head slung low, which matched the slant of his guns
hummed tunes from a memory that his Ma' made in Yosemite a long time ago,
the man with no wife who was also a cowboy rode far into a canyon and it fired his imagination, and more bushes burned as he passed.

'Nothing new here my dear', he said to his horse and he talked to his horse more than he talked to most people.

By a steeple in Piza, leaning towards a disaster, a singer of ballads sat eating chorizo because even singers need to rest, It was Monday and the light burned which was a nice change from bushes.

'It'll never be the same, we should have left well alone' came a disjointed voice from an unworldly zone and that's the way of it, gods and aliens like to play a bit, sometimes the game gets away and they lose the plot and what have we got,?
Easters eggs and fun
bunnies watch them run as the sun
passes over the sky.
Alan S Bailey Jul 2024
Jimmy Dean, Breakfast Frill,
Bacon and Chorizo-an' just put the Griddles on,
Ya know-the Waffles are almost done...
Sounds familiar somehow

Just don't forget, if you're thinking "be careful what you do! Syrup goes terrible with salt..."

Then you're on to me LoL.

Work in progress
machina miller Feb 2017
the anti-siren alarm song
collapses the dimensions of the oneiric realm,
fidgeting infinitesimally,
the tangled engine of acidic tubes
combusts last nights pepperoni bacon chorizo pizza

all of sparta trembles
stalagmites shake loose and dust the bedclothes,
cemented eye-lashes decalcify and split,
as two stumbling gargantuan steps
off the promontory of your bed
lead an unguided hand to the light-switch

the florescent hum gnaws at you
a singular parameter in the speaking mind's running mouth
“caffeinate me”

a hill, no, a mountain, no, a sheer abyss
'the stairs', a godly ascent
an ascent for winged creatures of light
creatures with legs for arms, zeppelin-like centipedes
legs whose construct are Dalían,
nightmarish vaulting apparatuses,
whose step is a bound and whose bound is a flight,
as if all of the thirteen foot-tall steps become cliffsides
and all of the cliffsides become interdimensional worm-holes
as the distance between two mustard seeds grows
and exceeds the circumference of the universal ellipse
we see our premonitions are of infinite potentiality.

resignedly, we take the first step
the next twelve follow succinctly.

we reach the ochre chamber of caffeine
only to be halted by a question
a sempiternal question,
a question of mythic, unverifiable stature
a plaguing question,
a question rooted
in our achey-breaky hearts and nigh-arthritic bones,
rooted in the seeping pathos
of our ritualized morning zombie-shuffle:
but it doesn't get asked today, we drink coffee
the world is right-side up again.
"before the sun rises the world is upside down
this i will prove with the informal, childish logic of prose"
Deliciosos....ricos de chorizo seco con camarón rosado argentino.... tortillas recién hechas, aguacate, cilantro y cebolla blanca...salsita bien picante...ufff qué delicias papá.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS Nov 2024
LOVE AND LOVERS

by

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

Preamble:  I hope you will read LOVE AND LOVERS. I believe love is the only way to save Earth and all creations upon it. That includes you, your family, your friends, and all that you prize. One person can begin to save all that one loves. Let it be you. Best wishes, TOD HOWARD HAWKS


Chapter 1

Jon walked down Broadway Thursday toward Tom’s to eat breakfast. He had taken this stroll hundreds of times after being at Columbia for five years during which he had eaten breakfast at all possible alternatives and found Tom’s to be categorically the best in Morningside Heights. It was a beautiful Fall morning. Monday he would begin the second and last school year at Columbia and in the Spring he would receive his MFA from the School of the Arts.

When Jon entered Tom’s, he was stunned. Sitting three down in aisle 3 on the right side in a booth by herself was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. After standing still for a few moments, Jon slowly walked toward this woman and stopped, then spoke.

“Hi, I’m Jon Witherston. May I join you?”

The young woman responded, “Sure.” Jon sat down.

“I’m Bian Ly. It’s nice to meet you,” she said.

“I’m assuming you’re a student at Columbia,” said Jon.

“Yes, I’m a senior at the College. Are you also a student?” asked Bian.

“Yes, I am. In fact, I graduated from Columbia College a year ago. Next Spring, I’ll be receiving my MFA from the School of the Arts. I’m a poet,” said Jon.

“A poet! How wonderful!,” exclaimed Bian.

“Thank you, Bian. What’s your major?” asked Jon.

“I'm majoring in Human Rights,” replied Bian.

“The world needs to major in Human Rights!” said Jon.

Bian smiled.

At that point, the waitress came over and took their orders. Both wanted breakfast.

“That is a beautiful ring you are wearing on your little finger,” said Bian.

“That a Nacoms ring,” said Jon. “Nacoms is a senior society at the College. I was selected to be a member,” said Jon. “I was Head of NSOP. Where are you from, Bian?

“I’m from Hanoi,” said Bian.

“Hanoi is a long way from Topeka, Kansas where I grew up, but I did come East to attend Andover,” said Jon.

“I also attended boarding school, but in Hanoi, not Massachusetts. I graduated from Hanoi International School,” said Bian.

“It seems we have a lot in common,” said Jon.

The waitress brought their breakfasts, which they started eating.

After finishing their meals, the two chatted for about twenty minutes, then Jon said, “Bian, before I bid you a good rest of your day, I’d like to ask you if you might like to join me to visit the Guggenheim Museum to see a showing of Vasily Kandinsky’s paintings this Saturday afternoon then be my guest for dinner at your favorite Italian restaurant in Morningside Heights.”

“I’d love to,” replied Bian.

“I’ll pick you up about 2 p.m. Where do you live?” asked Jon.

“I live in Harley Hall,” said Bian.

“Hartley Hall–that’s where I lived all four years during my undergraduate days,” remarked Jon. “ You’ve got a couple of days to pick out your favorite Italian restaurant,” added Jon. “I’ll wait in the lobby for you.”

Bian smiled again and got out of the booth.

“See you this Saturday at 2,” Jon said as he waited for Bian to leave first. Then he just sat in the booth for a while and smiled, too.


Chapter 2

Jon arrived at Hartley Hall a bit early Saturday afternoon. He sat in the lobby on a soft leather sofa. Hartley Hall. Columbia. Four years. It had been an amazing time. Chad Willington, a fellow Andover graduate from Richmond, Virginia, was his roommate all four years. A tremendous swimmer, Chad had been elected captain of the team both his junior and senior years. He was now working at Goldman Sachs on Wall Street. Jon’s most cherished honor while he was at the College was being elected by his 1,400 classmates to be one of 15 Class Marshals to lead the Commencement Procession.

Bian came into the lounge. She looked beautiful.

“How are you, Bian? Are you ready to go see Kandinsky?” asked Jon.

“Indeed, I am,” said Bian.

“Let’s go, then,” said Jon.

The two walked across campus on College Walk to Broadway where Jon hailed a cab.

“Please take us to the Guggenheim Museum,” Jon told the cabbie. The cab cut through Central Park to upper 5th Avenue.

“We’re here,” said Jon and paid and tipped the cabbie.

The Guggenheim itself was a spectacular piece of architecture designed by Frank Lloyd Wright that spiraled into the blue sky. Jon paid for the admission tickets, then both entered the museum and took the elevator to the top of the building. Then began the slow descent to the bottom on the long, spiraling walkway, pausing when they wanted to the see a Kandinsky painting closely and talking with each other about it.

Vasily Kandinsky was a Russian painter and theorist, becoming prominent in the early decades of the 20th Century. Having moved first from Russia to Germany, he then went to France. Kandinsky was a pioneer of abstraction in Western art. He was keenly interested in spiritual expression:  “inner necessity” is what he called it.

It took quite a while to make their way down the spiraling ramp, stopping at almost every painting to share their views. Finally, Bian and Jon reached the bottom.

“Well, that was most interesting,” said Bian.

“I agree,” said Jon. “Have you decided which is your favorite Italian restaurant in Morningside Heights, Bian?” asked Jon.

“Pisticci,” said Bian.

“Let's go!,” said Jon.

They took a cab to Pisticci. The waiter brought them menus, which they began to peruse.

“You first,” Jon said to Bian.

“I would like the Insalata Pisticci (bed of baby spinach tossed with potatoes and pancetta with balsamic reduction). Then Suppe Minestrone (with a clear tomato base and al dente vegetables). Finally, I would like the Fettuccine Al Fungi (handmade fettuccine tossed with a trio of warm, earthy mushrooms and truffle oil),” concluded Bian.

Jon followed. “I would also like the Insalata Pisticci, then the Suppe Minestrone, followed by the Pappardelle Bolognesse, then the Burrata Caprese. Thank you.”

Bian and Jon ate their meals in candlelight.

“Tell me about growing up in Hanoi,” Jon asked Bian.

“I am an only child, Jon. My father is Minh Ly and my mother is Lieu. My father was the youngest General in the war;  nevertheless, he rose to second in command. He has been a businessman now for a long time. My childhood was like those of most children. As I grew older, I loved playing volleyball. I read a lot. I began learning English at an early age. I had lots of friends. I love my father and mother very much.”

“Why did you come to Columbia,” asked Jon.

“Columbia, as you know, is one of the greatest universities in the world, and it’s in New York City,” said Bian.

“Why did you choose to major in Human Rights, Bian,” asked Jon.

“The world, and the people and all other living creations on it, need kindness and love to heal. All have been sick for millennia. I would like to help heal Earth,” said Bian.

Jon was struck by Bian’s words. He felt the same as Bian.

The two continued to share more with each other. Finally, it was time to go.

They took a cab back to campus and Jon escorted Bian back to Hartley Hall.

“I’d like to exchange phone numbers with you. Is that OK with you?” Jon asked.

“Of course,” said Bian.

“Thank you for a wonderful day, Bian,” said Jon.

“And you the same, Jon,” said Bian.



Chapter 3

Jon picked up his receiver and gave Bian a call from his apartment.

“Bian?”, asked Jon.

“Yes,” replied Bian.

“This is Jon calling. Do you have a minute or two to talk?”

“Yes, I do,” said Bian.

“Well, first let me ask how you’re doing,” said Jon.

“I’m doing well, Jon,” said Bian.

“And school, how’s that going?” asked Jon.

“Well, I'm off to a busy start, but that’s not surprising,” said Bian.

“I’m calling to ask if you would like to go with me this Sunday afternoon and hear Santiago Pena, president of Paraguay, speak at the World Leaders Forum in Low Library, then afterwards have an early picnic meal in Riverside Park with me.”

“Oh, that sounds wonderful!” said Bian.

“Great. I’ll meet you again in the Hartley Hall lobby around quarter of 2. Will that work for you?” asked Jon.

“Yes, Jon, that will work fine. Thanks for the double invitation,” said Bian.

“Oh, and by the way, I’ll have our picnic meal ready for us. We’ll have to pick it up at my apartment after the talk. I live on Riverside Drive between 114th and 115th Streets,” said Jon.

“I look forward to both,” said Bian.

“Have a good rest of the week,” said Jon. “See you Sunday.”


Jon got to the Hartley Hall lobby a bit early Sunday afternoon and sat down on a sofa to wait for Bian. On Saturday, Jon had written his most recent poem and he had brought it and two others to read to Bian during their picnic. After a short wait, Bian entered the lobby.

“Bian, it's so nice to see you again,” said Jon.

“It’s so nice to see you, too,” said Bian.

“Well, are we ready to head out?” said Jon.

“I am,” said Bian.

“OK, let’s go,” said Jon.

The two headed toward Low Library, now no longer a library, but the main administrative center of the University. Further, the Rotunda was glorious. That’s where President Santiago Pena would be speaking.  

The President began his speech with a concise history of Paraguay followed by his attempts to deal with the societal ills in his country, and then spoke at length about his belief, his wish, for all nations in both Central and South America to be united into one nation. Finally, he took a number of questions from members of the audience. The program lasted about an hour.

“I found President Pena’s comments about the potential unification of all countries in Central and South America united provocative,” said Jon.

“The world is one. Why not start with all nations in Central and South America?” added Bian as she and Jon walked down the steps in front of Low Library.


“Another beautiful Fall day,” said Jon. “A beautiful day for a picnic.”

They headed down College walk, crossed Broadway, then turned left on Riverside Drive and walked toward Jon’s apartment building that was just beyond 115th Street.

“Come on up while I gather all the picnic items,” said Jon, so they took the elevator to the 5th floor, got out, and walked down the hallway to Apt. 515.

“Here’s where I live,” said Jon. Bian entered first.

“You have a beautiful view of the park and the Hudson River, Jon,” said Bian.

Jon put all picnic items from the refrigerator into a large bag and grabbed the large, folded blanket lying on the sofa in the living room, then said, “Now let’s go find a great spot to have a picnic,” said Jon.

The two crossed Riverside Drive and entered Riverside Park. After spending several minutes looking around, Bian said, “Over there. That looks like a nice spot.”

When they got to the spot, Jon put everything he had been carrying on the ground and unfolded the blanket and spread it out.

"This will be an old-fashioned Kansas picnic, Bian. I hope you like it,” said Jon.

Bian sat down on the blanket. Jon began emptying the bag.

“We have before us pieces of fried chicken, coleslaw, baked beans, cleaned strips of carrots and celery, and black olives. Here are the paper plates, utensils, napkins, and cups, along with a container of cool water. I brought water because I don’t drink alcohol.” said Jon. “Plus, I have a surprise dessert.”

Jon then sat down and gave Bian a plate, utensils, and a napkin. “Help yourself, Bian, and enjoy.” And so they did.

After both had eaten everything on their plates, Jon said, “And now for the surprise,”

He reached into the bottom of the bag for the plastic container and pulled it out.

“I have here two pieces of chocolate cake from the Hungarian Pastry Shop,” he said.

“Oh, the cake looks delicious!” said Bian.

Jon carefully put the pieces of cake on plates, then handed one to Bian.

“We had no Hungarian Pastry Shop in Kansas,” said Jon.

After eating their pieces of chocolate cake, Bian and Jon chatted for quite a while, mostly about their respective childhoods, which were, surprisingly enough, quite similar. Being loved by one’s parents, especially, was the most important experience that both shared.

“I’d like to share with you, Bian, several poems I’ve recently written,” said Jon.

“I’d like that very much,” said Bian.

“The first one I’ll recite is titled I WRITE WHEN THE RIVER’S DOWN.

I WRITE WHEN THE RIVER’S DOWN

I write when the river’s down,
when the ground’s as hard as
a banker’s disposition and as
cracked as an old woman’s face.
I write when the air is still
and the tired leaves of the
dying elm tree are a mosaic
against the bird-blue sky.
I write when the old bird dog,
Sam, is too tired to chase
rabbits, which is his habit
on temperate days. I write when
horses lie on burnt grass,
when the sun is always
high noon, when hope melts like
yellow butter near the kitchen
window. I write when there
are no cherry pies in the
oven, when heartache comes
like a dust storm in early
morning. I write when the
river’s down, and sadness
grows like cockle burs in
my heart.


The next poem is titled THERE WILL COME A TIME.

THERE WILL COME A TIME

There will come a time
when time doesn’t matter,
when all minutes and
millennia are but moments
when I look into your eyes.
There will come a time
when clinging things
will fall like desiccated
leaves, leaving us with
but one another. There
will come a time when
the external becomes eternal,
when holding you is to
embrace the universe.
There will come a time
when to be will no longer
be infinitive, but infinity,
and you and I are one.


The last poem I’ll share with you today is THERE IS A TENDER WAY TO TOUCH YOU.


THERE IS A TENDER WAY TO TOUCH YOU

There is a tender way to touch you,
not more than a brush across your cheek.
I seek a gentle kiss so not to miss your soft
and red-rose lips that meet mine, the glory
of your darkened hair that falls across my face
as I unlace your flowered blouse to place
my fingertips upon your silk-like skin to begin
to love the rest of you. I lay you down on soft,
blue sheets, your head upon pillows made of
wild willow leaves softer than robin’s feathers.
I bare your beauty slowly that glows like a candle’s
flame in a room that is at once dark and bright.
The light comes from your luminous eyes that smile
at me as I reveal the rest of you from waist to knees
to heels and toes. No one knows the tender touch
I bestow upon your gentle being that I alone am seeing.


“Thank you, Jon, for sharing these poems with me. They moved me. I hope you’ll share others with me,” said Bian.

It was time to call it an afternoon. Jon walked with Bian all the way back to Hartley Hall.

“Have a good week, Bian,” said Jon, then leaned forward and
kissed her lips lightly.



Chapter 4


Bian and Jon began studying together in Butler Library. They read, they wrote, they laughed together. They got to know each other increasingly well. Their relationship, seemingly effortlessly, became romantic. They began to spend more time in Jon’s apartment. They became lovers.

Bian brought Jon a sense of happiness into his life that he had never experienced before. Not surprisingly, the same was true for Bian in a similar way, who previously, but not consciously, had always felt somewhat on the periphery of life in America. They complemented and enjoyed each other, so much so that full-blown love blossomed.

This is how the rest of the semester flowed. When Christmas break came, they decided to fly to Paris and spend the holidays there. Of course, they visited the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, and Notre Dame. They strolled down Champs-Elysees and through Montmartre, ate mostly at bistros, and took a trip to see Versailles.

Among other excursions, they traveled to Amiens to see the famous cathedral there. Overlooking the Somme River, the Amiens Cathedral was built between 1220 and 1270. It was the largest cathedral in France, twice the size of Notre Dame. Jon said the skyscrapers in New York City paled in comparison to Amiens Cathedral.

Back to Columbia, New York City, and Spring semester. When the weather warmed, they spent many week-end afternoons in Central Park, visited many other sites, ate all kinds of ethnic foods, and, of course, had breakfast at Tom’s often. Furthermore, Bian’s parents were flying from Hanoi to New York City to attend Commencement.

But the highlight not only of the moment, but also, and most importantly, of the rest of her life, was Jon proposing marriage to her the week before they were to graduate, which, in a state of both shock and pure joy, she accepted. He gave her a diamond engagement ring he had bought at Tiffany’s.

“It is such an honor and a pleasure to meet both of you, Mr. and Mrs. Ly,” said Jon. Mr. Ly translated for his wife who knew no English.


Commencement at Columbia was always a transcendental exercise. That evening, the four of them celebrated by having dinner at Eleven Madison Park, courtesy of Mr. Minh. Three days later, Bian and Jon were married in
St. Paul’s Chapel on the Columbia campus.

Bian and John rented a cottage on Cape Cod for the summer. A summer of love it was. Sailing, relaxing, chatting, making love–all that two human beings could wish for.

The first thing Jon felt he needed to do was to call Chad, who had been Jon's roommate at Columbia, to thank him for coming to the wedding. They had a nice chat, then Chad asked the question below:

“Jon, I just have to ask you this one question,” said Chad. “Is Bian’s father, by any chance, Minh Ly?”

“Yes,” said Jon.

“Jesus, Jon! Did you know that Minh Ly is one of the richest men on the planet?”

Silence.

Finally, Jon said, “No, I didn’t know that.”

“Not only is Minh Ly one of the richest men on Earth, but he is one of the most connected in the entire world. But most people, even the richest, don’t know how internationally influential he is. He keeps an extremely low profile.

More silence.

“I didn’t know any of this, Chad. Bian never mentioned to me even an iota of what you have just told me,” said Jon.

“Well, Jon, I had to ask,” said Chad. “I hope you’re not disconcerted.”

“No, no, Chad. I guess I’m just flabbergasted,” said Jon.

“I found out about Minh Ly when I was invited to join members of the top brass at a Goldman Sachs luncheon and Minh Ly’s name popped into the conversation for a minute or two. That’s all,” said Chad.

“Fine, Chad. Thanks for telling me this,” said Jon, then hung up.


Chapter 5


Jon sat in the stuffed chair by the fireplace for a long time. Bian had driven into Hyannis to do some shopping.

When Bian had mentioned during one of their chats she had wanted to “heal the Earth” during her life, that phrase–that particular phrase–had pierced his being, bringing fully into his consciousness the same overpowering sentiment.  Once she had uttered those three words, Jon’s life had been profoundly and permanently affected. He had even written what he considered to be a “commentary,” a brief, concise pathway that humankind could follow to save the world, to create Peace on Earth forever. He had had no intention of ever sharing it with Bian, until now. Jon rose from his chair and went into the bedroom and opened the closet door and pulled out the big cardboard box in which he kept all of his poems. Near the top, he saw his commentary. He lifted it out and sat down on the bed and began to read it again.

PEACE ON EARTH THROUGH LOVE

Turning the World Rightside-In

by

Jon Witherston


PREAMBLE:  All we have is our little planet, Earth. For the vast majority of my life, I have thought, “What would it be like to have Peace on Earth?” But for only two, maybe three, weeks every year, usually around Christmas, I would see the phrase “Peace on Earth," usually on Christmas cards. But after Christmas, I would not hear or see that sanguine notion for 11 more months. The longer I lived, the more this annual ritual bothered me. At Andover, I had studied European history. At Columbia, I had majored in American history. Over time, I increasingly came to the realization that in both prep school and college, I had essentially been studying about wars on top of wars and their aftermaths:  millions and millions and millions of human beings being killed. Then, when I got curious, I used my computer to find out that, according to many scholars, only a little over 200, out of roughly 3,400 years of recorded history, were deemed “peaceful.” Humanity, I concluded, had a horrible track record when it came to effectuating “Peace on Earth.” And during my lifetime things have not gotten any better.  
      
SPIRITUAL ECOLOGY:  There is one land, one sky, one sea, one people. The boundaries that divide us are not on maps, but in our minds and hearts. John Donne was prescient. Earth is as impoverished as its poorest Citizen, as healthy as her sickest, as educated as her most ignorant. If we pollute the upper waters of the Mississippi, then ineluctably we shall pollute the Indian Ocean. If we continue to pollute our air, the current 8,100,000,000 Citizens on Earth will die. All species will be accorded the same concern and care as Citizens of Earth. The imminent threats of nuclear holocaust and catastrophic climate change we need urgently to prevent. This is the truth of Spiritual Ecology.  

CAMPAIGN FOR EARTH:  If we can wage war, why should we not wage peace? Nations are anachronistic;  therefore, there will be none. There will only be Earth and Citizens of Earth. Each Citizen of Earth will devote a 10 years between 18 and 60 of her/his life to the betterment of humankind and Earth. All military weapons--from handguns to hydrogen bombs--will be destroyed, and any future weapons will be prohibited. All jails and prisons will be closed, replaced by Love Centers (see below). Automation and other technological advances will enhance the opportunity for all Citizens of Earth to realize exponentially their potential, personally and spiritually. There will be no money. All precious resources and assets of Earth will be distributed equally among all Citizens of Earth. The only things each will own are the right to be treated well and the responsibility to treat Earth and all its Citizens well. All Citizens will be free to travel anywhere, at any time, on Earth. All Citizens will be free to choose their own personal and professional goals, but will do no harm to Earth or other Citizens. All Citizens will be afforded the same resources to live a full, safe, and satisfying life, including the best education, health care, housing, food, and other necessities throughout Earth.

LOVE:  The only way to change anything for the good, for good, is through love. Love is what every living creation on Earth needs. Love Centers are for those Citizens who were not loved enough, or at all, especially at their earliest of ages. Concomitantly, they act out their pain hurtfully, sometimes lethally, often against other Citizens. Citizens who are emotionally ill will be separated from those who are not. Jails and prisons only abet this deleterious situation. Some Citizens in pain may need to be constrained in Love Centers humanely while they recover, through being loved, so they do not hurt themselves or others. In some extreme cases, Citizens may be in so much pain that they remain violent for a long time.  Thus, they may need to be constrained for the rest of their lives, but always loved, never punished. In time, Citizens, when loved enough, will only have love to give, and the need for Love Centers will commensurately decline.

EARTH:  In 1948, Eleanor Roosevelt chaired the commission that wrote the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. UDHR, with some updates and revisions, will serve as the moral and legal guidepost for Earth.

GENERAL ASSEMBLY:  Earth will be divided into sections of approximately the same size. One Citizen of Earth from each section will be elected only for one five-year term as members of the General Assembly. Every five years, new Citizens of Earth will be elected.

FIRST VOTE:  The first vote of all Citizens of Earth will be to establish CAMPAIGN FOR EARTH. Majority rules. All Citizens will have access to Internet voting, as well as access to cell phones and other types of computers. Citizens of Earths will have her/his own secured ID codes. Citizens of Earth will have to be 18 or older to vote. Citizens of Earth will be encouraged to bring before the General Assembly all ideas and recommendations, as well as any concerns or complaints, which will be considered and responded to promptly. Citizens of Earth's ideas and recommendations will be formed into proposals drafted by members of the General Assembly. Citizens of Earth will vote on these proposals of each month during the first two weeks of the following month. Citizens of Earth will be Earth’s government. Members of the General Assembly will be facilitators who will work with millions of volunteers. There will be no president of Earth.

THE FUTURE:  There will be no money.  All items on Earth will be given  shares of worth. Each Citizen of Earth will receive equal shares of worth. All shares in excess of what’s needed reasonably by each Citizen of Earth will be saved for future generations. No violence of any kind will occur during the transfer of these shares. Citizens of Earth will take these steps because they are the moral, the right, steps to take to save all living creations on Earth, and Earth itself.

CELEBRATE AND SHARE: If one were to take a photograph of humanity and gaze at it, one would see a beautiful mosaic of mankind of different, beautiful colors. If one could step into the photograph, one would hear a melody of languages and dialects. One could have a worldwide picnic with all your sisters and brothers and experience different customs and taste different, delicious foods. And in moments of silence, all of you could pray in your different religions, separate but together at the same time. One would also share the same human laughter and joys and feel the same sorrows and cry the same tears, all in Peace on Earth eternal. All would come to delight in these differences, not dread them. All would look forward to celebrating and sharing with your fellow Citizens of Earth, not killing them. The spiritual whole would be larger than the sum of its sacred parts.

A QUANTUM LEAP:  The world, over millennia, kept evolving. Over 3,400 years of recorded history, powers, nations, kept shifting, sometimes seismically. Now is the time for not only the grandest seismic shift ever, but also the one that will save Earth and all living creations upon it. It is time for Earth to become one Earth--not a scattering of over 200 nations with artificial borders. Technology, with its innumerable advances, has made us into a world when all can become one. We are free to be our real selves, to spend our variegated lives, not aggrandizing, but sharing and giving. Rather than dreading our superficial differences--our different skin colors, our different cultures, our different religions, our different languages--we can explore and enjoy them. Let us finally be what we truly have been forever, one big, worldwide family of humanity. No more wars, no more weapons, no more killing. No more hunger, no more homelessness, no more hopelessness. No more ignorance, no more illnesses, no more social classes. This is the quantum leap of which I speak.

PEACE ON EARTH:  Wealth is not worth. The mansuetude of loving and being love is. When love is your currency, all else is counterfeit. Citizens of Earth will be able to go about creating their own happiness that is built on love-based personal relationships and professional activities. No longer will human beings be able to profit from another’s pain. With love at the center of being and living, there will be no more wars, no more dictators, no more corruption. Finally, there will only be Peace on Earth forever.

Copyright 2026 Jon Witherston.


Jon heard the front door open and shut.

“Bian, I’m in the bedroom,” said Jon. “I’ve got something I want you to read.”

Bian came into the bedroom. “What is it?” she asked.

“It’s something you inspired,” replied Jon.

Bian kissed Jon on the cheek then sat on the bed.

“Read it, then we’ll chat,” said Jon. He handed the commentary to Bian who began reading.

“Jon, when did you write this?” asked Bian.

“I wrote it after you shared with me your desire to spend your life trying to heal Earth,” said Jon. “At Tom’s. Do you remember?”

“I’ve always dreamed of this ever since my father told me about the war,” she said. “What I remember about Tom’s is when I told you I was majoring in Human Rights, you said the whole world should be majoring in Human Rights.”

“Of course, I remember that, too,” said Jon.


What Bian came to realize about her father as she grew up was he had become anti-war. He had come to hate it. But there were two things she had never known about him, though. First, her father was one of the wealthiest men on Earth. Yes, she knew he was well-to-do:  she had grown up, after all, in a large, comfortable home, and her father had had the money to pay for her expensive educations,  Second, he had belonged, for almost two decades now, to a secret, worldwide group of extremely wealthy and influential men and women who wished for, and were working toward, a world that would never know war.

Jon did not dare tell Bian about what Chad had shared with him over the phone, about her father’s megawealth. Bian had never known about her father's pursuit of eternal Peace on Earth. She always had thought all those trips had to do with his businesses.

“I’d like to elaborate a bit on what you’ve read in my commentary, Bian, if you care to,” said Jon.

“Of course,” said Bian.

“I’m thinking about the poor,” Jon said. “The poor, and the extremely poor, on Earth, as the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund have put it,” Jon said, with more than a tinge of contempt. “Out of 8 billion human beings on Earth, roughly 2 ½ billion fall into these two ‘statistical’ categories. That’s more than 1 out of 4 human lives on Earth desperately trying to survive day-to-day.

“Here’s my idea, Bian,” said Jon.

“There are more than 7,000 languages and dialects spoken on Earth. Most of the poor speak those dialects. How to communicate with them is our biggest challenge. In broad strokes and succinctly, this is what I have in mind. I want to share this with you and hope you’ll be my partner.

“I want to travel Earth with you. I want to meet first the poor of Earth with you, speak with them, eat with them, live with them, answer all their questions about creating one land, one sky, one sea, one people. I want to talk with them about all Citizens of Earth cooperating with, not competing against, one another, creating Peace on Earth through love forever. If ever we can create a vote on CAMPAIGN FOR EARTH, I’m sure the vast majority of them would vote for it.

“We would start in Mexico, then visit the nations of Central America, then those of South America. Then we would go to Africa where there are so many poor and do the same thing. Then the rest of the world.

“Does all of this sound audacious, Bian? Well, it should, because it is,” said Jon. “Logistics will be beyond enormous, but in my heart, I believe there will be eventually millions and millions and millions of volunteers around the world who will wish to join in.”

Bian had sat on the bed taking all of this in, paused, then said to her husband whom she loved and admired so much, “Jon, you are a genius, but all of this does sound audacious. My first idea is to share all of this with my father and get his reaction to your commentary and what you’ve just shared with me. He knows the world probably as well, if not better, than any other person on Earth.”

“A great idea!” said Jon.

“I’ll call him at 10 p.m. tonight. It will be 9 a.m. in Hanoi,” said Bian excitedly.



Chapter 6


Bian spoke with her father that evening. Bian thought she had detected a good measure of surprise, if not excitement, in his voice. He would be in Toronto on business in mid-September. He could meet his daughter and Jon at 10 a.m. at the Ritz-Carlton on Monday, the 11th. He said he would leave a note at the front desk telling them which room he was staying in. He told Bian he always used aliases when he traveled, a fact she had not previously known. Understandably, Bian was thrilled.

Bian and Jon had enjoyed immensely the rest of the summer, as only on Cape Cod one can. They flew from Logan Airport to Toronto the morning of Sunday, 10 September. They arrived at the Ritz-Carlton around 9:45 Monday morning.

“I believe you have a note waiting for Bian and Jon,” said Bian.

“Just a minute, please,” said the clerk.

“Here,” said the clerk and handed it to Bian.

“Thank you,” said Bian. “Father’s in room #715.”

The two took the elevator to the 7th floor, found the room, and knocked on the door. In a moment or two, Minh Ly opened it.

“My dear daughter, Bian! How are you?” said Mr. Ly as he gave his daughter a big hug. “And you, Jon, how are you?”

Jon shook Mr. Ly’s hand as he entered the room.

“So good to see you, sir,” said Jon.

“Come in. Make yourselves comfortable,” said Mr. Ly.

“Mr. Ly, the first thing I would like to share with you is my commentary. It is an overview of what I would like to pursue with Bian,” said Jon.

“Let me read it,” said Mr. Ly.

It took a couple of minutes for My Ly to finish reading. He paused for several moments, then exclaimed “Jon, this is extraordinary!”

“Bian inspired me,” said Jon. “You know, Mr. Ly, I’m a poet, not a financier. It would take untold amounts of money and the best technology on Earth--unbelievable amounts of it--to realize this dream.”

“Don’t worry. I have friends,” said Mr. Ly.

"I envision Bian and I traveling around the world visiting the poorest sections of most of the biggest cities on Earth, using a translator when necessary to explain how we collectively can bring lasting peace to Earth. Furthermore, I expect not only the worldwide, but also the local, media to be informed of these gatherings," Jon said.

"You need to know I must always remain anonymous. Bian, you, and I shall need to meet periodically. I and my friends have developed ways always to be in touch, but will never be able to be detected. I wish not to elaborate. Jon. You inspire me the way Bian inspired you,” said Mr. Ly.


Chapter 7

“Read me some more of your poems,” said Bian.

“OK,” said Jon and went to get the box that contained his poems in the  closet. He looked through the stack and selected several of them, then sat down next to Bian on the living room sofa.

“The first one I’d like to share with you is titled SOUTHWESTERN KANSAS.


SOUTHWESTERN KANSAS

When you fly to southwestern Kansas,
you see a different kind of Kansas.
The land is flat,
the sky is big and blue,
and the folk, the common folk, well, they get along,
the common folk get along in southwestern Kansas.

On a ranch down near Liberal,
the black night roars
and the wind is wet.
All are happy tonight, for there is rain
and tomorrow the pastures will grow greener.

In the morning when the sun first shines,
the hired hands
with leathered countenances
and gnarled fingers
awake in old ranch houses
made of adobe brick
and slip on their muddy cowboy boots
and faded blue jeans
to begin another day of hard labor.

On the open prairie made green by rain,
tan and white cattle huddle together,
munching on green grass and purple sage.
A new-born calf bawls.
Her mother, the Hereford cow,
is there to care
and the baby calf ***** her belly full
of mother’s milk.

About 60 miles to the north
and a little to the west,
The sun stands high in a blue sky
dotted with little puffs of white.
At noon in Ulysses,
folk eat at the Coffee Cafe:
Swiss steak, short ribs, or sweetbreads
on Tuesdays
with chocolate cake for dessert.

The folk, the common folk, well, they get along,
the common folk get along in Ulysses.
They got a new high school and a Rexall drug store,
a water tower and a drive-in movie theater.
They got loads of Purina Chow,
plenty of John Deere combines,
and co-op signs stuck on almost everything.
And they got a main street several blocks long
with a lot of pick-up trucks parked on either side
driven by wheat farmers
with silver-white crew cuts
and narrow string ties.

Things are spread out in southwestern Kansas.
A blanket woven of green, brown, and yellow
patches of earth,
sown together by miles of barbed-wire fences,
spreads interminably into the horizon.
Occasional, faceless, little country towns,
distinguished only by imposing grain elevators
spiraling into the sky
like concrete cathedrals,
are joined tenuously together by
endless asphalt streaks
and dusty country roads,
pencil-line thin
and ruler straight,
flanked on either side
by telephone poles and wind-blown wires
strung one
after another,
after another
in monotonous succession.

But things, things aren’t too bad in southwestern Kansas.
Alfalfa’s growing green
and irrigation’s coming in.
Rain’s been real good
and the cattle market’s really strong.
The folk, they got the 1st National on weekdays
and the 1st Methodist in between.
The kids, they got 4-H clubs and scholarships to K-State.
And Ulysses, it’s got all that the big towns got–
gas, lights, and water.
So the folk, the common folk, well, they get along.
the common folk get along in southwestern Kansas.


“The next poem is SIMONE, SIMONE," said Jon.


SIMONE, SIMONE

Simone, Simone
I’m all alone.
Simone, Simone
I’m all alone.
Simone, Simone
please come to me
and bear your breast
for me to rest
my weary head
and shattered heart
upon a part
so soft and warm.
Simone, Simone
I’m all alone.
Simone, Simone.


“The final poem, Bian, is TREE LIMBS,” said Jon.


TREE LIMBS

A long time ago,
I used to lie on my bed
and look out my window
and watch the big elm tree
as it died slowly.

And I used to watch the cars
as they traveled by,
some fast, some slow,
from right to left, and left to right,
and wonder where they were going to
and coming from.

Once from my window
I hit a bus with my BB gun.
I was scared
because I knew I wasn’t
supposed to shoot buses,
even though it was kind of fun.

And sometimes I used
to hide behind my curtains
and watch the pretty
girls walk by my house
in their swimming suits
coming back from
the pool in the park.

But mostly I just used to lie
on my bed and think,
and watch the big elm tree
as it died slowly.


“I love not only your poetry, Jon, but also how you read each one,” said Bian.

Jon gave her a kiss.

They drove to the tip of Cape Cod to watch the sunset, then drove back to the Twenty-Eight Atlantic to have dinner. Bian ordered oysters, lobster “Carbonara,” kale salad, and scallops. Jon had salmon tartare, chowder, baby green salad, and grilled octopus.

“Well, I’m excited!” Jon said. “We have a tremendous amount of planning to do, but we will have the experience of our lifetimes, and my greatest pleasure will be sharing it with you.”

“D’accord!” said Bian.



Chapter 8


Bian and Jon began preparations with gusto.

Mr. Ly and his friends would pay all expenses;  they would handle all details, such as reservations for air travel and hotels and rental cars;  they would contact the best interpreters in each country and pay them; they would contact leading newspapers and other news organizations in the world, including, but not limited to, the New York Times, the Washington Post, The Wall Street Journal, USA Today, Los Angeles Times, Youimuri Shimbun, Asahi Shimbun, Bild, The Daily Telegraph,  Le Monde, Times of India, China Daily, Russian Today, BBC, CNN, CBS, NBC, ABC, MSNBC, NHK (Japan), ZDJ (German), Univision, China Media Group, Telemundo, and they would contact the leading media–newspapers and TV and radio stations–in the largest city of each country prior to Bian and Jon’s visit there.  

Somewhat tired, but extremely gratified, they sat on the sofa in early evening to listen to Jon’s favorite Beethoven Symphony, #7. The Symphony’s second movement “was a jewel,” Jon said. Of course, he leaned back and closed his eyes as he listened.

When the recording was over, and after a silent pause, Jon slowly stood up, and without ever saying a word, reached down and picked up Bian, and holding her in his arms, carried her carefully into the bedroom where he stood her up beside the bed, then, slowly and softly, undressed her, and after he had pulled back the bed sheets, picked Bian up again and lay her on the bed. Then he undressed and got into bed beside her.

The room was dark and full of silence. Then Jon turned toward the woman who had brought limitless joy into his life and said to her, “Bian, who in the Heavens made you?” And then he kept leaning until he gently lay upon his wife, and these two lovers made love deep into the dark of night.


Chapter 9

Jon was thinking about Minh Ly. Jon knew he was beyond genius, but more importantly, Ly made Jon think of what Jorge Luis Borges had once written, that every person’s most important task was to transmute pain into compassion. Ly had been the youngest General ever appointed by ** Chi Minh, and, in short, General Ly had had to order North Vietnamese soldiers into battle. 1,100,000 of them had died during the long, ugly, brutal Vietnam War. Minh Ly had spent many days in tears. That he had had the fortitude to persevere and ultimately transmute his unbearable pain into compassion is what Jon most respected about Minh Ly. Because he was so brilliant, Ly initially threw himself into the throes of worldwide business at war’s end, amassing, over a number of years, massive wealth:  billions and billions and billions of dollars. Concurrently, however, Minh Ly, overtime, experienced a life-changing metamorphosis. He came to realize that wealth was not worth, as Jon had written in his commentary PEACE ON EARTH THROUGH LOVE, that compassion was humanity’s most important goal, that only love could save Earth. And that was why he ultimately decided to use wealth not to buy as much of Earth as he could, but to use it to save all of Earth, to eradicate all the vicious inequities that had ineluctably killed billions of human beings over many millennia. Moreover, he secretly went around the world and met with his megawealthy friends, asking them to join him in this goal, and many of them did join him. Now Minh Ly and his friends were warring against war, fighting every injustice that caused horrid hell into which all the poor, all who suffered from myriad forms of racism through torture and death, fell. Minh Ly was hell-bent on saving Earth and all living creations upon it. Then he met Jon.  

Bian, thought Jon, was as incredibly intelligent as her father. Of course, she was soft-spoken, but that belied her brilliance. After all, Bian has just completed the most rigorous, as well as the best, undergraduate liberal arts education to be found on Earth, graduating Summa *** Laude, an incredible academic achievement. Jon knew how much she loved her father, and he believed as well that his wife yearned, probably unconsciously, to emulate her father. That notion alone was enough to cause Jon to fall in love with Bian, then propose to and marry her. Now she was co-parthers with Jon and her father to realize her wish:  to heal Earth.

“I wrote a new poem yesterday, Bian. Would you like to her it?” said Jon.

“Of course,” said Bian.

“OK,” said Jon who then reached into his satchel and pulled out the new poem and began reading it.


SOLITUDE AND GRACE

I will wander
into wilderness
to find myself.
I will leave behind
my accoutrements,
memories of medals,
of past applause
and accolades,
accomplishments that
warranted degrees
and diplomas
portending future
successes. I like
who I am, who
I have become. No,
I love myself, and that
is my greatest achievement,
the acme most men
are blind to as they
mistake wealth for worth.
Most would say
I will be lonely,
but they are wrong,
because I will always be
with my best friend ever,
my real self. And I will
share my joy with
squirrels and rabbits
and deer, with bushes
and broken branches
and brush, with rills
and rivulets and rivers,
with rising and setting
suns and countless
stars coruscating in
night's sky. I will say
prayers to piles of pine
and sycamore limbs
that once were live,
but now make monuments
I worship. I am at one
with all I prize.  My eyes,
even when they are closed,
see their beauty. I know
I will be blessed forever.
I lie on my bed, Earth,
and wait to join all
in solitude and grace.


“That was beautiful, Jon,” said Bian as she sped toward Logan Airport.

“Thank you, my dear,” replied Jon.



Chapter 9

Jon was thinking about Minh Ly. Jon knew he was beyond genius,. Ly had been the youngest General ever appointed by ** Chi Minh, and, in short, General Ly had had to order North Vietnamese soldiers into battle. 1,100,000 of them had died during the long, ugly, brutal Vietnam War. Minh had spent many days in tears. That he had had the fortitude to persevere and ultimately transmute his unbearable pain into compassion is what Jon most respected about Minh Ly. Because he was so brilliant, Ly initially threw himself into the throes of worldwide business at war’s end, amassing, over a number of years, massive wealth:  billions and billions and billions of dollars. Concurrently, however, Ly, over time, experienced a life-changing metamorphosis. He came to realize that wealth was not worth, as Jon had written in his commentary PEACE ON EARTH THROUGH LOVE, that compassion was humanity’s most important goal, that only love could save Earth. And that was why he ultimately decided to use wealth not to buy as much of Earth as he could, but to use it to save Earth, to eradicate all the vicious inequities that had ineluctably killed billions of human beings over many millennia. Moreover, he secretly went around the world and met with his megawealthy friends, asking them to join him in this lifelong endeavor. Now Ly and his friends were warring against war, fighting every injustice that caused horrid hell into which all the poor--all who suffered from myriad forms of racism through torture and death--fell. Ly was hell-bent on saving Earth and all living creations upon it. Then he met Jon.  


Chapter 10

“Do come in! How wonderful to see you both again! Your visits are becoming the highlight for me every month,” exclaimed Mr. Ly.

Bian, before she said a word, rushed forward into her father’s open arms to be hugged by him. For almost a minute, Bian stayed silent in her father’s arms. She did not want him to stop hugging her;  it felt so good. Finally, Bian stepped back and, almost in a yell, said, “I love you!”

“My dear Bian, I love you too, with all my heart,” said Mr. Ly. “And you, Jon, it is always special to meet a person like you. You are my only son and I am blessed to have you now as part of my family. Please, both of you, have a seat.”

“Thank you, Mr Ly. I am honored now to be a member of the Ly family,” said Jon, then joined Bian on the sofa.

Jon spoke again.

“Mr. Ly, I have for you the information you will need to prepare the press releases you will send to all media and people you wish to inform about our imminent sojourn January 2027. Here it is,” said Jon, and handed the pages to him.

Mr. Ly continued.

“Bian and Jon, I need to share with both of you the following. My friends and I will create our own Starlink-like internet company so no Citizen of Earth--as you, Jon, call all 8 billion human beings on Earth–cannot be blocked when each votes on CAMPAIGN FOR EARTH. Furthermore, we will provide cell phones to all CITIZENS OF EARTH.  And Bian and Jon, you will be able to visit safely in all the more than the 50 totalitarian nations. How is this possible, you ask? It is possible because I and my friends have our ways. In addition, we shall translate your commentary PEACE ON EARTH THROUGH LOVE into all 7,000 languages and dialects and, beginning January 2027, will send it monthly to all media. This will continue until the vote on CAMPAIGN ON EARTH takes place during the first two weeks of 2028. And, as you have told me, Jon, only love can save Earth.”

“Mr. Ly, you are, with the exception of your daughter, the most intelligent, the most compassionate, the most self-effacing human being I have had the honor of ever meeting. You know, I’m sure, the difference between personhood and behavior. Everyone’s personhood is sacred, inviolable, intrinsic, whereas so many peoples' behavior is often uncaring or hurtful, or even much worse. It is not unusual to react to one’s untoward behavior with at least displeasure, if not outright hate, even on rare occasions with violence. But this latter response is unknowing. When one encounters bad behavior to any degree and wishes it were not so, do not exacerbate what is already deleterious by making it even worse through punishment. Instead, constrain this negativity and love this forsaken person. Love is the cure for all those who suffer pain. It may take a lot of love to heal a hurting soul, even a lifetime, perhaps even longer. But love is the antidote for all emotional maladies. But for one to be able to love others, one must first be loved preferably by one’s parents. This dilemma is what our world suffers from the most. Wealth, fame, power–all are illusory and therefore feckless. They are but unconscious efforts to compensate for lack of love, and that is why our world has been turned inside-out for millennia. Only being loved, and then being able to love, will we be able to turn our world right-side in. Then, and only then, will we have Peace on Earth forever, and for the first time.

“I lavish praise upon you, because you are a beyond-magnificent human being, Mr. Ly,” concluded Jon.

Mr. Ly sat in silence, stunned. Finally, he said, “Thank you, thank you, Jon.”


Chapter 11

Upon returning to Cape Cod, Bian and Jon packed everything they thought they would need for their long, long trip to Mexico, Central America, and South America. They then flew to Mexico City. Jon wanted to give a speech in Iztapalapa, one of poorest sections of the nation's capital. Jon gave his speech before a large crowd and a sizable group of worldwide media. Bian thought Jon's speech was well received. She sensed the crowd's reaction was positive. After the speech, the two spent an hour or so mixing with the crowd with the translator answering questions and telling each person he spoke to that that person could help realize Peace on Earth by chatting with friends about how love would change the world from killing to caring.

"Jon, you gave a great speech!," said Bian. "I'm so proud of you."

"We are co-pilots, Bian. We can't hope to succeed without both of us," said Jon. "On to the next nation!" They then flew to Belize, the only nation in Central America whose main language was English.

Jon gave his speech at the University of Belize. Many students gathered to hear him. Belize had a comparatively low percentage of poverty--about 25%. But as Bian and Jon ambled through the crowd, Bian, along with Jon, spent the better part of the afternoon enjoying not only chatting, but also found time to have long conversations with both the students and a number of professors.

Bian and Jon were a bit tired, so they decided to spend the night at the Inn at Twin Palms in Belmopan. They decided to eat dinner at the Paddle House Restaurant

Bian ordered first. "I'd like the Shrimp and Chorizo Soup. Then I'd like the Basil Pesto Paneer and Cherry Tomato Salad, Next, I'd like the Cream of Yucca Shrimp Pasta. Then for dessert, I'd like the Wild Berry Chocolate Cake."

Now it was Jon's turn. "First, I'd like the Seasonal Seafood Soup. Next, I'd like the Grilled Chicken Ceasar Salad. Then I'd like the
Chuleta de Cordero. For dessert, I'd like the Wine Poached Pear."

They ate their meals with gusto, then flew to Guatemala City.

Jon and Bian decided to go to Zone 3, one of the poorest sections of Guatemala City. In early afternoon, Jon gave his speech with the help of the translator. An increasingly large number of worldwide media showed up. The crowed was large also. The fever Bian felt from the crowd was palpable. Bian and Jon even got word that their worldwide trip had gone viral on the internet. The two spent the night at Hotel Barcelono. In the morning, they flew to San Salvador, the capital of El Salvador.

One of the poorest sections of San Salvador was Benedicion de Dios. Its citizens faced severe hardships, including extreme poverty, lack of infrastructure, and frequent fire disasters, because most structures were built of wood, zinc, plastic, or cardboard. These people also suffered from unreliable electricity and gas supplies.Violence in Benedicion de Dios abounded. For the first time, a worldwide television network, BBC, interviewed Bian and Jon. The two stayed in the Intercontinental San Salvador Hotel that night, then flew to Tegucigalpa, Honduras.

The poorest section of Tegucigalpa was the community next to the Tegucigalpa Municipal Dump. Many families relied on scavenging through waste for survival. Violence was rampant. Interestingly, a large number of people had already heard about the CAMPAIGN FOR EARTH, so an usually large crowd gather on the edge of the dump. This the kind of place Jon and Bian wanted to be, both to give his speech and to meet and talk with the citizens who daily tried to endure the unthinkable suffering. Even the media were increasing. Jon gave his speech with the help of the translator. Despite the hell these citizens experienced continuously, the crowd roared almost after every sentence Jon spoke. And after Jon finished, the crowd swarmed him. Bian and Jon spent almost three hours meeting, answering, shaking hands, chatting with many in the crowd. Slowly the crowd dispersed. Bian and Jon then took a plane to Managua, Nicaragua.

Reparto Schick is one of the poorest neighborhoods in Managua. One of Bian's and Jon's nameless protectors came up to tell them that NHK, the Japanese television network, had aired an hour-long program of Jon's speech in Mexico City as well as commenting on his PEACE ON EARTH THROUGH LOVE speech in particular and CAMPAIGN FOR EARTH in general. "That is wonderful!" exclaimed Bian. Jon gave her a big hug. The reaction to Jon's speech was as enthusiastic, if not more so, than the Tegucigalpa crowd.

"I'm beat," sad Jon. "Let's spend the night in Managua."

"I'm with you," replied Bian.

"Let's spend tonight in Managua, then fly to San Jose, Costa Rica tomorrow morning, OK?" said Jon. Bian agreed. They stayed in the Globales Camino Real.

"Before we go to bed, would you read me one of your poems,?" asked Bian.

John looked through his poems and chose the poem he wanted to read.

"Would you like to hear a romantic poem?" asked Jon.

"I would love to hear a romantic poem, especially if you wrote it," replied Bian.

"Here it is," said Jon and began to read.


COME CLOSER

Come closer.
Touch me softly.
Look into my eyes.
Kiss me, then kiss me again.
Hold me.
Hug me tightly.
Unbutton my shirt.
Kiss my chest.
I feel your lips.
I feel your hair.
Undress me.
Take off your blouse.
Be naked.
Lie on the bed.
Take me to heaven.
I love you dearly.


"Oh, that was beautiful, Jon!," exclaimed Bian.

These two lovers made passionate love until they fell asleep in each other's arms.

Lacarpio, Costa Rica is wedged between two highly polluted rivers and a massive landfill. The community struggles with high crime rates, especially caused by violent gang activity. There is limited access to education and health care. Women and children face hardships due to poverty, crime, and lack of resources.

Before Jon gave his speech to another large crowd, he and Bian were interviewed by the China Media Group. After his speech, the two spent again several hours mixing with the crowd, which they were enjoying more and more. Then they flew to Panama City, the capital city of Panama.

There are several extremely poor sections in Panama City:  Curundu; San Miguelito; and Rio Abajo. But the worst is El Chorrillo. The residents of this section suffer poverty, crime, and gang violence, as well as the destruction caused by the U.S. invasion of Panama in 1989.
JoJo Nguyen Dec 2015
Only in last year's glow,
could this year's Red
chorizo salami come,
and I haven't gone yet.

Gone over the edge
of these Breakfast tables,
in empty cup
or full of caffeine.

Gone over to home not yet
cuz the Brain keeps
me here in a dish,
in artificial cerebral spinal fluid,
or let's just call it
Recording Solution

Don't mix the salts!
Cross-contamination
is a killer for these Recordings.
Breakfast.20141220 inspired poem!

>intercorrelate.JPC.Fb.LH.breakfast.poem
Catalina Dec 2020
I am 15 years old and when my home is too full of rage for me to fit, I squeeze out of the cracked walls so I can meet up with my Black boyfriend in a park across my neighborhood.

This one time in the spring rain he told me he loved me and it felt like magic was real.

I step into a well maintained 1997 conversation van

Watch the conqueror dance across my Brown father’s lips
He turns the key in the ignition and looks at me with the kind of fear I don’t understand
His voice drips inside of my skull like honey or venom

“The world is harder when you’re with them”

I sit in silence because I know that wasn’t a question
and we are late for my dentist appointment anyway

So, I cling to the arm of every Brown lover.

When I’m alone I escape
Google: what is racism
Google: how to not be racist
Google: can Mexicans be racist?

.

I am 8 years old sitting upright in my bed
I pray to a White looking God that he will fix me.

I bargain with him for blue eyes that sit flush against my face
Hair that looks like the girls on TV
Just cut this big, ugly nose off of me, I don’t even need one  

I will do anything
I just want to be normal.

At school, my friend Kaylee tells me that I can’t come to her birthday party because her mom says mutts
aren’t allowed in her house.

A week later there is a new girl in school who speaks Spanish

The teacher sits her next to me. I say hello and apologize with my smile for not knowing the right way to say her name

I understand we are not the same.

.

I am 22 years old and somewhat college educated.
I refuse to apply for any scholarship labeled “Latino” because they aren’t for me.

¡And on my life!
I’m not gong to be just another White girl who claims to be 1/16th Cherokee.

My social justice warrior friends and I all discuss our privileges and oppressions
We map them out in increasingly complex narratives
Lay them on the table like constellations

I learn about White guilt, White fragility

When my Brown father asks what I’m studying, he tries not to scoff.
He owns toilet paper with Barack Obama’s face on it.
He’s a Virgo.

In the summer, I transcend.
My skin never burns like my friends’
Instead, it glistens like predators’ eyes.

“Wow, you actually look Mexican! I hardly recognize this picture of you”

.

I am sitting at the kiosk in the mall where I work.

The wealthy White woman comes up to me and coos over my long dark hair
She grabs a handful for herself 
Marvels, asks where I am really from.

So long as I annunciate clearly, correctly
Answer politely when they ask me
“What are you?”

So long as I remove all of that unsightly black hair that White women never have sprouting from their *******.

No one will ever see the teeth shaped scars on my tongue
I tell myself I am “protector”

.

I am 27 years old and living in the Whitest city in the universe.



My coworkers invite me to join the POC affinity group
POC means Person of Color
My POC-ness fits me like an expensive gift two sizes too large



Suddenly, I am alone on an island built of the correct pronunciation of Chorizo
But I’m vegan now so I buy the expensive soy kind from Trader Joe’s

.

On a dating app,
A Black man from somewhere else breaks the ice
“FINALLY! It’s so lovely to meet you. Really, it is just such a lovely thing to know you. Wow. Hello. I can never find POC around here!”

I explain to him I am an imposter.

He is a very sweet man, touches my cheek
“We are people of the sun, and we are beautiful”

I only remember this moment when I am too high.
Is this feeling guilt, or fragility?

.

After an exhausting holiday season,
I sit in front of my expensive laptop reading an email,
But in my mind I am in the heart of downtown LA in 1989


He must have run from the top of the tower of LA fitness on his last day of
Working for The Man in an impressive office
Making good money
Having something to show for himself

A flurry of gray suits and flying papers
Anything for a chance to meet The Greatest

When Muhammad Ali met my Brown father
And saw the photograph freshly removed from it’s frame
Of a young Black man sitting upon a jewel encrusted throne
Eyes fixed to the future somewhere

When he tells the story, he says that Ali smiled
Exhaled a chuckle  
“Well, I’ll be dammed. Is that me?”

My Brown father keeps this treasure away somewhere safe
So he can look upon it
While he sits at home in his White neighborhood
With White carpet
That he will always walk on with his shoes.
.
I like to think he feels powerful, my Brown father,
When he sees a king that reminds him of himself.
Someone who learned how to channel all of his rage
And never lose his affinity for butterflies

The email reads:

Howdy,
I don’t remember if I have sent this to you. Regardless, you should save this interview. I know that Ali was the "Greatest", even though I didn't like everything he did or said.  Much like John Lennon. Told it like it is, both of them! These two are iconic. I am extremely happy to have had these two in my life. I hope you enjoy

Peace, Love,
Dad

Attached, he includes a video of a television interview recorded in the year 1971.

“Why is everything White?”

“Do we go to heaven, too?”

.
I’m walking through my grandmother’s neighborhood deep in East LA.
A concrete safari
Where safety looks like pointy steel bars across every window.

This is the street my Brown father was caught playing with cherry bombs
And then beaten.

The rose bushes in the back yard have lived here for decades.
If they could eat, they would have been fed handmade tortillas up until the day they started to sell the pre-made ones in the store.

Grandpa, why do we call her Grandma Melon?
Because when I ask to kiss her, she says ‘Oh, honey do!’
It’s quite the crowd pleaser, everyone laughs because we came here to get along

But I like her real name so in my mind I call her Magdalena.

In this neighborhood, Tia Rita, Tia Lola, and Grandma like to go to bingo together
And get their hair done
And watch old westerns where the White man always saves the girl in the end.

Later we will go to Omana’s in Pomona where my cousin Jason swears that one day he found a human knuckle in his carnitas.

Half of us believe him, but we order another round anyways because we know it’s the best taqueria this side of the 10.

Just up the road is a building where young Brown men go to enlist
So they might escape neighborhoods with so many cracked walls.

My Brown father was sent to Texas
Looked White men straight in their red, swollen faces
“You ain’t White, you ain’t right boy”
But that was a long time ago.

After lunch, he reminds me why he left this place
“The traffic is *******, the noise”
Besides, nothing quells violence inside of us quite like the trees and rivers back home.


But, Dad, I am White, right?

.

When I see my White mother my heart swells with love.

Who taught her to laugh like that?
With all of her teeth and joy

She wishes she knew how to give me a quinceanera
or what to do with my unruly hair.

Neither of us know, really, so every Christmas she buys me something to burn my hair into submission.

I stopped using them a few years ago, now
But they have a forever home in the back of my linen closet
Just in case

When my Brown father tells me he sees a goodness in her
I taste each homemade birthday cake
And agree

In my Brown father’s mind he is “protector”
After all, what more could he have given me than an easier life?

.

It’s Sunday morning in the year 2002.
Dad made us eggs and hot dogs and perfect toast

Our house is always filled with music

When no-one is around to see
He will sit in his chair
Listen to John Lennon

He will tell me that no man is perfect
But that all you need is love

It always makes me laugh

I see my father in everyone.
The Dedpoet May 2017
Im afraid of the words
My father might say
As my mother watches from
An eternal kiss,
And school is not a notion ,
It ia the reality of three lil girls
While I hustle for the groceries.
      I become a shadow,
      Working between the light,
      I want to lose myself
      In mama's tortillas,
      Chorizo and eggs with
      All the love I had the time
      To feel.

I am 5 am. Standing at Labor
Force and hear the words
Curse me, their whispers
Of  My failures only push me,
I grow stronger,
My children grow hungry,
There goes the corner store,
And my gun feeds my children,..
The metaphor does not exist
Here, this the real,
A westside everyday,
Poverty in action,
Rich in the sorrows dance,
Life spreads its wings,
I am left in the shadow.
I hate the metaphor,
Because you will never truly
See the truth of my words.
Jimmy silker Jun 12
The greatest
Road trip/odd couple/anti-buddy movie there's been
Each line quotable
Like nothing you've ever seen
Just as Butch and Sundance
Were running out of time
Forced transition
Layers on
Laughs
And
Poignancy
Sublime
Two men chipped
And polished
From very different stone
To meet as friends in the next life
As they walk this one alone.
Midnight run 88.
hurtlovebug91 Apr 2020
I am from Mrs. Meyers
From scentsy's and Del Monte fruit
I am from the Plants in every window and brass figurines,and DIY sheelves  

I am from the Needles of the douglas tree crunching under are feet as we play Hunger games with Nerf guns.

Im from Sunday family dinners and love is love no matter who you  are or who you love.  

From my great grandma Barbra Ward and my mom Anglea Ward

I am from the random family game night and having dinner together everynight.

From " I love you to the moon and Back." and  "So what happend was"

Im from "it takes a Village" as we all chip in, Aunts and Mom's and sibbling and cousins all the same.

Im from Oregon, they came from the Lone Star state making a life in the ****** state, also chorizo and eggs, and Gibblet Gravey

From the storys of my great Pappa helping build the railroads coming from Texas after a transfer moved Brabra, his wife and him to oregon.Bikes we get from GT, where my uncle desines and tests bikes.

I am from the Hallway in each house filled with the kids of the ages, each picture showing how we have grown up. From the Great great grandmas Owl kichten radio, with enough greece of its own to fry an egg.

I am from Family is everything, Love is family no matter what.
We did a I am from In class so why not post it
Victor D López Jan 2022
Frozen meat, knife slips,
Cuts ring finger to the bone,
Bleeding will not stop,

Late night ER trip,
Ahead of oncoming storm,
stitches or glue seal?

Tendon nearly missed,
Wound cleaned, sealed, and blood flow stopped,
Wound dressed and sent home.

Sleet and snow falling,
Got home, went back to cooking,
Unfinished main dish.

Washed my blood from plate,
$250 rice dish,
Completed at last.

Greedily consumed,
ER Fees won't ruin,
This cook's appetite.


Based on this week's latest ordeal. My carelessness had its price with a $250 ER visit despite my supposed "Cadillac" health plan. But there's no use crying over spilt blood--and I did pick up where I left off and enjoyed a tasty albeit now much more expensive dish. That's what I get for separating frozen chorizo with my favorite very sharp knife carelessly--even while knowing if I slipped I could get a nasty cut. As I've written elsewhere in one of my short stories, my wife is justified in calling me the smartest idiot she knows. *SIGH

— The End —