When I was going through my sketchbooks and old letters, I found these poems. I'm not a poet, but I like to write my thoughts down. I wrote all with the exception of the last four poems.
My soul is filled
deep as an ancient river
dark, and still.
In my mother's house,
In my father's house,
I am silent.
The Place I Once Called Home
You gather the sun
and scatter its light
like a pool of mercury
heavy and fluid.
You move with still, complete motion
cooling my feet,
soothing my mind.
Feeling confused, I look inside
but I find nothing.
Searching for an answer, I look to heaven
but I do not feel Him.
Her eyes, like a waking babe's–
the cool white of a spring cloud.
firm like summer plums.
the color of toasted almonds.
Her youth, irretrievable
no longer mine.
Pubescent boys on bicycles,
thrusting power between their thighs.
Confused and full of explosive energy,
they wander through the city streets
in frenzied desperation.
You haunt my dreams
when the moon is full,
and my heart receptive.
You hover above my body and
kiss my mouth like a hummingbird
sucking nectar from a flower.
Oh, haunt me again
for your lips are of honey,
sweet and thick–
your whispers like the wind,
rustling through the leaves in a forest
on a hot summer day.
Oh haunt me again–
Like incessant hunger pangs
thoughts of you do not leave me.
They throb within my being and
gnaw away at my soul.
From David (At the Time, He Was My Husband to Be)
I finally found who I
was looking for
A piece of my soul
that I have known before
You know that I love her
You know that I care
But I'll never bind her
She'll have to come here
An arc of energy
between two poles
white hot glowing
through to my soul
I thought I'd seen it before
But now I know I was wrong
There could only be one time
That I'd sing this song
A Poem Received Years Ago
This morning for want of you, I pined and ached –
this afternoon, I endured the plight of the morning.
Tonight, should there not be the slightest allusion to me in your dreams,
tomorrow shall be as empty as today,
when I neither see, nor hear from you, Pilar.
Another Poem Received Years Ago
In the absence of your presence,
faith and trust secures your throne
love not space is of the essence
you are here–though you are gone.
Nay you say.
Then so be it–but give a smile to expose your jest.
I pray that you will one day see it
that which to me is manifest.
I Crave Your Mouth by Pablo Neruda
I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.
I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.
I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,
and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
Like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.
"Had I left those images hidden in the emotions, I might have been torn to pieces by them." Carl Gustav Jung
Naughty is the manifestation of a poem I originally composed from a collage of Spanish words (some “Mexicanismos”). I found the words appealing for their crispness, i.e., cachivaches, cuchicheo, berrinches, chiflada, chiflete, metiche, etc. An audio track with the poem read in Spanish (in doll-voice) is part of the interactive piece. The poem was loosely translated to English and written on Naughty’s face to convey the essence of her tale.
I mean for the assemblage to be touched and explored—drawers, which are collages, can be opened. They are labeled: “remembered”, “repressed", and the drawer labeled “regurgitated" is the audio. Below, you can hear the poem in Spanish and English.
This piece was in Devils and Dolls, a group exhibit curated by Rebecca Sive at Woman Made Gallery in Chicago.
A very special thank you to my brother, Horacio F. Acevedo (Chito) for his help on the hardware for the head.