Corazon de SanFrancisco ‘96

In a dense blue beet,

a rhythm of a long stocking kiss,

the wind-fog of a grey bridge,

Two chambers opened for the mist and the moon.

A tongue of charm and tooth

The bewitching wink and lash,

Amber and gold,

Golden amber

Round as a bassoon.

A notion wrapped in a beat box

of promises on a sunburnt bridge

that bound two tempos into calico grins,

thick as the martyrs bond and sweet as the blood of a savior

A hero in a hole,

love with brown eyes

beets the color of his pounding name,

pulsing in the sun,

raging from bridge to shore.

A Diamond dancing on a needle,

sharp as a gun,

strong as the midnight whisper,

soaked the beauty of the Hero’s dreams.

They came to water,

exploding like freedom’s first steps

on the streets of rocks and roses.

The Diamond and the Hero

in the heights and heat of San Francisco

set fire It’s electric spine

and burst the heart of an ancient hum.

Held blood and bridges,

held beats and breath

until the night could no longer weep

and the lights of the City sang their names!

D.A. Medina

A La Boom Boom (knot a poem)

When the doves sing in the willow trees

Or when they croon with

One

Another

As each day

Becomes dusk

Do you think they tweet about love?

I have my doubts…yet

Their sounds are sweet to the ear

And Lord knows you don’t have to try

To hear

A

God damn thing

That is whispered, murmured or mumbled

In your zip code

See if you can hear this…

My love for you is not a song

That for a spell

Is

Sweet,

Then in a moment,

Gone

My love does not

Spill all over you

Like a vanity fair

With compliments,

Promises and

Flower petals.

I will not write

stanza after stanza

About your eyeballs

Or the sound of your voice

I won’t become fanatical with the length of your legs

Nor will I stir up hysteria with lines

About the contour of your hips,

The delicate breath,

The end of winter

Or the last time we danced.

I will not place upon the page

That which has been said

By all the other

Monkeys

Concerning love and its many traps

I will only say this,

I see your spirit

And

It is a flawless

Diamond

The magic between you and I

Is that our spirits dwell together

And they have known one another

Forever…

D

Ode to the first Smith…

 

I remember when

it grabbed my ear,

turned it upside down

underneath that winded loft

in the middle of a harvest moon.

There

I herded my salvation,

garnered my reason

and found my way.

 

It was my Uncle’s tap,

tap….

tap tap tap

and the Smith Corona

wrapped around the paper flesh

that wooed me.

The faint smell of ink

began it’s swing shift

in my ole’ factories

as I peeped my messy head

above the horizon

of the last

loft step.

 

Eye

watched quietly

as my uncle hunched over

that typewriter desk,

humming to himself

out of key,

scratching against the paper grain

tapping tap tap

tapping

until his world faded away.

 

 

With lash and eyeball

I was stuck

on a ladder

as the moon glow

slipped

into

the tiny

window

above

his balding plot

that held the secret

to the story,

somewhere

in the folds of his brain.

 

It was my road to Damascus,

I would no longer

kick against

my fate.

It was the day

everything changed

and the night

I have kept secret

from all the other nights.

 

The mind’s river

swelled and                          bu s te d,

too fast for thought or intervention,

spilled the smallest seed of mustard

and dog

then

licked clean the snout and rifleman.

Rugged in Persian rain

and complaints,

the fantastic tongue

that speaks loyalty and sugar coats shame,

became mine.

The wide open mouth

that curses and gives blessings,

thee spring

that gives both saltwater to drown in,

fresh water for the driest tooth,

A baptismal water

for a young believer

to be buried in

and rise up in

the garden of

rock and rose.

The voice of a nation,

the screams of a whore.

Orders of French fries,

orders to kill,

orders for peace

And apple

pan

pies.

Words that make

men

fall

in love,

words

that push men

to kill

in the name of love.

A pot of sounds

blended and spoiled in the sun,

grammar for the stars

nailed to the

door on a note.

All of these were under the spell of the tap tap tap.

 

A Language lost in the garages

of Amerikkka

left in the wind of verbatim.

That incantation of the world’s words

infected my lonely brain

and sealed my soul salvation.

The same sounds that laid inside pop songs

and hid in the old woman’s pine,

The slang of the ghettos and jailhouses,

the dialect of lawyer and judge;

became an unending

solidarity

for me and my unknown

comrades.

 

 

It was that night my uncle left

the legs

of his loft chair

lonely

… I snuck in

and began

my

tap

tap

tapping

until I found

my

freedom.

My old world began to fade away

and my secret

utopia

was

manifested.

 

D.A. Medina

We are all in recovery

We are all in recovery.

Warm, naked and fed,

deep in bliss water

and heartbeats

fingers and toes free from fashion’s

snubs.

Wiggling in our amniotic masterpiece,

devoid of depression

wringing wet in true romance

and far from breakups and love’s letdowns.

Until the finest abode became stuffed with consequence

and sent us all whirling into the world,

Pushed, pulled and snatched from our sac of contentment

and

dragged out into the wind of expectation.

We are all recovering from our birthday

when we began to be a human being

stuck in skin and sex trying to work out

a wardrobe;

aging in blue, aging in pink

remembering gold

longing for silver

while our futures were handed over to

thousands of opinions

on which way to go.

We are all in recovery

from the mess on the sheets,

the panic in a woman,

the foolishness of a dog’s thrust

that

sent us all to rehab

with birth certificates

and licenses to work the day shift

while the sun lit up the world all around us.

Pushing pencils and pistols under the pillows

telling the truth and telling lies

about the first time we were really happy

with the unknown shuffle,

the barber chair,

the wedding cake

and all the reasons to be drunk

in the pit.

We are all in recovery.

D.A. Medina

What is Ralph Crammed in, if he ain’t yellin at Ed Norton?

what is sex

when you’re

home alone?

what is Amerikkka

without

the mobile phone?

what’s Macaulay Caulkin

if he ain’t sulkin’

In his pajamas?

what is Alabama

If it ain’t bleeding

or if it ain’t Beatin’

everyone brown?

what is boogie down

Without D Nice?

what is a cross if it doesn’t have Christ

what’s fried rice

if you

don’t add bacon?

what are the Feds…..

if they ain’t takin,

all your cash?

What is a gash if you ain’t packin heat?

whats a whiteboy if he rapped to the beat?

what is a stash if you ain’t got a strap

what is wooly if you can’t bust a cap

what’s bomb sex if you didn’t take a nap

what is  Mr. Google if He didn’t have an app

what are the Greeks if they ain’t teaching?

whats mr Taso if he ain’t preachin?

What’s a remora if it ain’t leachin?

what is battle without the beat bumpin

what is a horn dog if he ain’t humpin

What is a Hindu if he ate cattle ?

what is Seattle

if it ain’t raining

what is your girl

if she ain’t complaining

what is a hamstring

if it ain’t straining?

what’s Asheville if you can’t get drunk?

what is a dime is she ain’t got a trunk?

what’s Mr Webster if he wasn’t Monk?

what is doughnut if it can’t dunk?

Ooooooh  ooooooh

It’s like that I keep bonin’

What is Chewbakka

if he ain’t groanin

at Han Solo

what is a kid if he didn’t play bolo?

What’s water polo without white people?

What’s Big D if he wasn’t fair and equal ?

what is Frodo if he didn’t get the sequel ?

What is Consizzle

without the missing tooth?

what’s a long tongue without a kissing booth?

what is Topski without burning both ends ?

what’s  Thom Yorke if he didn’t have the Bends?

What’s

what is my chick if she didn’t have  a weapon

what’s Big Daddy without the half steppin’?

what is this rhyme if I didn’t say what

what is baby if you don’t wipe his butt?

DOOKIE…..

Ice T been hatin POOKIE

whats Gus Cutty

without the spray paint

what is a border if you ain’t got a taint

Ooooh oooh

its like that I keep spitting

what is a Panda Bear if he wasn’t shittin?

What is Medina if the beat ain’t hittin?

what is kitty if you can’t keep it wet

what is Smidi if he didn’t say “Bet”

what’s Big D

without the logorrhea

what is a toddler without diarrhea?

Whats Daniel San with out Miyagi San?

what is THE MAN if he didn’t have a pawn ?

what is this writing if I keep on and on?

What

jigga what

jigga

what

jigga

WHAT!!!

D.A. Medina

 

 

 

Ain’t nobody home

Ain’t nobody home,

she said and pulled her nightgown

into the shadow of the brown wooden

door frame.

I used to live here,

I said and tipped my baseball cap

as I stepped off

the stone porch

into the nightlight

that kissed all of my grandfather’s plumerias.

Then it began to rain

all over my face

as I walked the down the streets

of my hometown.