Jose Guadalupe Posada

Suppose we were chaff, that was lying about
When a very small whirlwind brushed us to the sky,
And then at the moment when we sailed highest,
A wind that was stronger blew us apart…


Goodbye little brothers,
Dear parents, farewell
Here my sins end,
I have no more to tell.

posada 2

Jose Posada  1852-1913 Artist, Illustrator and Cartoonist with strong beliefs during the Mexican Revolution with his publisher Arroyo, illustrating ballads and poems and images for day of the dead

posada mage

blurring lines

i left the amniotic starship

landing on candlewick bedspread

unseen behind lace curtains

a sheltered birth,

dad notched his baseball bat

i was number three,

his way of memory

like folded candy wrappers

that something special,

a silent childhood

passed in grey school solitude

born invisible,

home the only place

colors came into appearance

becoming animation

voices and gestures

of laughter and song,

we breathed from

leonard cohens lungs

songs that filled the complete

with mothers long fingered

touch that was protective,

as a notch on a baseball bat

i would not be whittled away,

looking back

i could only think of the

new colors i had found

in my own home




Said as it Was

the clock as a passenger

looks with helpless hands,

as time often cast upon

the rocks of mans momentum

stalls past and present collide,

memory that flattering

cinemagraph of the synaptic’s

relays something other than was,

short breaths come

falter far from the heart,

we as living in this space


flesh wither

wrinkles cluster and deepen

bones become fragile,

yet we strive to linger on

place ourselves as memory on others

so that it is not in vain

even a fragile hand held

is a memory,

cruel tides wash through time

that pull and toss you about,

so steady you remain

until that moment,

that flesh becomes shell

and memory is a function

of recollection,

not ready

it happens

now it is time to accept

and face your own reflection