Bottled-Letter

I threw a bottled-letter into the ocean

hurled it with all my might

thinking, the harder I throw, 

the faster you’ll receive the message. 


Emptiness hangs around me now

I think the bottle is still floating in the ocean, 

or perhaps,

languishing in the acidic stomach of a giant whale

Glass slowly melting,

the paper a squishy mess

It’s now a paste with messy markings,

a decaying soup of stomach acid

has swallowed my intentions. 


If you are looking for my letters 

the whale blew them into the air

jet-streamed into the ether,

Thousands of letters scattered in the wind

If you are looking for my message 

it’s all around

scattered about

Piece it together if you want,

I’ll be waiting by the entrance. 

– A. Garcia 

Maintenance Work

An empty piece of land sits empty and lonely;  one day a building starts to go up in a strange journey A foundation is laid, a frame is put up plumbing, electrical and ducting,  some more framing and sheet-rock to tie it together Lights come to life, they start flashing paint and ornaments appear slowly, the day arrives, the building is open in a grandiose ceremony;  it is done, some would say No; the carcass is up with functional capabilities, the structure itself needs maintenance and care, if left to its own accord, the earth will reclaim its life, leaving it battered and torn,  short-fuses will happen, walls will crack and pipes will burst. 

Same goes for your mind, body and soul Constant work, one push here receives resistance on the other side Do we give up? No, we just give it a good try  We grow, correct and maintain a steady pace, until our own walls and pipes burst, until the ground swallows us whole, until the earth reclaims our body As to the mind and soul? I have no idea where they go Another day will arrive, time finally catches up and we are no more. It is tedious, relentless work,  but life is beautiful even when it’s an eternal chore. 

– A. Garcia 

Notes

Notes on paper

Notes on screens 

All around

Notes that never seem to reach her


Notes etched into hearts

Notes painted on other souls 

Notes thrown as if you were special


How do I end up in the dark?

How do I end up with nothing to say?


Guess I will continue to roam

All around this iridescent dome

Etching hearts

Leaving mine alone. 

– A. Garcia 

Perhaps

On a rainy day, in another life,

perhaps we will meet again

We’ll look into the sky with our wondering eyes,

We’ll look beyond the fabric of space and time,

into the future,

into the past,

through the vastness above, 

and all around

Until then I sit back, 

waiting for a reply,

knowing you choose to always run away,

I pray my goodbye. 

– A. Garcia 

Clock

Click-clock, click-clock

…

The ancient, weathered clock goes,

on and on, it never ends

The passing of time it has managed to escape

Its skinny hands never seem to slow

Old age comes and goes,

all around it the world continues to grow

The clock never tires,

its clicking and clocking synonym to the old

Like a venerable church bell,

its sounds bounce off the walls,

leaves your brain sitting in a mire

Profound sleep never reaches the home it inhabits,

there is twisting and turning,

at the bells of midnight

you will awake like a startled jackrabbit

Darkness is its dearest friend,

its embrace warm and peaceful;

punctually death comes by to visit, people come and go,

but there goes that clock again

Click-clock, click-clock

Does that clock ever stop?

– A. Garcia

Hearts and Wood

I wish restoring hearts and souls was as easy as restoring an old, weathered piece of wooden furniture. To gently clean away the grime leftover from all the heartache, to sand and smooth away the imperfections, apply a coat of stain, bring out the vibrance of the individual, the grooves and veins that make each of us unique; and finally, to apply a coat of gloss, with a careful touch, slowly and with care, and pop the bubbles of doubt that will surface. Reapply, leave it shiny and new, without hiding the knots and grains, but to highlight them; because each piece of wood is particular, it is rare and unlike another, just as we are as humans, each of us, a world apart, with an exclusive story to tell, seen differently by everyone. 

– A. Garcia

Wormhole

A wormhole opened up the other day

right in front of my face

it taunted me to reach further

My hands quivered with dismay

still my head I dipped into the black space

my body felt light as a feather

The stars in front of me danced as if in a ballet

I know this isn’t my place

yet, it’s all so wonderful and put together

I’m being stretched into disarray

laws of physics launching me someplace

can’t go back, the noose broke apart on my tether.

-A.Garcia

Made Up Song

I’m singing a song

dancing lyrics stuck deep inside my brain

not one tune makes sense 

music has never been my specialty,

it’s all made up as I go

a strumming guitar 

a deep bass

a rocking drum

following a melody,

and I just sing along

for all I care you can sing this to your own tune

make it happy or sad, drown in grief

but at least sing along

just don’t say goodbye 

I don’t want to find that you’ve been gone


If a giant swell could come through and wipe it all clean,

a swell for the wicked and the damned

a swell that would dig up the bodies of the vicious

make them pay for what they created,

for those that came up with this life 

within these towering structures 

made up of concrete and bones

and intricate systems creating replicas,

gargoyle statues with hearts of stone

another cog in a gear

a bee within the hive

a thoughtless creature

the likes science fiction never imagined 


A hurricane so mighty,

it would rip the roots out of the nature of our being

wipe our consciousness clean 

so we could live in an eternal dream,

but such is not,

because after all

we are still swimming upstream

and I’m stuck singing a song that doesn’t make sense 

drowning in fears,

and showing no signs of repent. 


– A. Garcia 

Muse

Something in the ether I’ve been trying to find

all my senses on high alert, 

a radar pinging in the depth of the ocean

Why do I still feel blind

my touch comes back cold

all I taste is a flavor that is bland

the smells are empty and dry


I’ve been trying to reach you

where have you been, my muse

all I sense is darkness

even the power of the sun

not enough to light the fuse

life is short, time is running by

where have you been, my muse

all you do is confuse. 

What are words if not feathers in the wind

the world could end right now

mountains crumbling from top to bottom

I could say I love you

weigh it down upon you

like an ape on an ant

heavy like a heart in angst

The earth would still shatter at our feet

an ocean of fire burning our core

into oblivion we go

our souls floating like feathers in the wind.

Labyrinth

There are memories that get lost around,

in a winding path that never ends,

no magical orb will lead to a truth,

no cart to carry them happiness-bound. 

You will find yourself on that road,

wandering like a spirit with no home,

an apparition looking for more. 

I looked for a way to heal my heart,

yet memories pushed out of every pore,

causing a ruckus,

dashing all hope. 


A hopeful thought popped in my head,

this final turn could hold a happy end,

I never imagined what would be found,

a path left behind,

it lead to the broken part in your chest,

a labyrinth of stone,

where all things final find their rest, 

obstacle upon obstacle, 

meant to break even the sturdiest of bones. 

Ghost

I remember! 

Clear as a blue-sky day, 

in that window there is a ghost at play! 

Dipping and swerving, 

wonderfully maneuvering,

smooth like Cassius Clay. 


Tongue sticking out, 

mouthing with glee

every time I look up, 

the ghost disappears on me! 

It prances around,

partner with shadows, 

one moment there, 

next one gone on a haunting spree. 


A fractured illusion, 

with its seductive dance,

it moves to one side, 

shuffles to the other,

no way this is by chance

The ghost waving, taunting to get closer, 

Its shadow moves like an oily serpent, 

seductively dancing, 

mouth stuck open,

it’s asking me a question,

it wants to know the art of human romancing

Intentions set, 

I should not risk, 

quite frankly, 

I don’t want to go about and with death go clashing,

the ghost is stuck in limbo, 

seems like the devil is holding love for ransom.


A ghost of the past, 

a ghost of the future, 

forever stuck in an embrace, 

staring at each other with lovingly grace. 


I remember! 

Clear as a blue-sky day, 

in that window it is me at play! 

Dipping and swerving, 

distracted by the ghost of my future,

I never saw the car coming way. 

Attention

Pay attention. 

Life passes us by, 

it flaunters through our eyes, 

its luster constant, 

relentless. 

Yet we deviate, 

our focus constantly on progression with no reflection, 

reality warped tragically into tidbits reflected on screens. 

A make-belief existence we all wish to partake in, to be someone else, to have what another has, to live another more absolute life. 


Yet here we are, 

the past cannot be changed, nor the future foretold. 

All we have is now. 

We look yet never observe, 

we listen to the other to respond, 

not to understand,

noises made with our mouths, 

yet what we speak is a hodgepodge of ingrained nonsense, 

all jumbled in the brain, 

like a stew left out for too long. 

It’s as if the lips had a mind of their own, blurting and spewing, 

the brain left aside for other things, certainly not for thinking. 

We have been blessed (or cursed?) with the awareness of our consciousness,

death is an absolute for all of us, we know it’s coming, speeding towards us in a dark tunnel, barreling with no concern, knowing it will take that which it sees fit. 


Yet we sleepwalk through life,

missing our surroundings. 

Guilt, remorse, fear and melancholy holding us back. 

Overthinking existence, 

my personal nemesis of the mind, overruling the beauty before my eyes. 


So I try mightily to hug tight, 

love hard, 

kiss deeply,

to choose my words so they are gentle,

I know harm will come my way, 

we will all suffer,

more than once your heart will be crushed,

many nights our heads will hit the pillows and think the world has ended, 

yet the next day we begin anew. 

New choices, new reflections. 


We are unaware of our breath, 

our lungs deflated with shallow inhales and exhales,

we miss the slight uptick in our heartbeat when we see the ones we love,

the feeling in our soul when we kiss the person we once thought unattainable, 

that tight hug from you mother after long months of absence,

the inside joke with your friends or family after thinking all was lost. 

We miss the sparkle in a stranger’s eye when we do something nice, 

a simple hello, 

a gentle smile, 

to let them know, 

“I know, life is rough and hectic, but I notice you and wish you well.” 

We miss the  feeling of pride when your child hands you a precious drawing,  

scribbled direct from their curious mind, 

a drawing that reflects the purity of what we once were. 


I stopped to pay attention the other day, while walking with my furry friend, a Red Robin perched itself nicely on a stone ledge by the park. 

How beautiful it was, 

I dare to say, to notice such a perfect creature, flying about all day, and I never noticed, 

I never noticed. 

I saw the early morning dew on freshly mowed grass, 

the sun just above the  horizon, 

always present, 

never failing to bring us warmth 

and life. 

Teenagers skating in the park, music blaring, 

parents patiently waiting by, 

young children running up the hill, climbing the trees, 

engrossed in the moment, 

because they know,

yet don’t know, 

life is about being in the moment. 


We are here to give life meaning, 

not to discover an inherent purpose hiding in a cave, scribbled on an ancient wall, clearly for all to see. 


Pay attention, 

because life passes us by. 

Linger

These days, they just linger on

These nights, eternal with no dawn. 

Ceaselessly continuing 

biting, cutting

It’s hard to explain 

what goes through this brain


If only one incident 

for it not always ripped from my hands

Every single chance

ripped from my embrace 

slipping from my fingers 

like water being strained 

It’s all ghostly apparitions 

One day there

next one gone 

A story with nowhere to go

In that style

I am forlorn. 

Long Story

If I told a story, would you even wait that long? 

What if I wrote you a song? With words painted a new dawn

If I composed the perfect verse, would universal harm be crushed by an enormous mastodon?

What if I sketched my heart out? Set on canvas, something for you to gaze on

If I pranced around musical notes dancing in the air, would I feel like less of a pawn?

What if I acted out my fears for you? A jovial theater act, shining like a worldwide phenomenon

If I framed the perfect photo, would your smile light up like a roman pantheon?

What if I spoke of myths & legends? I bet my sanity you would start to believe in leprechauns

If I could train my body, would I glide above a smooth lake like a pearl-white swan? 

What if my legs never tired? You could wait for me after a long marathon

If I cut the story short, no spices or herbs, would you still love me after everything is gone?

Memories

What if memories linger on

an ethereal form up above

awake like a blazing dawn


Atoms mixed in a plane not seen 

stirred together in a ghostly cup

fused by heat in a godly machine

All around, a world apart

recollections thought to be lost 

what is seen is only dark



Memories cast by a nostalgic soul

with all his heart refused to give up 

in hindsight learning there is no control


Miniature pieces of remembrance 

an otherworldly existence of the beloved 

Unattached and in full transcendence


What if memories wait for an alarm

starting over with intense love 

another world to do no harm.