abdias garcia

There’s no cure for a broken heart

Abdias Ernesto Garcia — Fri, 10 Apr 2009 14:04:42 +0000

Keep your pamphlets at bay
Toss your suggestions to the dogs
There is no cure for a broken heart

You fail to see the misery that owns what’s left of the heart
No guarentess are permisable
Words always fall short of the mark

There it is
Naked
Distorted
Void of reason
my lover lays there, lifeless
slowly i too become a dream
There is no cure for the broken heart

Mood King

Abdias Ernesto Garcia — Sun, 22 Mar 2009 14:23:22 +0000

The novelty turns gruesome, cold,alone
Adverse to a gelatinous world of confusing prisms
Docked at the corner of sight and sound
Never bound by noise
An nervous laugh wrapped in spring
The light of the unseen torments your everything
Mood King
In the End
You said when
When…
Silence
You said When
Silence forevermore

Broader is the stroke of truth

Abdias Ernesto Garcia — Thu, 12 Mar 2009 05:50:54 +0000

Broader is the stroke of truth

Verbs,sounds,earth and light
The lonely call of twilight

A strum to a phrase
Always a glass to raise
The laughter says…”it’s alright”

Move me, fragile universe
Shake me from this love-soaked curse

Mood is the glue
A walk once through
Leaves me live and unrehearsed

Toss and turn to the sweet delight
Of a heart bathed in gold for the daughter of night

Cry for the fun of it
Try for the love of it
It is I..tall….and full of might

Softer is the gaze
from the sum of my days

Broader is the stroke of truth

Frontiers of levity

Abdias Ernesto Garcia — Thu, 12 Mar 2009 03:14:21 +0000

Smile when you hear it,the tone we evolve.

The noise of doubt,fear,conformity,disillusion,guilt,inferiority. The growing roar slowly flat-lines into a faint and permanent “you can’t”. Resist. We are but walking chronicles basking in the permeating conditioning of superstition and empty philosophy. “It’s been done” they say.

Laughable and frightening when revealed, coats of varnish on a old broken world. This skewed lens is an atrocity of ignorance defiling the innocent heart..

I refuse to except the vicariously dull and paranoid life of a coward. No,no,no. There is much more, you see.. we all shift in this sea of paradigms and concoctions wondering which is our shore.

This quiet journey is a dreamer’s dream, a poets ether. The relic of a muse. . We own the horizon,mesmerized by what can be conceived. Sustenance is of the essence, the nuance of adventure, the portal to truth. The folly of faith.

The unwound soul can now lay flat on the irate sky and look down at tranquility…exposed…beautiful.

La Grilla

Abdias Ernesto Garcia — Sun, 08 Mar 2009 04:44:02 +0000

Grilla con la risa en la mejilla
cuéntame del poema escondido
Saca la cara por el arte de la carcajada
y derrama tu alma en la libreta bajo tu almohada

Grilla, inquieta y poeta
naturalmente grande
cubre tus sueños
con amor y con empeño
y anuncio la madrugada

Tu hijo

Abdias Ernesto Garcia — Sat, 28 Feb 2009 18:13:35 +0000

El primer aire que respire fue regalo de tu mar caribe
El primer grito se unió a tu historia
Al abrir los ojos vi tu luz antillana
Supe en mi alma que eras mi madre
De Perla a Perla
Madre Boriken
Tu hijo tu ama

Carola eres vida

Abdias Ernesto Garcia — Mon, 09 Feb 2009 17:30:46 +0000

Que orgullo ha de tener el peru

por dar luz a una hija como tu

que tanto amor ha cosechado

es inmenso el legado

de las almas que has tocado

y siempre siendo tu

hoy tu historia es nuestra historia

y marchamos con euforia

como fiel y fuerte rebaño

la herencia de tus años

flor perfecta del antaño

suma de suenos y memorias

como un rio que desenbocas

en cada vida que tu tocas

queda mucho aun por descubrir

en lo que has de vivir

nos invitas a sonreir

porque tu siempre fuiste y seras nuestra unica roca

Big Dreams, Little Things

Abdias Ernesto Garcia — Wed, 28 Jan 2009 16:53:59 +0000

A moment of contemplation

violent streams of thought

soaring ambitions

uprooted causes

the elegant waltz of a tree

tiny clocks

giant hopes

“He’s up again”

Abdias Ernesto Garcia — Mon, 26 Jan 2009 07:50:17 +0000

It’s 2:05 in the morning and my 5 month old son is restless to the say the least. He wakes up in a deep state of annoyance, as if ironically HIS sleep was interrupted. Consequentially I hear my wife approaching the kitchen in search of the silencing elixir (relax, it’s water) and grunting all the while.. “he’s gonna do this all night again”. At this point it’s quite evident that this nightly routine is a direct and unapologetic defiance to all that is charming about a baby boy. There is tremendous conviction in his indiscernible reprimands and will make them known with relentless fervor. The elixir must wait. I quickly run and check vitals, diaper condition, light level , pacifier location, check! Mom floats back to bed like a tormented ghost whose soul has finally found peace. I gently pick up his miniature body and began the badly choreographed swaying which becomes a comforting waltz in the dark living room lit with just a hint of light emanating from the nightlight in the once peaceful room.. With little resistance he gives in to the power of human warmth and silent waltzes with a handful of my beard and a discreet yawn. He reluctantly slips back into the dream world; at least for now. Aaaah, beautiful again. I place him back in his royal quarters and tip toe out of the now quiet room. Obviously this is merely a phase which will soon be over with only to be replaced with yet another peculiar demand,yet there is something strangely reassuring about the inconsiderate yelping and the waving of furious tiny fists. He is alive. He is vibrant, present,majestic. That will never cease to amaze, inspire and encourage me for all of my life. He is here with us, sharing in this experiment called life without restraint and unblemished. My hat goes off to my little man with his grumpy 2am episodes. No worries my boy, daddy’s comin’.