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Wednesday, August 29, 2012


I have always been homesick.

When I was seven, I went to stay with cousins
in a town one hundred miles from home.
I missed my family so much that I believed
I could walk that distance completely on my own.

By the time they found me, I was miles away,
walking fast, purposeful and strong;
and though I was tired, scared and hungry,
I was determined to journey on.

That stubborn lonely child within still exists;
after a life of more than half a century,
the urge to journey home continues to persist.

Now most of my loved ones have a different home,
a place of eternal light and blessed peace,
where time and distance have no meaning,
and pain is no longer a tree within reach.

I am grown homesick to see them all again.
Homesick, too, for the father I have yet to meet.
I am weary of a world gone seemingly insane,
so ready for this long strange journey to be complete.

There are days when I can hear heavensong
playing somewhere inside my heart,
and I feel a deep thrill of anticipation as
I wonder when it will be my turn to depart.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Sometimes Love

Sometimes love is a lie we tell ourselves
so that we can do whatever it is we want to do.

The heart, the mind, the soul in time
all conspiring with the will to believe it is true.

But love fades, it rips and trades,
bartering old love for a taste of new.

It cheats and cries with crocodile eyes
and takes a toothsome bite out of you.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Thursday, August 16, 2012

Old Geezer

Wheelchair maniac.
One arm,
one leg,
mangled in a war --
aren't all forgotten heroes? --
left to rot in a place
that no longer
felt like a home.

Geezer taught me
the secrets of a trade
he called living.
When I listened,
I knew --
he was telling me
the truth.

It wasn't friendship.
I was always afraid of him.
More like morbid curiosity,
and the old man's need
to share.

He told me
one day
that he was dying.
I didn't care.
I was young,
and his rotten floor
was creaking.
That was more
concern to me.

He said:
"you'll understand some day,"
"I been trying
to help you see."

The next day
he was gone.

I don't miss Geezer.
Didn't really like him
that well.

Now his words
make sense
I wish
I had listened

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

Let Me Kiss You

Let me kiss you
in all of your secret places.
Let me see the hidden beauty
that you have kept locked away.

Let me caress you
and see all of your faces,
the ones that sadness and passion
contort at the end of the day.

Let me hold you
in darkness and in the day,
let me love and kiss you
those times your mood turns fey.

Let me delight you
with the loving touch you desire,
let me stand and fight for you
those dragons that threaten
to lock you away
like golden treasure in a lair.

Let me kiss you
in all of your secret places,
and let me miss you
every minute you cannot stay.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

The Blame

If I take it all,
the blame, the responsibility,
the shame, the inability
to change,
will you be satisfied?

If I agree that it wasn't you,
but always and only me
who could not clearly see
what a treasure you are,
may I be forgiven?

No, I thought not.
Because we both know
it is not true. We both
know that it was you
who abandoned our love.

Nothing I can say or do
will ever change or ring true
all the lies I gladly ate for you.

I was never mentally fit to play
the games you strung out day by day,
nor, now, to believe a single word you say.

In the end, though, I take it all,
I accept the blame for our love that fall,
that autumn breeze that blew my heart
skittering like a leaf down a road in the dark.

It was my decision, it is my fault
that our love now lies in a granite vault,
waiting and hoping for resurrection day.

It was my wrong, it is my sin and shame
that goad me now into accepting blame
for finally having the courage to walk away.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Friday, August 10, 2012


The human heart
yearns for security,
to be moored
to other human hearts
in love and predictability.

But ropes that secure
also can become the
ties that restrict and bind.

Hoping for forever,
lashing ourselves
one to another,
we succumb to
the inevitability of
resentment caused
by our very moorings.

When the ocean swell
of life crests beneath us,
when the ebb and flow,
the tide of love,
stretches the rope of our patience
so tightly that it finally snaps,
we feel remorse instead
of feeling loved and secure.

The human heart
is a fickle thing.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012