From city lights to starry nights,
512 miles till country's home.
Packed vans and shouting kids,
settled with lunch at the orange moose.
Bakery fresh donuts and delicious local meat,
Apple Trees and fresh peas.
Fights with 3 turned 9 times as long,
yells from two turned eleven times as long.
Check the traps to Earl's Bar,
beer in one hand and pipe in the other.
The blue bridge turned grey,
grandparents hair turned white.
Beautiful river to swim and skate,
pollution left carp irate.
The sweet aroma of summer and winter,
the stench of turkeys and smog.
Father
I
You sat there all smiles. I guess you were getting pumped full of more morphine than a 19th century whore does syphillis. You sat there wrapped up fighting harder than an Irishman ... then again, you are Irish. An Irishman who had more at rish than simply potatoes. Potatoes you used to peel and eat with salt next to the kitchen sink, are now decayed with a millenium of ort. Yet, the sun continues to shine upon your face.
II.
You walk now, yet still mummified. Perhaps the bitch did take the tape off your back to wipe you. When noone was there you were mistreated like a worker in a Tawianese sweatshop. At times you wonder if you would be more at peace underground, instead of on the 6th story. Yet, the road always rises up to meet you.
III
You are home. You are happy. You begin rehab. You relapse. You hope to live on. You hope one day you can see. You hope one day you can hear. You hope one day you can feel, those that love you so much.
The road rises up to meet you, the sun shines upon your face and the wind is always at your back.
Red Shit Acorns
The conifers appease, vast
and covering the mountainside.
The closer to civilization, however
they redder they grow, unhealthy
from a foreign substance, growing
up the mountainside, until
they reach the avalanche hills,
of nothing.
Olympic Hockey (F canada)
You step on its leaves beneath you,
You see the sap bleed from its cracked limbs.
The tree gets diseased, a Red Maple.
You cut it down.
Smith Poem's
Flood '96
Arlene learned to canoe ina lake of sewage.
Brian learned how to dive off the top of a baseball backstop.
Carrie learned how to beat her brother with a soccer ball...water polo.
Derrick watched and observed, captured a foot long worm.
Eric lost to his younger sister with a soccer ball for the first time.
Francis was the first to the finished basement ... the water was above the outlets.
Geraldine had an extra day to complete her crossword puzzle.
Ivan helped bail water out of every house, all but terrible.
Jessie was the one that woke the neighborhood up...thank JC.
LaVon lost his virginity in the abandoned basement.
Michael shone through shyness, and became a leader.
Natalie listened, a baby was soon born by the name of
Olivia, brave and always willing to extend her branch
Percy was out all night partying with his girlfriend
Rachelle, whom got mad and left. She passed out only to wake beneath a field with
Scott, it was fun while it lasted before it filled with ten feet of sewage.
Tommy realized this, organized tetanus shots for all those he could.
Ursula tried to make sure that all would not use the same needles.
Vilma devastated at the loss of her babies birth house with newlywed
Xavier, pissed off at the world went to the bar and stayed out too late, crashed into
Yolanda, a young girl of sixteen trying to make it home before curfew
Zeke saw the destruction as a chance to make a quick buck ... he did.
Tornadoes
They roar harder than trains, so often causing devastation darker than their alley.
Mobile homes get tossed football fields, but no one cares about Tennesee Jeb.
Drunken fools chase them in their vans and trucks,
And get tossed further than ten limousines, but no one cares about drunken Dave.
Rural Mississippi homes collapse on top them,
27 dead, but no one cares about them either.
White Kids in nice communities flee to the inside of their elementary school
That gets flattened by an EF-5. Fox News covers it, suddenly everyone cares.
Soto Poem's
Urban Summer
Walk out the door,
To a different decor
Sun Shines,
On my way to the corner
Grab a 50-cent paper,
For my brother
Man, you need weed,
Nah, im only 13
Money for donuts,
Brother a coffee
Be back by 8,
Can't be late
Walk past abandonment,
Unmowed Lawns
5-foot fence,
Beware of Dog
Once proud spots,
Now empty lots
Into the apartment,
Up four flights
Creaky damp stairs,
First gave me fear
Open the door,
Aroma of pancakes and beer
Brother eat and drink coffee,
I eat and drink the jelly
Brother off to work,
I'm back to bed
Wake up at ten,
Try to pick up Bob Barker
Back outside,
Getting Cloudy
Getting Humid,
Feels like a storm
Better hurry up,
Get done this laundry
Walk under the Eisenhower,
Cries from the homeless
Enough money for transit,
So much less than
Bout half hour,
Till I get to my friends.
Get back in time for dinner,
My brother worked at restaurant
Cubs play at 7:05,
On CLTV
I get to watch game,
Brother goes out
Clean the place,
Hope Sammy hops
Watch darkness fall,
Ambulances begin to roar
Lock the doors,
Sit down with my Kool-Aid
Brother gets back,
Got to go to bed
Man, I'm 13,
Brother knows
Got 2 tickets though,
Game at 1:20.
Wake up,
Do everything the same
But meet my brother,
For the 1:20 game.
Life in the city,
Not all that bad
Bodies
"Horns, I whispered,
Big horns for me."
They march into the house in search of a Jew,
Right arms raised, heads peering forward.
Filing into the square one by one, perfect form
Wanted by the commander.
Light bulbs once brighter than stars,
in their wishes expand to halos.
Instead black above their heads.
And they chirp together, birds of a feather
Flying behind the leader, in perfect unison
Voices echoed as though in a canyon,
Dull and monotonous, to each own fades away
Bodies limp like the sleeping, eyes glazed
fallen victim to the leader's needle.
Drink this kool-aid, that the heavens made.
For it's the blood of my father and yours.
The son of God, my father ... Jesus Christ.
I Won't
I won't say it
I do enjoy watching
You sit there bare
With that twinkle in your eye
I won't say it
I do enjoy your creamy curves on me,
with that fiery passion in your eye.
I won't say it
I do enjoy your voice go high, head up
with those big browns half shut and looking down.
I won't say it
I do enjoy your sweat drip on me,
with those pretty eyes wide shut.
I won't say it.
Summer Blaze
I lick the honey off your neck,
the humidity is thick. The sky grows darker.
The cool breeze feels good, but
not better than the sweet aroma of your honey.
Goosebumps fill your body while
thunderstorms make us wet.
Melrose Sestina
Grandpa sat there in his favorite yellow chair
under the shade of the patio roof.
Uncle turned slabs of ribs on the grill.
Little cousins played under the summer sun
in a long yard that stretched to the banks of the river.
Aunts sat inside and shared wine and laughs.
The men drank their beer with Grandpa and shared laughs.
Grandma sat on the porch in her rocking chair.
She was always ready to move for Grandpa, swift like the river,
yet she still had the taste of burgundy on the roof
of her mouth. Beer in brother's mouth cooled him under the tangerine sun.
Uncle painted barbeque sauce on the ribs that smoked on the grill.
Grandpa sweated more than usual while seated next to the grill.
Smoking his Saratoga 120, to himself he laughs.
No one cares; they respect the General that fought many battles under the sun.
He has sat in many a different chair
in his life, under many a different roof
in his life, swum in many a different Pacific River
in his life. None as tranquil as the Sauk River
in his backyard, none as nice as the grill
in his backyard, under his collapsing patio roof,
perhapes the aged beams had their fair share of laughs,
as the sag much like the yellow chair.
Years of abuse have pounded the once proud shirtless sun.
A few of the cousins sit outside and tan under the sun
in their bikinis, on the banks of the river.
A few of the cousins sit outside and create a fire pit next to their chair
with cigarettes in hand. Eyes peer over to see where uncle is on the grill.
They create the most uproarious of laughs,
youthful and exuberant underneath the burning skies of God's roof.
A few others, of all ages play pool underneath the basement roof.
The dim light bulb is their setting sun.
They pass around the bottle of Jack, and everyone laughs
when little Thomas creates a river
from his mouth. The whiskey burned him hotter than Uncle's grill.
He sits down in the rotating chair.
Everyone laughs as Grandpa falls through his favorite yellow-woven chair.
A stare as blank as the faded sun, uncle helps him up and he turns off the grill.
Candles are lit underneath the patio roof, everyone gets fat and all is quiet down by the river.
Minnesota
I sit in the Canoe with my second cousin,
Fishing pole and sandwhich in hand.
A Grain Belt to quench.
Not catching dinner, only sunfish that slowly fades
to darkness. The rocky shore comes ever closer,
A shore that provides little shelter and space to land.
The lakes waves become oceanic, reminding me of the time
that kid nearly drowned. He was so young and kicked feverishly,
on the shelf that he felt did not exist.
Thank God that man from above knew CPR.
Water smacks my face as I crawl up the rocks,
I clear my eyes to see it. I hold on to a tree and am captivated,
having never seen anything so innocently evil.
Old Man
The old man snored, then awoke with an icy stare.
Angry as hell at the nurse for twisting open the shades.
Another dull day is what he wanted. It was far ... far too bright outside.
The grey days were becoming blue, kids screamed from the streets playfully.
All this did was remind him that noone cared.
So he snarled as they woke him up, gave him his pills and fed him his breakfast.
He refused too look outside at the leaves that now began to bloom.
Began to bloom greener than the thousands of dead presidents he kept all to himself.
Who would he give them to anyway?
The 5th graders that visited once a week?
No, he didn't want them there. They didn't want to be there.
Joe was always in a little bit of a better mood when he visited the old man. He was arriving in shorts;
not pants, sweatshirt, gloves, hat and his Cleveland Indians Starter jacket.
But today, the old man was not there. He finally made his peace and went to heaven.
Okay, hell.
Noone cared that the old man that never cried had died.
They were actually all quite happy, especially Joe
whom hated when the old man's dandruff fell to his knees from above
and was happiest when he could hear the crack of the bat
without standing in 3 feet of snow.
Tu es stupido
So you want to be grow up the same as your brother?
The brother that braught nights of terror, and despair to your nightshift mother.
She worked Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights to help put clothes on your back and now you gonna act
like the criminal that is your brother.
Can I ask you Why. Why is it that you want her to die?
You remember your mom before the booze,
the piles of smiles and affection she'd show you both.
Making due with less than most, you know she can not afford to lose you too.
You see, your brother used to be a friend of mine.
We'd get high, and stop at the corner store.
We'd practically eat the whole place up, disgrace our faces to
anyone that saw us. And if it was the law. lets just say our hearts began to pound
harder than nolan ryan a mit from the mound. The sound of the siren, the siren that coulda
been coming after us. It was the worst when the lights came in silence, or blinded us.
Then again, we were just kids being kids. Or atleast I thought so, untill he started small.
Little here, little there, thank you 7-11 on main, thank you dave cocaine, shit fried his brain.
Impeded his judgment. I'm not saying I was any angel but your brother grew a tail.
His friends used to be my friends, that began to end. Didn't mean we still didn't love him. We did, we tried.
One night, all fucked up off bacardi he stole they keys amid the fact that we had hid them so he wouldn't
drive into a barbed wire fence that cut through his car the way he did your ma's heart. You remember that, don't you?
That time the buick was reported stolen? ha.
He was so fucked up he ran 3 miles flyin faster then crazy legs hirsch, trying to get away from the total that was his cursed hearse.
filled with memories of the first time he gave his seaman, boys tryin to become men, stoppin at the white hen and goin back to the clouded pad to tell tales of the dumbasses we would be ... and laugh.The laughter was always there for him, even in desperate times such as when he came
Knockin on my door. One big gash on his leg, otherwise minor cuts and bruises from a cocaine-induced booze cruise.
We lied to the blue for him.
So what did he do then?
He broke into my boys car and stole 132 dollars plus a dime.
For all the times we tried to help him out he stabbed us in the back continually.
Education and justification meant nothing to him. What he needed, nothing would impede untill his greed for greens
and blazed snowy days left him too hazed to hear the knock on his apartment door.
So, you want to be like your brother?
The only time you see his him his when you travel to Joliet. Even then his face is behind glass. The only time you hear his voice is through a phone.
All Im saying is he started the same way you are now.
Do you really want to be 38 the next time you can hold your mother? If ever.
I know your mother wants to be able to hold you, your the last one she's got.
And don't act like you got it bad, because someone always got it worse than you.
