Three Instant Poems

*Scandal*
When the scandal was over,
the family was ruined.
The pitcher of water was empty.
All that remained
was the ringing of chains,
and the the dawn at the end of the sentry.

*Hate-ku*
I don't need your white pity
Go back to school, wench
Maybe you'll remember more.

*Crystal Lakes*
When the trumpet sounded, the line was crossed.
Tides were turning, buildings tossed.
The cities were burning to the ground,
and the only concern was the cost.

I was playing, others were weeping,
But where were you?
You, the one who taught me everything I know?
She was dancing, he was sleeping
But where were you?
You, the one who made music out of stones?

Finally, I found you, no-one expected,
You sat down as if it was no end
You told me a story,
of an old heart of glory,
I didn't want to play pretend.

"Who's pretending?", you said with an dark brown cough
"Every word I've ever told you is true.
Now sit down and shut up,
grab this grey cup,
and you'll see what this old man can do".

So we flew and we danced,
beyond crystal lakes,
to the city of "we-don't-belong",
and all the while,
I thought I'd been played,
When it was you who knew all along.

Edad de Oro Pt. 1

Un cordial saludo. Estos manuscritos, inéditos, fueron presentados ante la conferencia TED en verano del 2009, como parte del tema “La Sociedad y la Música”. Originalmente fueron parte de un estudio por el Departamento de Sociología de la Universidad de Liverpool, escritos por un estudiante de doctorado, quien fue mandado a una isla del Pacífico (no especificada) para estudiar un fenómeno en la cultura local del área. De la misma manera, se las presento antes ustedes, sin editar, en honor al autor y sus estudios.

Día 1:
He llegado a la isla. Lo primero que noté es el impresionante nivel de industria que tienen los habitantes de ella. Lejos de ser salvajes, han podido desarrollar un complejo y multifacético sistema de agricultura, acueductos y comercio. Desde el helicóptero que me trajo de las Islas Salomón veía terrenos de Copra, bastante grandes para una isla tan pequeña.

En cuanto a los nativos, me han recibido con mucho respeto y cariño. No he tenido ningún problema comunicándome, ya que pueden leer varios lenguajes gracias a los libros mandados aquí por varias caridades. El proclamado líder de la tribu me parece muy carismático y me ha ofrecido todos sus bienes disponibles para mi investigación. De lo que he visto de la aldea, viven en chozas, todas bien construidas de madera y bambú, aunque sus casas no parecen tener ningún diseño en común. Cuando le pregunté por escrito al líder porque esto era, me dijo que cada uno construía su propia casa, y lo consideraban un arte. Viendo mis constantes preguntas y tratando de acomodarme mas al ambiente, decidió darme un “tour” de la vecindad.

Me llevó por un camino dividiendo un gran bosque, al final del cual encontré un gran grupo de mujeres, todas trabajando en una nueva casa que se estaba construyendo. Sin yo preguntarle, el jefe me explicó que habían eliminado la discriminación sexual en su tribu, habiendo aprendido de los textos escritos por grandes mujeres de la 3 olas del movimiento feminista. Impresionado por su modernismo y sabiduría, y queriendo conocer mas, le pregunté su nombre, ya que nos habíamos presentado solo por escrito. “Doctor Robert”, me dijo a voz alta.

Perplejo por esta contestación, decidí no cuestionarle mas, y mi solo le inquirí donde iba a estar pasando la noche. Me mostró la habitación, y conocí al hombre con quien iba a vivir. Me explicó que el había ganado el sorteo de la persona que me hospedaría a mi. Entremedio de la conversación, me brindó comida y jugamos varias rondas de un juego llamado “Nine” (nueve en inglés), una mezcla de Risk y Mancala, la cual encontré muy entretenida. Después de haber perdido, me rendí a una hamaca que ya habían preparado. Cayendo la noche, el hombre también decidió acostarse, pero no antes de postrarse ante una especie de santuario. Percibiéndolo en completa devoción, me levante a mirar que adoraban esta tribu que me parecía demasiado avanzada. Pensé en algún tipo de animal, el sol, o algún tipo de río o lago. Mirando hacia la pared, no pude contener mi asombro al ver un tocadiscos y un álbum puesto, con el hombre rezando al ritmo de la música. Rápidamente escribiendo en mi libreta, le enseño las primeras palabras que se me ocurren. “Sgt. Pepper?” Me responde: “Lo conoces”?

Weaklings

I don’t think this is such a good idea.

What is?

Whatever you’re trying to do.

I’m just trying to have a little fun.

It’s not gonna work.

Why not? We’ve never tried it before.

What do you mean, before? It’s not gonna work, it’s based on a flawed concept and it’s just going to go to waste.

Flawed concept?

The flawed concept is that things need to be fixed, that we need a fresh start, that something went wrong.

The word “wrong” doesn’t apply here, because you can’t judge something that isn’t there. Nothing’s happened, and nothing will continue to happen unless I fix it.

You don’t even have the full capacity to do it, you just tend to start things and leave them halfway. You know I’m gonna end up doing all the work anyway.

Yeah, I was hoping you could help me with a few MINOR details, but I’ll do the grunt work, I promise. Just let me work in peace.

What do you plan doing when this is done?

I don’t know, I’ll wing it.

See? This is just like you. You don’t even know what you’re doing or how you’re doing it. You just go with the flow.

I’m the flowing type.

Yeah, that may be cute for the first few eons, but it gets old fast. The only reason I’m even listening to you is because nothing is happening.

Well, you should be glad to know I’m working on that then.

I wouldn’t mind nothing, if it weren’t for the sound. Some people think that just because there’s nothing, there’s silence. Silence is something. The sound of nothing is much more… unnerving.

“Some people”?

You know, theoretically.

See? You’re just as fond of this idea as I am. “Some people”…

That’s not what I meant, I… you know, the whole idea behind creation is that you have to be creative. What the hell is that supposed to be?

I'm trying to do some... You know, if I had just a little more support and a little less “sound of nothing”, I might come up with something that’s just a little less mediocre.

Here, let me help.

Absolutely not! All you’ve done is complain and whine about the situation while not lifting a single finger to fix it, all the while continually criticizing my ideas. Just let me work on this, I’ll ask for your help when I need it.

Fine.

Fine.

…

…

You know I’m better at this than you, right?

…Yes, which is why I need you to shut up.

Ok…

...

…. I’m just saying, it would be easier if I just-

No!

Fine.

…

…

…There. I’m finished.

Yes, I see.

Well, what do you think?

It’s good.

Good.

It’s not the BEST thing I’ve ever seen….

Yeah…

…. It’s got style, gotta give it that.

Yep…

Well shall you do the honors?

I might as well.

And with that, he breathed something into what was once nothing. With one breath, fallacies, figs, opinions, order, poets, problems, words and worries all came shining in. He finally heard something, and he liked it. It was perfect, it was life, it was freedom. It was an experience like he had never felt before. Existence was a much more fun than even he could imagine. It was glory. It was God. And deep down, he knew she would’ve done it so much better.