Patience

Patience, the subconscious whispers in my ear, the break of dawn barreling through every crack in the blinds; wide awake for another rise of the sun, wondering when my time will come.

Patience, the tide is wide and far, yet all tides return. ‘What ifs’ tangled in your mind, held hostage over cliffs.

The whisper is incessant; you want to grasp the stars in all their glory, and you can barely grasp your heart.

– A. Garcia

Better

How can I? How can I love you better?

All of it, it's all so magnificent, so earthly, so all around and encapsulating. So hard to understand.

I want to wrap my arms around your soul, even just a gentle grasp, a garden-gnome sized squeeze, to figure out your smile & the elixir-like wave of your coal-black hair.

Why can't I figure it out? How hard can it be? To woo you and have your eyes bless mine with a glance I cannot pantomime; but that shine no longer warms this way, they don’t warm the cold with heavenly grace.

And I know, it ain’t that hard to understand. You’re somewhere else, beyond that place where dreams meet. You might as well never have been born, just another fantasy, another character, in another of countless stories that have  passed me by.

Another wayward stray. So I let you fly, out of my sight, over the horizon straight into space, far beyond range, until your light fades away.

– A. Garcia

Lovers

How many times do I have to try?

The heart, it can’t tell time

How many dreams have to die?

The soul, wretched from the slime

How many times do I have to cry?

That’s all I can sing

It’s another wicked song

Coming from somewhere up above

All out on the open

So, what do you say?

Take my hand

Lets do it as it’s meant to be

Like lovers do

Eternal like space.

– A. Garcia

Paradox

A paradox:

The mind can get stuck in a never-ending loop, it obsessively, compulsively, overthinks. It tortures consciousness and leaves no room for mistakes.

Yet it’s gasoline on a raging fire. The constant thumping inspires desire, creativity flows from the cracks. It breaks down walls, little by little pressure building up. Ideas rage like a rampant truck tire, loose on a busy city street, smashing windows, crushing fences, and broken noses on bewildered faces, all wondering what happened.

Chaos is left behind in its path,

all for the love of art.

–  A. Garcia

Hollow

Don’t know what happened

One day we were born

now we’re all tied up in steel knots

and concrete forms.

The new gods have decreed it

we are to be forlorn

Do the stars not align anymore?

What will one day be told?

Freedom was our only shout

So scream it out now

because they’ve burnt the books

seared the truth

All that’s left is doubt.

The black screen swallows us whole

the hive mind reaching out

Whats left of your humanity

in the name of progress

hollows out your core.

Mesmerized by distractions

decrepit fingers pointing out

oversized billboards

the shiny lights

and glamorous dresses

When we turned back

all that was left were ashes.

Don’t know what happened

Now we are numbers in a machine

it consumed the mind

and spit out shadows

What’s left is a mock of energetic souls

Trapped in a bag of bones.

– A. Garcia

Old Notes

I was reading through some old notes and writings on my computer, much of it incomplete, written long ago, forgotten thoughts splayed out on a screen.

Some of the musings are short and to the point, many of them with no point at all, simple ramblings of a wandering mind.

Flipping through the titles, wondering where my heart was during each space, one in particular catches my attention, it was just one word.

It called to me, like a fading voice in a deep well, like an old lover from a forgotten past.

The title, "Future"; with much anticipation I opened the folder and searched within for my own inspiration, from a day I could not remember.

It was empty.

– A. Garcia

Fear

It’s always the fear 

that gets you

To pull off those heavy 

blankets 

And take reality for what 

it’s worth 

To cash in time to face what 

is not under your control


Every morning 

The story goes

We reach into the closet

Pull out a costume for the day

Pull it tight against our soul 

Wrap it nice, sealed shut 

 All of this 

To go out there            

And be able to face the world. 


– A. Garcia 

Paper Airplane

I’ve assembled my sharpest words

composing them into a letter 

the words are cutting and strong

they bite and savor what’s left

they burn through it all

like acid in a plastic bag


I’ve steel-plated the paper

folded it up nicely

straight lines

perfectly lined up edges

It’s a steel-plated paper airplane 

ready to cut through the air

ready to cut through with no scare

slicing through the sky

blinding your eyes with its glare


It’s off into the ether 

sailing on its thin metal body

racing to catch all lost time

dashing through cotton-white clouds

it will surely rip the distance apart 

Its pointy edge finding you amongst shadows

Hot steel-paper landing on your chest

its words spilling over 

melting the skin 

like hot iron touching ice

like a shark fin cutting through water

its words shaking you to the core 

Like a dagger through your heart. 


– A. Garcia

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