POEMS Storyteller


Those are not tears, they are raindrops. Its like mother nature lives in me and there is a storm brewing, its love about to unleash thunder and lightening on the fallen human race.  

Parts Dirty Immigrant Storyteller

Conquered (1983) from I am a Dirty Immigrant

One day when we were out of weed, we decided to go out and get some. There had not been any shooting for a while, so we figured it was safe. On the way, we encountered a group of Marines standing next to a white Nissan truck. In the bed of the truck, we saw about four bodies stuffed into what looked like black garbage bags. Being the inquisitive idiot that I am, I asked one of the soldiers if they were dead. One of the Marines, the one clearly in charge, shouted for me to move on. That was when one of the bags moved and a young man shouted that he was alive. My whole body went cold; no one deserved to be treated that way. That was the first time in my life I felt totally defeated. I guess we were now a conquered people.  When we got back to the house I smoked so much ganja I was totally unaware of my surroundings. The only thing I remembered was using a knife to peel an orange and my sister-in-law herding the kids out of the kitchen, away from me. My brothers were laughing so hard tears rolled down their faces

POEMS Storyteller

Comfort a Stranger

She is beautiful but confused, so confused  I feel sorry for her, I know, I should not 

She lay on my floor sobbing, her eyes puffy 
She questions herself, her life 
I was surprised by her outburst 
She seemed so strong until that moment 
I wanted to reach out and hold her  But we were not that close of friends as yet 
She looks at me as if seeking an answer 
I had none, not this suddenly 
I reached over and rubbed her back 
Her eyes pierced into mine searching 
I let her talk, let her free her soul of the pain she had bottled up 
Let the bitter, sweet fog kiss her aching heart 
She speaks, her lips shaking violently 
Tears rolled down her pale cheeks 
I sit and watched, waiting for her to compose herself 
Hoping that life does not destroy this gentle soul 
Hoping that wisdom will arrest this youthful spirit 
I will keep her company until she worries herself to sleep 

Until the darkness mercifully rescues her soul from the brightness of 
the day 

Parts Dirty Immigrant Storyteller

Nightmares of war (From the Novel I am a Dirty Immigrant)

I lay on the bed looking up at the ceiling. Sleepless nights were now part of my life. I was running through the forest, an AK-47 rifle in my hand. I heard the voices of soldiers as they chased me. The forest was dark despite the sun being high in the sky. My lungs were on fire as I maneuvered through the trees and bushes. Bullets whizzed by my head, hitting the trees, creating a buzzing noise in my head. Leaves flew into the air; branches fell in front of me. I hurdled over bodies. Some were still alive, begging for help.
I kept running as the footsteps of my pursuers grew closer. I was so panicked, I did not see the wounded man step out in front of me. Part of his face was blown off and one eye had tears of blood pouring out of it. He lifted his arm as if asking for mercy.  I bumped into him and he fell backwards. I stopped and looked down at him. He was trying to get back up, his voice a mere gurgle as blood oozed out of his mouth. I reached out to him, but he fell back to the ground. I looked back and saw the approaching soldiers; I turned and ran off, my legs feeling like they would freeze up. I ran until I came to a precipice. It was about a sixty-foot drop, so I looked around for another escape route. Sweat poured down my face, getting into my eyes. I wiped it off and looked up just in time to see the soldiers standing in front of me. I wanted to run, but I knew I was cornered. I closed my eyes for a second hoping to block out my fate, but I opened my eyes and they were all pointing their M16 rifles at me. I watched as the bullets shot out of the rifles. The closer they got to me, the darker the scene became. I closed my eyes just as the bullets exploded in my body. I screamed, my voice disappearing into the darkness. I sat up in bed, my heart racing so fast, I almost fainted. My ex-wife moved a little asking me if I was alright. I mumbled that I was, got up and went to the bathroom. I looked at myself in the mirror. I was white as a red-headed step child. Sweat rolled down my face as a sudden chill went through my body.  I splashed some water in my face, then walked back to the bedroom and stood over her for a moment. She looked so peaceful, that smile on her face. I hoped she was having a better dream than the one I’d just had. I crawled into bed and snuggled up against her. I always felt better when I was close to her. The scent of Egyptian Musk on her skin, the slow throbbing of her heartbeat; quite frankly, it was those moments that kept me sane.