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This Moment
Maybe a moment of eternity is all we have.
That thought sits at the edge of my bed with me
while my grandson tumbles, runs and plays
around our inner circle of love.
This moment with him is
a moment in time,
a precious moment
that comes and goes
like a visiting gypsy.
I stare at the dark sky
behind my window.
It has white spots
that stare back at me.
The sounds of "Over the Rainbow"
and who is your favorite painter
as i sit here
Ruben T. Abeyta writes mostly poetry, some anecdotes and essays, travel journals and two pieces of Spanish folklore. He has had poems published in over seventy journals and literary magazines, been a featured reader at the New Mexico State University Regent's Summer Program, Border Book Festival, Our Lady of Guadalupe International Festival and at coffeeshops in Las Cruces and Silver City, NM, as well as El Paso, Texas. He's a member of a writer's group, Sin Fronteras, and has done open mic readings at various resturants and lounges in Las Cruces for about seven years at least once a month. Abeyta is also on the Editorial Board of the Agua Viva Newspaper for the Catholic Diocese of Las Cruces. (August 2006)
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beam out of my table radio
as Judy Garland pops into my room
in a pink garden dress
to see about immediate things
such as who will change Jacob's diaper.
dali
i was just sitting here thinking
that on a monday afternoon
at mesilla valley mall
i could maybe write something
like a play on words
a deja vu, a bon vivant,
an aphrodisiac, sanctions
and torrents of dangling words
tricks and things, dr. seuss
a nonsense poem, a tear in my beer
and lay away the winter
so i can ram right into
the birthing spring
when a young man's eyes
turn to
is it sal, salva, salvador dali
looking for his soul
in paint on canvas
because his parents thought
he was their reincarnated first child
just think, a good shrink
could have ruined art
from sal, the span,
the spaniard
from spain
espana
la tierra madre
i owe you my origin
i feel the energy
of these lines
winding
down
down
out
Johnny Flores
and his musicos
flanked an east corner
in the middle of a
Las Cruces Farmer's Market,
singing his ancient corridos,
his broad brimmed sombrero
riding low over
his dark brown face,
clothed in a light
purple shirt
and black pants,
frozen in time,
like a Jill Somoza still
life photo collage
giving uniqueness to
this little corner
of New Mexico.
Desert Sketches
Northwest of us
proud dromedary clouds
are like visionaries
crossing the rounded blue
while in front of us,
yellow sun swords cut through purple linen clouds.
A white thumbprint sun hides behind dot clouds. . .
Beside us
a Southern Pacific caterpillar
crawls slowly toward the Arizona border.