Sometimes, a poem is a response to another poem or a poet responding to another poet. This poem is in response to Lemn Sissay’s “Some Things I Like,” upon his calling attention to the undervalued, the unpolished, and rejected, where he closes with an imperative for the reader to “see.” This poem delivers a raw portrayal of societal decay, juxtaposed with hope, and sharp, vivid imagery to highlight a world filled with brokenness and contradiction. 

This poem reflects on a resigned acceptance of the annual barn swallows’ return in Texas, highlighting the tension between the desire for personal space and the inevitability of sharing it with others. This theme can be seen as a metaphor for the broader human experience of dealing with unwanted yet inevitable disruptions in life.

This poem puts on display Mexican culture and the symbolism and importance of the donkey, or burro, within it. The idea here is to explore the themes of tradition and resilience and empathy, using the image of the burro as a powerful symbol. I wanted the reader to have a very imagistic experience - imagery of blankets and peddled goods and the burden of a hooved beast during the hustle and bustle of market days and the resilience of the people who rely on these animals for their livelihoods.

Have you ever noticed how few in the world now look to our heavenly skies, instead, preoccupied with screens and streams? This poem relies on interior rhyme schemes and specific rhetorical devices to emphasize unplugging and “looking up.”

This is a quotidian poem on a past experience of discovering our family’s ranch house kitchen door breached by migrants along the Texas-Mexico border.

Traditional haiku never carries a title, but I have assigned one here to set a location for the poem on my site and to represent the “sun” as our luminaria, just as traditional luminaries illuminate the life and streets of Santa Fe, New Mexico.

Reflecting on the power of human touch, this quotidian poem is a tribute to the lost art of shoe shining, small talk, and thus, a nod to the trades.

This poem is about place, as an observer from a high-speed train crossing from Germany into the Czech Republic. It is a poem of speculation and imagination as I move across the car in the waking hours.

An everyday observation of the Texas hunting culture and its provisions for those in need.

The poem came out of the joy I find returning to my roots, sitting around the coffee table at The Dairy Queen with my elders.

This poem of heritage reflects upon the lost power and control of Paris, once one of the most influential cities of Texas.

Author’s note:  The dominance of Salvadoran gangs and efforts to end them have left loved ones of the imprisoned helpless, where many are first held in a little jail on the streets of San Salvador, El Penalito, which has been referred to as ground zero for perhaps the most aggressive police repression in Central American history. I have seen it. Here is my poem recollecting my introduction to both the conditions of El Salvador’s prisons and the actions of its detainees.

At first glance, the Tangram (qiqiao bon) offers its player only “seven boards of skill,” but can yield thousands of worldly designs, proving that sometimes the simplest things are surprisingly complex.

Years ago, standing on the rooftops of San Miguel de Allende, I was struck by its unparalleled beauty. Walking its streets, one can't help but fall in love with its magic—vibrant arts, colonial architecture, cozy cafes, and cobblestone paths. It's a destination ripe for romance and weddings. This poem captures the enchanting tradition of the Mexican callejoneada—a lively wedding procession filled with music and celebration through the streets of San Miguel De Allende.