Words of Fire: Poems of Power First Edition

By Miguel Gonzalez

Words of Fire is a sophisticated and unique rendition of society and the human experience through rhythmic poetry. Some poems are short, though most are long. Some content is light, though most is heavy. It touches on the subjects of politics, culture, gangs, history, identity, the prison industry, God, racial dynamics in America, the economy, family, and much more. Although much of the content describes the problems of American society, Words of Fire also offers possible solutions and lessons we can learn from mistakes that have been made.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 31, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543459678

Miguel Gonzalez

Poet, musician, educator, entrepreneur, and visionary, Miguel Gonzalez began writing poetry in the 4th grade. Born in Los Angeles, California to first generation Colombian parents, he carries forward a legacy of artists and educators. His path through adolescence and teen-hood reflected a common story of busy parents chasing the American dream, and personal battles with American society. Finally discovering the power of education, and his talent for the artistic and academic, he turned his life around. Inspired by the music and culture of his parents' native Colombia, he embarked upon a journey of cultural revival while pursuing his Bachelor's degree. Today he uses his knowledge of arts and culture to empower youth that are facing the troubles he once faced. Words of Fire is his first manifesto and declaration of consciousness and commitment to uplift the human race.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1: IN THE VEINS

THE ROSE AND THE LION: MY MOTHER’S LIFE

(Here I have done my best to render my mother’s biography in the form of a poem, from her point of view. I believe it represents many immigrant women’s lives. You decide.)

From the beginning to the end, I can’t judge others for acts I see as mistakes

Unless I’m willing to be pointed at for being human like the rest God creates

Some mothers and fathers never learned to think before putting fear in their baby’s heart

Just because the child plays with trouble doesn’t mean it’s lost in the dark

So I must ask myself, am I a bad person for beating my seed into submission?

Or am I a product of my parents’ poverty, from whom I always got permission

Like that day my father cracked the hose over my back, he didn’t hear me say goodbye

Just a little girl on my way to catholic school, momma said to be silent as I cried

The pain and rage becomes a volcano across the years, a fire

waiting inside

My parents knew control and ignorance, momma never learned to read and write

And when I fell in love as a teenager, she advised to keep broken hearts out of sight

This man I loved, the only one, had another lover, and lied about

the relation, but continued with pro-creation

Led me on to believe in a happy garden, which would only be uprooted between seedlings of us two carnations

Two from me and two from her, he was a fool and a player, bounc- ing back and forth, having a ball

She grew thorns over my boy and girl, God gave her no boy at all, jealousy makes pedals fall

But it’s not my fault, and I won’t deny my grudge toward her for taking my man

What do you expect when traditional love shapes the nature of a young woman’s wrath?

No doubt it’s been stormy along this path, God said life is hard, survive how you can

It wasn’t all bad, you see, colorful fruit trees lined the roads of my old town in the mountains

Reach up and grab one, neighborhood was a village so water needed was water shouted

Remembering 50 summers ago in Colombia where my family grew roots of tradition

Summers on my uncle’s green farm of soft breezes, the most golden of these innocent visions

Born by nature, the land lives in my eyes and dreams of past and future happiness

A childhood of pain and confusion, given by God to humans lost in violent parentage

For years, tears filled my cup, my young soul was torn, unprepared for understanding this

How could the rose that brought me into this world stick her thorns so deep in me?

And the male, wolf for a father had fangs a lion wouldn’t believe, children un-free

I called it love, the only kind I knew, now understanding, they gave what they received

Some would condemn my parents for what they did, so my love has set them, and me free

Plus how can I deny the love, though no affection, virtues of work and protection that they gave?

Let me say, if hugs and kisses are the water that makes a child grow emotionally sane

The cold and dry ground my heart was raised in left little life for reason in my brain

But how can I complain?

Without them I wouldn’t be the lady lion I am today, I love them all the same

Now that my mother sits next to God, I see her beautiful face in photos I hold tight, day and night

Diamond drops slide down my face, becoming doves that fly to my

Mother’s light in the sky

My father can hear his friends calling him to join them, as his mind

begins to fly with those doves through the clouds

My heart and sorrow can only slowly wait for that phone call of fate I dread so much, the silence of death is so loud

After me the oldest, two brothers beat down, grown in resentment towards our father

Later leading lives of dirty work and violence America makes easy

for sons on fire, dying for water

One flew to Spain seeking labor, the other was stolen from us by

the beast of cancer and none of us can bare it

I must say our sister is most successful for the rivers of health and happiness she drinks from, so much she shares it

But now life has been unwritten, June 2, 2016

My baby sister was taken from us, Zoraida Arias, forever living in the paradise of peace

In Los Angeles, America of 1978 my last boy child was born an August Lion

A wealthy Jewish family nourished me within their circle as I worked alone, far from home, crying

Riding the bus with my new baby, a house a week, a house a day, I prayed

With time a car and young immigrant women like me, but my chariot made the way

So I got payed a few dollars more, plus I ran the books every day, experience educates

A few clients became many across the years, luck of the Lord and determination to change

My other half brought our children of 8 and 10 as so-called aliens from our nation, Ernie and Ivonne

Trapped at the border, an ugly situation the law dictates from higher places, but the father had charm

Enough to force cold hands open, what did the badge have to gain anyway by caging our little ones?

Gold coins set my three canaries free, flying across the desert to finally be with me, victory is won

Springtime didn’t last long, for the other mother followed him to the states, making claims

Bringing winter to my warmth with her two angels, like mine, truth is I can’t blame

As a young father, he made promises to the two of us, painting illu- sions for us both

5-10-15 years he played these games with enough poison to break a young woman’s rose

Not mine, though cut, his tricks made my thorns thicker and my

pedals tough, still a strong flower

If water is true love, his words sounded like rain, but offered only showers

We tried to keep the family fire warm, but some men don’t make

good mates

A thousand nights I wept on my son’s shoulder over rotting pieces from the old break

Thank goodness he was a good father, although he had more love than time

Both of us working to find the American dream, our children’s

culture lost it’s rhyme

Happy though dysfunctional at times, a mistake too many families make without knowing

As American as my neighbors’ reaction to deny the spiritual void cold homes are showing

Our youngest seed wouldn’t thirst in the dry soil where we left the two oldest

At 10 we took him to Colombia to feel the music and warmth that 3 cultures molded

Native American Cali, invading Spanish Dons, and displaced

African traditions

Bred in blood and fire similar to the states, except the Red and

Black kept more spirit

Enough exposure to the culture of community changes how a per- son perceives American society

The songs and stories he didn’t learn here were written by our na- tive land’s roots in history

1983 finally moving to San Jose, one car became a team with time and patience

Eyes upon the prize of my return to Colombia, knowing one day I would make it

20 years of discipline and business made a home away from home, missing my country so it’s hurtin’

By the time I lived and learned my labor became my blessing and my burden

Lonely kitchen floors and cold bathrooms knew my solitary con- finement, talking to myself with no thrills

Working like a machine obsessed with hard labor for wealthy people living in the hills

30 years of chemical servitude and bent over backs, so white shoes don’t get dirty

A small business with cars and workers, young and mature Latina women capitalism has deemed worthy

I’m always on the run, even when I eat and rest, sunlight can’t catch me, nothing gets past me

I sleep and play fast as a modern business-woman, old breaks drag me, all for my family

I pray hard every night to keep my children united, sometimes divided by the pride as the lions we all are

Angry and defensive before remembering the love they share, locked in their American cars

Won’t throw things away so my home often overflows with clutter, sometimes to have more is less

Trauma from the past has left scars on my soul and mind that don’t let me adapt well to stress

Slowly saving and slaving across the decades with dreams of retir- ing to my soil and resting

But will my children follow me? is my question, so wonder if leav- ing would be the best thing

Lord knows I want to see my grandchildren grow into tall trees and bare fruit of their own

So I read books about herbs and natural remedies to live these years in health, wise but never old

Almost satisfied now that my sons have broken up with Mary Jane, the fine smelling woman that leads men into temptation

The shadows of anger and solitude still follow me around, I won’t look at them so denial blocks my liberation

Don’t try to understand me, I don’t understand myself sometimes, women are mysterious

I spent so much time telling my parents how to live healthy, much to my distress, they never took me serious

Now my child the poet sees me making the same mistake Preaching about health while I’m overweight, what can I say? He prays I’ll change, we both know I will, in the mean time he stresses as I once did, love is a strange story see

Mine is one of millions, we women work for happiness as Queens God made so our children can reach their destinies.

THE SHADOW OF A BROKEN HEART: MY FATHER’S LIFE

(This is my father’s biography. It’s based on stories he has told me throughout my life. My grandfather is an important figure in this poem. I never got to meet him, and know him only through those stories.