They say rap has changed, they want to know how I feel about it

I have been writing a lot. Enjoy some poetry.

MaPa

When I get lost I look for my Ma

When I get lost I remember my Pa

The givers of my life

The reason I’m alive

The writers of my name

The editors of my thoughts

The publishers of my inspiration

Mi Ma y mi Pa

Juntos,

Together

They not only gave me my life

But give it to me every day

Cada dia

I get lost a lot.

Cada dia,

But there are never problems

Only challenges

Cada dia

I erase my limits

And review my direction

But before I look through the telescope

I look for my Ma

And remember my Pa

Y digo gracias a Dios por mi MaPa

Carlitos J. Fernandez-Torres

January 1, 2011

Ill Regal Immigrant

Stop kissing my hand

Stop passing me the ball

Get me off of this stand,

Stop worrying, I’m not going to fall

You see the color of my skin,

So you triple the price.

I can’t let you win.

I can’t be too nice

I can’t give you money,

Children, please stop starring

This attention is scarring.

Men claim to know

everything about the whites.

Maybe they’re right.

I’ll tell you what.

Hand me that cup of tea

Sell me that lantern oil fairly

I’ll show you some pictures,

Some new music too

And we can go out dancing

Then we will

know,

understand,

and simply stand

One another.

Carlos Jesus Fernandez-Torres

April 14, 2011

Fire on a Canoe

In this very moment,

two different lights are

at my front.

I am facing one,

the other is facing me.

The one I am not facing,

Is a flame.

a fire that dances within

a sphere of a golden silhouette.

It delivers inspiration,

smoothly,

It descends transcendently,

Like a river’s source

from a mountain.

Decorating the tip of the wick

is a glowing red charcoal.

It does not have much time

left. We both burn.

The other

light,

will stay bright

for exactly five hours

and fifty five minutes more.

This light does not

dance.

It does not

inspire.

Instead this fire,

waits.

For me.

For my thoughts to be transferred

inside.

Instead in this light I confide

everything I choose to hide.

This modern typewriter

is the mouth of my

river of contemplations

and revelations.

Here.

The three of us

wait.

Each with a purpose.

Wait!

Tragic or perfect?

Neither,

of

us

have

enough

t

i

m

e

.

Carlos J. Fernandez-Torres

April 19, 2011