The Last   Sunday, September 20, 2020


the last

fog on Apache
moon lost in overcast
streetlights like
splash and pool
on the path
walk alone
as if always 
and forever hence

we are the

This a post with all, or mostly short poems, easy writing, easy reading. All of my poems in the post, except for the first couple, are from my first book Seven Beats a Second. I checked this morning to be sure, and confirmed that the book, my only print book, is still available on Amazon, both new and used.

Here and Now
The Last


the last
morning song
girl on a cellphone
dark chocolate
the cruelty of cats at play
why the boys go out on Saturday night
life is

Marcos McPeek Villatoro

While Voiding


while a bald man burns
star bright
the dreams of Mary Quemada

Diane Wakoski



the moon rising
what’s better than cold chocolate milk?


October blue
gives way
to November

and you can
the tides
of an old

morning song

a path wound its way
around the brick wall
that separated
our oasis
from the desolate
all around

from the other side
of the wall
I heard a soldier
in the sentry camp
outside the wall
begin a song,
a plaintive
morning song 
in his language,
strange to my ears
but soul-stretching
in the cold

girl on a cellphone

puffy in the face

like a marshmallow
too close
to the flame

leans against a car

kicks a tire

wipes a tear

kicks the tire again

leans against the car

rests her head
on the window glass

wipes a tear

on the curb

dark chocolate

she hoards anger
like sweet chocolate
in a brightly colored box

saves it
    stores it

lets its dark flavor grow
in anticipation

a secret remembered
on the back of her tongue

a secret cache of ire
released in quiet bites

a niggle here
    a nibble there

and hurt
in random


pervades the air
around her

the cruelty of cats at play

her black smile
cuts like a dagger through the dark
                                   slicing cleanly to the heart

"I have something to tell you"
she whispers

why the boys go out on Saturday night



especially when lit in






sex flashes through the night
drawing us through the rushing current


bashing our heads on the sharp rocks
of deceit and desire, all for a chance to
fuck our fish brains out before we die
in the shallow pool of everyday life

life is

is like a duck hunt

every time
you really start to fly

asshole in the weeds

your feathered butt

right out of the sky

This poem is by Marcos McPeek Villatoro, from his book They Say that I Am Two, published in 1997 by Arte Publico Press. It is a bilingual book, Spanish and English on facing pages.

From 1985 to 1996, Villatoro lived in various Latino worlds, both in the United States and in Central America. This book followed his novel, A Fire in the Earth, and his memoir, Walking to La Milpa: Living in Guatemala with Armies, Demons, Abrazos, and Death, both published in 1996.

While Voiding

The young man who grew old with whiskey
went outside.
He watched the stars that laughed
in a silent sky.
He thought, "I'm alive. At least I'm 
He soaked the same ground
from  yesterday and the day before.
He breathed crisp air
and made himself a drunken promise:
to breathe, sometimes slowly,
other moments panting,
but to breathe with
lungs that longed to fill themselves
with the laughter of stars.

while a bald man burns

three gulls circle
a bald man burns
in the fierce island sun
I trace gargoyles
in the sand
with my toe
you pretend to study
the book in your hand
three gulls circle
in the fierce island sun

star bright

imagine the stars
on cold desert nights,
spread across the wide, black sky,
beyond the desert and high mesas,
past prairies where trickster coyote calls,
past the land of mortal men
to the place where no man goes,
the place where spirits hunt
ghosts of buffalo

imagine sleeping
with this blaze of night around you,
black stars bright
with cold, unchallenged light

how you must fear the starless night,
when clouds close the sky around you
and bind you prisoner to the dark

the dreams of Mary Quemada

her long hair flowing
like a dark tide gathering
across her satin pillow,
she dreams of times past
and places she loved
      long gone

while I,
yearn to dream with her

This poem is by Diane Wakoski. I took it from her book, The Rings of Saturn, published by Black Sparrow Press in 1986.


Cast a white grid
still as oil.
The reflecting water
shrugs its undulating shoulders,
the stones' light, a shawl
over this sleeping woman torso.

the moon rising

ripples of wind
ruffle bay waters
like a lover's hand
soothing soft tangles
in her beloved's hair

gentle winds

quiet waters

bright stars warm
in the cool
autumn dark

the moon
empress of the night

what's better than cold chocolate milk?

what could be better than a big glass
of ice cold chocolate milk
on a warm summer day?

might be you,
up to your neck in a great big vat
of cold chocolate milk

could be you
floating on your back in an immense bowl
of cherry jello

even you
splashing like a puppy in a gigantic pot
of split-pea soup

or, hell, maybe just you

waiting for me

This last piece always requires a little explanation. 

It was inspired when, in a single week, I listened to an extended recording of whale song and, also, seeing the Star Trek movie when they have to return to the 20th century to capture a whale to take back to their own time (where whales are extinct) in order to save the earth from destruction.


from somewhere in the very deep
a great blue sang today, a song
of salty tides and bright mornings
fresh with sun and ocean air

a love song
among the giants

from somewhere in the other deep,
a growing choir responds, sings
of star-blinks and novas flashing,
songs of creation, songs of despair,
songs of spinning little worlds
that come and go and leave behind
the poetry of their time in passing

another song,
recorded for time never-ending

GOOD NEWS - the "comment"  function is working again after several years when it did not.

I'd love to have feedback from readers, about the blog, about the poems or pictures, favorite recipes from your old dearly departed Aunt Herminia, or anything else on your mind.

As usual, everything belongs to who made it. You're welcome to use my stuff, just, if you do, give appropriate credit to "Here and Now" and to me

Also as usual, I am Allen Itz owner and producer of this blog, and a not so diligent seller of books, specifically these and specifically here:

Amazon, Barnes and Noble, iBook store, Sony, Copia, Garner's, Baker & Taylor, eSentral, Scribd, Oyster, Flipkart, Ciando and Kobo (and, through Kobo,  brick and mortar retail booksellers all across America and abroad


New Days & New Ways

Places and Spaces 

Always to the Light

Goes Around Comes Around

Pushing Clouds Against the Wind

And, for those print-bent, available at Amazon and select coffeehouses in San Antonio

Seven Beats a Second


Sonyador - The Dreamer


  Peace in Our Time

at 5:57 PM Blogger davideberhardt said...

extra good photos this issue-altho i do not (u kno me re line lengths) am going to read the omes again- some possibilities

Post a Comment

May 2006
June 2006
July 2006
August 2006
September 2006
October 2006
November 2006
December 2006
January 2007
February 2007
March 2007
April 2007
May 2007
June 2007
July 2007
August 2007
September 2007
October 2007
November 2007
December 2007
January 2008
February 2008
March 2008
April 2008
May 2008
June 2008
July 2008
August 2008
September 2008
October 2008
November 2008
December 2008
January 2009
February 2009
March 2009
April 2009
May 2009
June 2009
July 2009
August 2009
September 2009
October 2009
November 2009
December 2009
January 2010
February 2010
March 2010
April 2010
May 2010
June 2010
July 2010
August 2010
September 2010
October 2010
November 2010
December 2010
January 2011
February 2011
March 2011
April 2011
May 2011
June 2011
July 2011
August 2011
September 2011
October 2011
November 2011
December 2011
January 2012
February 2012
March 2012
April 2012
May 2012
June 2012
July 2012
August 2012
September 2012
October 2012
November 2012
December 2012
January 2013
February 2013
March 2013
April 2013
May 2013
June 2013
July 2013
August 2013
September 2013
October 2013
November 2013
December 2013
January 2014
February 2014
March 2014
April 2014
May 2014
June 2014
July 2014
August 2014
September 2014
October 2014
November 2014
December 2014
January 2015
February 2015
March 2015
April 2015
May 2015
June 2015
July 2015
August 2015
September 2015
October 2015
November 2015
December 2015
January 2016
February 2016
March 2016
April 2016
May 2016
June 2016
July 2016
August 2016
September 2016
October 2016
November 2016
December 2016
January 2017
February 2017
March 2017
April 2017
May 2017
June 2017
July 2017
August 2017
September 2017
October 2017
November 2017
December 2017
January 2018
February 2018
March 2018
April 2018
May 2018
June 2018
July 2018
August 2018
September 2018
October 2018
November 2018
December 2018
January 2019
February 2019
March 2019
April 2019
May 2019
June 2019
July 2019
August 2019
September 2019
October 2019
November 2019
December 2019
January 2020
February 2020
March 2020
April 2020
May 2020
June 2020
July 2020
August 2020
September 2020
October 2020
Loch Raven Review
Mindfire Renewed
Holy Groove Records
Poems Niederngasse
Michaela Gabriel's In.Visible.Ink
The Blogging Poet
Wild Poetry Forum
Blueline Poetry Forum
The Writer's Block Poetry Forum
The Word Distillery Poetry Forum
Gary Blankenship
The Hiss Quarterly
Thunder In Winter, Snow In Summer
Lawrence Trujillo Artsite
Arlene Ang
The Comstock Review
Thane Zander
Pitching Pennies
The Rain In My Purse
Dave Ruslander
S. Thomas Summers
Clif Keller's Music
Vienna's Gallery
Shawn Nacona Stroud
Beau Blue
Downside up
Dan Cuddy
Christine Kiefer
David Anthony
Layman Lyric
Scott Acheson
Christopher George
James Lineberger
Joanna M. Weston
Desert Moon Review
Octopus Beak Inc.
Wrong Planet...Right Universe
Poetry and Poets in Rags
Teresa White
Camroc Press Review
The Angry Poet