Perfect Enemy Number One
Let go of being perfect Just enjoy the experiment Do what you love Consider it playful practice where no one is scoring and the critics are gagged. This is for your enjoyment and your delight. Experiment see what yellow on green looks like. Try waxing with real wax and building with silly putty. Dance, move your body, behind closed doors if you must You’re not on some TV show There aren’t any judges Your audience is your soul who hungers for you to be alive Let go of being perfect, Of asking yourself Will I get paid for this? Will people like this? Will my mother approve of this or even understand it? Fuck that This is your artful life. Step out pick up the brush or pen or drum. Wield clay in fantastic motions Just let go of being perfect This is not your last attempt your life’s legacy will not be judged by this one piece. Experiment, play, enjoy, take risks dare to have it all crumple and crumble You moved you expressed you created you became unfrozen Your life’s legacy is in the expression, not in the evaluation of the expression. - Jose Enciso Most of the time we are called to just ponder. Give analysis and definition a rest every once in a while.
They Lived Happily Ever After And they lived happily ever after... Or so we dream After a teenage engagement, which ends. After a first marriage, which ends. After a second marriage, which ends. Dreams Visions creeping or leaping into our awareness Embedding themselves as thorns in our hearts Born of longings, hopes, aspirations and inspirations Visions giving us breath and causing us to gasp Dreams of health and happiness for our children Dreams of a better life Dreams of justice and an end to oppression What is to be done with these dreams? Are they meant to manifest fully formed? Are they echos from other alternate realities? Are they ghosts and demons sent to torment? I have had dreams of happily ever after and peace and contentment I have loved and I have lost. I apply my hand to the painful necessary work Pondering my dreams tenderly, reverently, and enigmatically Knowing, my dreams are sacred. - Jose Enciso |
There's a lot of mystery in this poem, something in the peripheral vision, beyond understanding. Eunice showed up in this poem, I don’t know why, I don't know a Eunice, I didn’t try to make sense of it or edit her out of the car. Eunice, the trees, the car motor, whoever was my companion, all remain and keep asking me questions.
Travelling in the Dark So it was just there in the middle of the road. We slowed down and drove back. I’m sure I saw it. Eunice kept knitting in the back seat. The motor softly hummed sounding much like a prayer or a chant. The night was still and dark and this stretch of road empty and uninviting. I’m sure it was here. Right here in the middle of the road. The trees regard our confusion exchanging glances with each other as if sharing a great secret. Sometimes things are not the same on a second look, but their echo still haunts the memory. - Jose Enciso |