Posted by: tsopr | March 20, 2013

Norberto Franco Cisneros, Mexican-American Poet

Norberto Franco Cisneros has been published by the Indiana University Journal Chiricu; Avocet Review (Avocet Press); Snow Jewel (Grey Sparrow Press) Ilumen (Mouthfeel Press) and many others, including countless e-zines. He has been a featured poet in several venues. He has been a Featured Poet in several venues and has been a finalist in two International Poetry Contests. He is a writer of poems of all genres; also writes short stories and has currently completed his first novel which is currently being considered for publication by a publisher. Mr. Cisneros came out with his first chapbook “Heart Split in Two” last year; and received excellent reviews.

Featured Poetry of Norberto Franco Cisneros

Elegy to the Hunchback Mind of the Stone Walker

The Historical Stone Walker sings gravedigger songs.
The midget rides a frail Dalmatian dog, horses bray at pastel colored ghosts conjured by the hunchback mind of the Historical Stone Walker. The Walker skips from stone to stone never falling, he never falls.
In cockfighting as in life one cock slashes the other cock on and on until one dies. In the background John Lennon’s Imagine reverberates in silence in overfilled churches, mosques and synagogues, but devoid of humanity. The dancers dance the Horah to a Palestinian dance step beguiling frogs in heat, stimulating all beasts to copulate simultaneously. Phalluses of Cro-Magnon meat meander through hairless vulvas slithering from genital to genital coercing lesser minds into libidinous ecstasy.
Lights shine on metal drones obsessed with people dying, screaming in pain, in limbo, in perpetuity, with spiritual values suspended on the swastika of hope (their cross of nails).
War embraces profits and only profits overturning the balance of good humanity. Loud repetitive ideologies that don’t persuade, but confuse, tell lies that swallow the truth and create chaos sucking the marrow out of life leaving behind, misery and death.
It is said strange apparitions and false prophets will appear at the End Times and snow will fall in the desert; evil with many illogical voices distorting Nature with promises of God and gold will lead Dead Peasants to their own destruction. Gabriel’s golden trumpet will play the final note before the irreversible end, which the whole world will hear.

Take heed, you who worship profits. Consider your comfort today. Are you sure there’s a tomorrow? The Stone Walker flits from stone to stone inscribing the Maya warning. Do you sense the suffering, the misery? Do you feel the fear? Do you smell the stench of decaying bodies? Do you have an inner gnawing telling you tomorrow will never come.
The Apocalypse is happening now!

Love is Nature is Love

The brook follows the path of least resistance
It does not confront obstacles
It embraces them
Nature knows not war

The landscape is tranquil, peaceful
Nature likes it that way
Rolling shades of green sprinkle the velvet hills with
A myriad display of colorful flowers taunt the multihues of the rainbow

The eye follows the brook’s unimpeded meandering path
A Monarch jig-jaggedly flies in glee
Its life will shortly come to an end but
That’s Nature’s way too

Clear. clean water caresses the rocks underneath it,
Whispering sweet, gurgling, purling sounds
Its watery arms embracing the smooth stones
As it fills the cracks between them

A dark brown and brittle dry leaf
Detached by a tender wind floats
Softly landing on a fallen twig
It remembers where it came from

This is Nature making love with passion
Subtleties which go unnoticed to the human eye
Are nevertheless relevant in their spirit
As life unfolds its evolution.

When we make love – Who sees us?
Sometimes we don’t even see each other
We often forget that love is tender, giving,
Nurturing, healing and compassionate
Nature knows this.
Our hearts know it too, yet we squander
Our humanity frivously.

The Changing of the Guard

On a chilly night, under a dimly flickering light, the never ending wet street, stoic and abandoned, chided me. My knees weakened by despair, with my heart out of wishes and my body out of good health, I played notes on my ole friend, my trumpet, but the melody hid from itself. It seems reality appears more honest at this time in a man’s life when despair and the absence of a good tomorrow confront him. He reflects more candidly on truths:

“A life is born, a life lives, a life dies and in between,
the haunting now is forever present, and
finality does not come easily or quickly.”

Beyond the end of the sad street, I saw a lone figure whose translucent skin housed the fires of Hades. It emerged from a swirling mist of cloudy gray, its nostrils flared and snorted, his slobbering mouth spewed a stale, sulphuric smell that sickened the soul. He, the shadow of life, dressed in a long black overcoat and a Fedora that covered the top of his face down to his eyebrows, carried a scythe that sparkled sliver and was sharp.

“I want you.”

He pointed at me ominously.

“Twenty millennia ago,
I was chosen to take up this task and my time is up.
You will take my place when the sun rises.”

“Why me, twenty thousand years is a long time? I’m old and in pain.”

“You were chosen.
There is no rest for you until your time is up, but
Your pain will be taken away.”

I blinked and he was no more, unperturbed, I understood what had just transpired, but I did not pickup the scythe only my trumpet.

Slowly, I walked towards my future as the brightening horizon flamed golden on the hills against the azure sky, with great anticipation, I began playing my trumpet and I knew, as long as my trumpet was with me, I would last the twenty thousand years, for I realized, it is music not death that transports the soul.

Copyright © 2013 Norberto Franco Cisneros

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