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Tomorrow's Voices Today

Jacob Sandigo: Two Poems

By H. Jacob Sandigo on October 30, 2019 in Poetry

1

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Nicaraguan Blues

Gallo pinto & a loaded gun

The sun is shining, the weather

Is sweet

 

All the children move their feet

 

Gallo pinto & a loaded gun

The sun is shining, the weather

Is sweet

 

The president unleashes his fleet

 

Church bells ring

Bullets sing

Prayers no longer do a thing

Daytime is salvation,

Nighttime— damnantion

 

They loot and maraud

They loot and maraud

Cordobas are the new gods

 

Government entertains

This civil war

Better hope they don’t

Come knocking at your door

Execution with no retribution

The people remain

In constant evolution

A result of a deceased revolution

 

Gallo pinto & a loaded gun

The sun is shining, the weather

Is sweet

 

Taste the air,

There’s nothing to eat

Guitar man sings the blues

As the people are beat

 

They loot and maraud

They loot and maraud

Cordobas might as well be God

*

Car Door Confessional

grounded

Foreign words

Around these parts.

She hands me the moon

And prescribes me some amethyst.

“Smoke mugwort if you wish

Inhale revelations.”

 

How to mend the soul

When you feel so Poe

And all you ever see are dead Ravens?

I’ve found that life,

Is a continuous spar with

The shadow.

How to evade the self

When I know my everymove?

This sense of separation,

Fictitious, for we are

Always whole.

 

My car is broken into

Every other day.

Shattered glass,

A poem around these parts.

Man preaches peace while

Loading a piece,

Fighting for mass extinction.

Bullet shells are a way of saying

Hello don’t you know?

 

Echoes of an epoch

On a city sidewalk with no end

Shadows are on patrol

Dreams, bottled into a

Tecate can.

 

Paper bag euphoria

 

Entrails of an epiphany

burned by bic flicks

 

Please write home in cigarette smoke…

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Tagsjacob sandigopoempoetrytomorrow's voices today

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About the author

H. Jacob Sandigo

H. Jacob Sandigo was born in Placerville, CA. Literature influenced a move to San Francisco where he know lives and pens poems in Alioto Park. His grandmother immigrated to San Francisco from Granada, Nicaragua. The people fuel his work and he considers the Mission District a sacred space. When he is not writing he can be found at Vesuvio Cafe drinking with the dead poets.

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