Born from the same genes and innermost
Sperm and ovaries, root and soil
Equal and yet so different
Unequal and so indifferent
Same blood both ways
Separate litter, separate mind, soul, and all else too
Nursed and bred by the same hand and rules
Heartless and faked yet sometimes
Humble and straight
Some handsome outside
And handsome inside
Some pretty in and out
Although not all the time
You could forget you are good
When you remember you could be mean and cruel
And all the while remain impeccably firm
As you convince yourself how flawless you are
However, you never say it
Clearly, you have your favored precious
Thank God they are interchangeable
Not as a son or a daughter
Where you could never decide or proclaim
Who your favorite is
Fraternal love eternal and ephemeral
It could be applied in the same sentence
Pleasure and pain, love, and indifference
Love them all is your final recourse
A gift from God could also mean
A Satan’s curse
Nevertheless, the plague can eventually fade away
But you will never dissuade Satan of course
Relatives, kin or blood, you can never escape
Like it or not you are stuck
You cannot repel or refuse
My best advice, enjoy and ignore

The End

Dedicated to my seven brothers and sisters. I love you all

“I sought my soul
But my soul I could not see
I sought my God
But my God eluded me
I sought my brother
And I found all three.” 
– William Blake

Edmundo Barraza

Visalia, Ca. 05-28-2012

It’s Like . . .

Killing an ant with a nuclear bomb. Exaggeration
Stoning a woman right after she’s been raped. Abomination
Creating the final solution to exterminate a wandering nation
Inexplicable and contradictive. Killing cancer with radiation
Tormenting and torturing without mitigation

Crying at the bottom of the sea to drown your sorrow
Fighting foreign wars all over the world in a continuous row
Committing suicide today for things that will disappear tomorrow
Saint Sebastian expiring and still receiving another arrow
Asking money from a beggar when he has nothing to borrow

God never lies. You can’t insist
Begging God to make me believe he doesn’t exist
Asking God to become friends with Satan so evil can cease to exist
Declining access to hell even if I persist or desist
Satan always lies. He can’t resist

There’s no solution or substitution for disillusion
There’s no compensation or restitution for revolution
Brain surgery is needed for a mind so narrow
And heavy and impossible to carry in a wheelbarrow
Angry and nonconformist, I raise my fist
Only to be censored, disqualified, and dismissed.

The End

Visalia, CA. 04-11-2012

Global Suicide

I was a little pessimistic when I wrote this little thing in 2017. Is there a reason to be optimistic now?

God has left the building and the planet too.

Hurricanes dance in the ocean. Hurricanes cohabit with earthquakes.

The heat is hotter.

Walls built with tiny hands will stop refugees but not bombs.

Children expelled from paradise. Limbo kids between heaven and hell.

But which is which?

The ax forgets, the tree remembers.

The forest never wins.

Mother nature is dead.

Father time has expired

Without a nation or destination, refugees flee in mass and cry in pain.

Destitute and dilute in the melting pot.

The entire political spectrum secretes excrement.

No one is totally innocent.

Hatred must be contagious.

Dust to dust. We’ll end up where we must.

By far, humans are the most dangerous animals.

Tragedy and catastrophe are our deserving fate.

Hell broke loose.

We are the victims of our crimes.

God lost interest.

I’m scared, but not constantly.

I’ve died before.

The smarter you are, the more you care and the more you suffer.

A world in despair with nothing to spare.

Where are all the saints and martyrs?

Fire burns ice.

Irrational skeptics.

Pathetic leaders are chosen by us.

Democracy expired a long time ago.

Never lose hope.

Votes don’t count when you don’t win.

The minority requires only one more in a draw.

Did parenthood ever have a plan?

Should feminism be only attached to females?

And machismo to men?

We’re descending into a black hole of our creation.

Protests are in vain when evil prevails.

Modern times are over.

Did the decline of civilization begin with a big bang?

Or with mud and a rib?

Right after we take our first breath, we begin to die.

But I know the end will never arrive if I die first.

The End

Edmundo Barraza

Lancaster, Ca. Sept-10-2017


Quiero volver a nacer.

Quiero ser niño otra vez.

Quiero ser adolescente otra vez.

Quiero montar una motocicleta o un caballo.

Quiero ser ciudadano universal. Sin color ni bandera.

Quiero noches turbulentas y días acelerados.

Quiero defender injusticias y ofender injustos.

Quiero vivir sin morir.

Quiero a Diego (sin derramar una lágrima.)

Quiero derramar muchas lágrimas sin sentirme triste.

Quiero ahuyentar tristezas e invitar emociones.

Quiero nadar el Amazonas y el Nilo.

Quiero nadar hasta la luna.

Quiero más poesía, más libros y música.

Quiero vicios sin adicción.

Quiero experimentar contigo y sin ti.

Quiero alas y volar al centro de la tierra.

Quiero conocer el cielo y el infierno y luego decidir que es lo que quiero.

Quiero una eternidad efímera que dure un segundo y continuar viviendo un siglo más.

Quiero el abrazo de un niño.

Quiero necesitar amor.

Quiero que me echen de menos, pero antes de morir, no después.

Quiero conjugar todos los verbos, pero con acciones.

Quiero que Dios exista y que la maldad desaparezca.

Quiero que Dios sea mujer y nos guíe mejor.

Quiero amor en todos los corazones.

Quiero que el amor sea la moneda de cambio.

Quiero lanzarme en paracaídas y nunca caer.

Quiero descubrir héroes reales.

Quiero ser el héroe y el villano de tu película.

Quiero correr un maratón alrededor del mundo.

Quiero ser vampiro y morderte el cuello.

Quiero cancelar el odio, la envidia y el rencor.

Quiero escenas bonitas y noticias buenas.

Quiero mil cosas para ti y nada para mi.

Quiero que los niños sean inmunes al dolor y al sufrimiento.

Quiero repartir mi amor, y compartir tu dolor.

Quiero donar mi corazón para que crezca.

Quiero pedir perdón sin mencionar mis pecados.

Quiero que el futuro esté presente cuando mi pasado sea juzgado.

Y aunque parezca difícil.

Quiero ser bueno. 

The End

©US Copyright Office — Submitted / Pending

Edmundo Barraza
Lancaster, Ca. 8-25-2015


I bet you’ll die with a smile. I wish I could see it. 

But I know I’ll die first because, seeing what you’ve been through your whole life, you must be immortal and indestructible. 

Your guitar is an instrument that connects your brain to your heart and soul. 

Or is it all the way around?

And you transmit all your feelings with your fingers.

And if you add the correct lyrics. You’ll incite a riot. 

And your lyrics and riffs will echo in my bones.

Love gone bad, cheating, mistrust, lies, suffering, double crossings, deception, and abandonment. 

We can find all devastating adjectives in your lyrics. And yet we believe you because we know you’re an expert. You have been the cause and the effect of all those feelings.

You’re an authentic, soulful blues man. You borrow alien sentiments and affections. 

You instigate young and old minds with messages of rebellion and mutiny. 

You twist and wring love and devotion and turn them into evil provocations. 

Beautiful music inspired by a black sound that the masses had ignored for decades. 

Exporting it back to the blind ears of America. Transformed into ‘devil’s music.’ 

Your image is a symbol of revolt and anarchy affecting generations. 

And for decades, you fooled us because you were a humble and sincere human being. 

The man was so gentle that, without a doubt could be called a gentleman.

Like all good brothers, great artists, and great bands whose members had contrasting egos, you fought with your own.

But now, we know it’s all good. 

All blues and sad music had to come from misery, anguish, and desolation. But you never suffered; you were always having a great time. So you convinced me I was wrong. 

How could you create such music without living a miserable life or going through hell?

You had to scrape the shit right off your shoes with your overloaded acoustics to create a devil full of sympathy. 

You were always trouble, it seemed. A Houdini in reverse. Never wanting to disappear. 

A consummate monkey reaching for coconuts can also fall from a palm tree and end up like a pirate with a broken skull. 

Never a dull moment, indeed.

The End

Lines inspired after watching “Under The Influence.” About the life of Keith Richards. 

Edmundo Barraza

Lancaster, Ca. Dec-19-2015 

Method Actor

The main actor was a little precocious, even for a three-year-old kid. He required naps in between takes. He also demanded milk and cookies during breaks. His real name was Lucius Night, which was perfect for the role. There was no need to change it.

We started shooting on Halloween Day. It was his first movie. The title was a little bit grandiose: “Apocalyptic Moons.” The film was supposed to be a one-location-two actors-no-budget kind of deal. Nevertheless, the aspirations were high. 

The main actor was a little precocious, even for a three-year-old kid. He required naps in between takes. He also demanded milk and cookies during breaks. His real name was Lucius Night, which was perfect for the role. There was no need to change it.

The post-apocalyptical barren land mentioned in the script couldn’t be found in the area, even though we were in the middle of the desert. The absence of adequate transportation for the cast and crew was an impediment. 

Lucius’ mom offered her house, and the front yard was used instead. The post-production team and the special effects department would be working overtime. —and for free also— Luckily, the old camera from the 90s came with a zoom. Now, we could turn the miniature Godzilla into a monster bigger than the Statue of Liberty. The trick was to experiment with new tricks. Sometimes, dumb ideas look good on film (or digital.)

Halloween decorations were set. A huge inflatable menacing cat was the main attraction. It moved its head sideways. The dark, pessimistic story also mentions humongous spiders devouring humans. If only we could find a little spider.

The scene called for Lucius’ immense abilities as a ninja warrior to save Katana Luna —his one-year-old little sister— from the ferocious cat and its deadly claws. The director told Lucius to ignore previous instructions. Instead, this time he should look at the camera. He had to imagine the camera was the enemy and that he was attacking a powerful enemy. The camera was placed on top of a two-step ladder. No funds were available for a tripod.

Katana Luna was at the mercy of the monstrous feline only a few feet away. The cat seemed to be enjoying the moment. It intentionally took its time, knowing its future meal had no escape. The cat prolonged the suffering by moving in slow motion toward the victim. Inch by inch, the cat approached Katana. At that precise instant, nobody knew how Katana could be saved. 

Out of the blue, Lucius Night appeared in a close-up with a sword in hand attacking . . . the camera?

Brando had never been this good.

Of course, the movie was never finished.

The budget was so low; we couldn’t get a replacement camera.

The End

*Especial thanks to my grandkids Lucius Night and Katana Luna for volunteering their talents.

Edmundo Barraza

Lancaster, Ca. Jan-30-2018