A Simple Dream

I Have a Dream
That we can all be human for a moment
In this digital age
To stop running
And breathe

Food Clothes and Shelter
Forgotten mantra
As the End of Work nears
Computers replace woman and man
At checkout lines and lunch counters
Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
Corporations want version Sam I Am
A facebook post
A hologram

Today, we remember
He was not killed organizing for race, but class
So don’t speak to me in the company of big money
Unless you’re writing me a check
I will laugh

I speak to you direct, live from America
A happy meal afternoon
We have black Barbie dolls
And MTV will broadcast Quinceañeras for a few wealthy Mexicans
Imagine that, picking a multiracial bowl of fruit
Along the rios and acequias of lands
That could not be owned
On who’s land do we pray?

It is a corporate holiday, a heyday
No tax responsibility for corporations or the rich
While yes even the white poor
Become more poor
Explaining racism in the Obama era
Is like fracking for gold
You know it is there
But how can you name it
In-between swallowing holes?

But I have a Dream still
Beyond strategic ad placement
And public relations event mitigation
That one day we may
Sit three sides to the table
Each having looked at our own sexism and racism
Having seen past our own internalized divisions
Each having settled on a concrete commitment

To realize:

A living wage
A meaningful education
Creative space
Free health care
An opportunity for wealth of spirit, body, mind
A realistic goal in the richest nation
On the bluest planet
Ever known to mankind

I have a simple dream.

Extended epitaph for la blue eyes

En la memoria de mi abuela Susie Medina (maiden name Esquibel), 1915-2014
Rest now January 17th, 2014


Extended epitaph for la blue eyes
A weary traveler
She remained
In Western valleys
Stubbornly speaking Spanish
With pride her lips curled tight
Around dusty ways
That sting like scorpions

She survived a man
His vices
A brutal poverty
To grow branches
And branches growing leaves
With few smiles
Holding onto life
Through bitter chills

Here she rests now
Peace without a nest
Nestled without rest
Into hearts and minds
Of copper inheritance
Learning the contradictions
Of time

A brutal century
Releases water under roots
She is free
Wandering sky
Can her people see
Tumbling down this long windy road
We have learned?

- Molina Speaks

Open Letter: Homeless in Denver

January 7, 2014-

Dear Mayor Hancock,

I write to you to deliver an Open Letter.  I write out of respect for myself, my son, you as a man, and the many faces of our community of Denver.  I understand the economic pressures you face that challenge your role as Public Servant.  You approached me in Washington Park in the summer of 2011 and you asked for my vote.   I voted for you.  If you are who I think you are, I imagine that you will appreciate my letter, and any challenge it provokes from my fellow citizens.  I understand that a person in power can make brave moves only when the community at large is willing to match his or her will.  I wonder if my fellow citizens feel the way I do?

If you are not who I voted for, then all the more reason to write.

I wish for us all a better year in 2014.

Most Sincerely,

Molina Speaks

Concerning the Case of the Disappearance of the Homeless; An Open Letter to the Mayor of Denver, No Translation, No Comment (EP)

Produced by DJ Icewater.  Beat by Boonie Mayfield.

Molina Speaks - No Translation, No Comment

Art by Karma Leigh

On Resolve

Written on New Years Eve 2013-

The last splice of December sunlight peers through jagged winter branches, memories of cactus, above gray buildings, but it sinks.  It falls like heaven, like grace, leaving traces of soft blue sky that carries my clouds over the rockiest mountains of my life.  Bright orange flowers line my window seal, near relics of sea, relics of time, succulent twinges of honey moments set against a window pane that broadcasts narrow shadows. 

The world is round. 

This inner world meets the outer world, proving nothing new.  Eyes wander searching for the right words to write.  There is no science, nor math, no test that can administer these ideas, nor predict the outcome of these silhouettes that dance against a dull winter wall.  There is nothing haphazard here, nothing that was left to chance.  The candle flame sits in the ash from last night’s herb, revolving in its orbit.  Coffee grinds sit, marinating cold water.  Unpacked boxes broadcast sleepy thoughts and excitement of new adventures.  The sun continues to fall. 

A new narrative dances, winding up and back down like a staircase.  We were lucky to witness each other in this madness, to rise up from the predictability of civilization.  Nothing is fixed.  Choices mix with impermissible ideas, swayed by great winds.  We still have the trees to ground us, to fix us into the real.  Yet nothing is stagnant, we know.  I never digress, as the skyline will always change.  Every hour of changing light Everyday proves this.  We revolve in tension, without resolve. 

Yet I resolve… To be… Exactly as I wish to Be.