Emanuel E. Garcia - Poetry and SPOKEN WORD

Poetry and spoken word by writer Emanuel E. Garcia


The question was an innocent one,

A good one, for the precocious child

Was puzzled: his favourite hero Heracles –

Or Hercules – no less, was he a god or man?

Because his second favourite, Odysseus,

Saw him in the underworld …


His father hemmed and hawed


And the son noticed how often he glanced at his watch,

This strong goodly man, that afternoon,

And how he appeared to be in a great hurry

After dinner


Emanuel E. Garcia

August 2014


April in Paris

Or autumn in Schenectady,

For falling stars and moonlight

It’s the same old smooth routine


No matter how we kneel

Or even if we topple in,

No matter how we rue

Our squandering

A death is just a death,

No bridge

And this, the rag they left us with,

As common as a tablecloth –


Though more reliable when hoisted high

For cloaking sin


Emanuel E. Garcia

August 2014



Upon the threshing floor,

Blinding walls chill inquiry,

Hoarse dusty voices bark

A song far off


But for my amulets

I am bare


Why should I listen,

Why should I believe

The tapestries and stratagems,

The sieges laid against a tyrant night,


Eternal voyages for redemptive fruit


The dance begins to claim my better self


I welcome you

To lay your armor at the door


I want only whispers


Emanuel E Garcia

July 2014



I opened up my fields

Not just to other farmers

But to ordinary folk

That they might see

How certain crops are sown and grow,

How trees take root and

Grasses multiply,

How weeds and insects also thrive


No matter how I’ve planned and tilled

The things that flourish – and

The things that go to seed –

Are always unimaginable

To me


And more for you


Emanuel E. Garcia

July 2014



I knew my father was an


And that his Labyrinth was

More than just a dancing-ground:

It was a maze

With no way out

Unless you had the wiles

To find an open door


So when he gave his word

That clear forever endless day among the clouds

Can I be blamed for taking it

Not literally, but with a

Grain of salt?


Emanuel E. Garcia

July 2014


They’re not far off, really,

The hills


From my window

As I fret and loiter

I always seem to see the two of us

Moving along the underbrush


And from my bed through the

Upper half of the pane

The ridge is visible

Even at night

Against the thin rim of sky,

Especially at night,

Dark on dark


It would be so much easier

To turn ourselves in,

You with your blinkers,

Me with my disguise


But for the bas relief

We here,

We momentary make


Emanuel E. Garcia

June 2014


It’s funny where ideas come from


For instance, it was only after

The pit popped out of the avocado

And rolled along the countertop

And I stopped it just as it was about

To go over the edge

That I thought I should hold onto it


I like avocados, in season,

Thanks to my mother the health nut,

So I licked off the fruit,

Washed the pit, washed my hands

And started a collection


They were just the right size,

A lot less cumbersome than a baseball


I had about three dozen stacked up

In a tall jar which I kept hidden in my room


When things got a little rough at school

I used to lie in wait with my cache

Behind a hedge


They didn’t have the density of stones

So they couldn’t do much damage


But they were accurate


Emanuel E. Garcia

June 2014

Seal in Eastbourne by Emanuel E. Garcia

Seal in Eastbourne by Emanuel E. Garcia


Relax (alright, do your best),

Shuffle off the crust of the day,

Move into a quiet space –

If possible, just the right temperature

For your preference –

With interest, expectation, curiosity,

But not too much


As you take a poem in hand

Remember – especially if you write poetry yourself –

You’re not the only one to have a good idea or

Coin a pretty turn of phrase,

Or more


Give the voices of the poem

A break:

After all, they’re only human,

They can be indecisive and unclear,

Like you, and they mostly can’t be counted on

To say exactly what they think they mean


And about meaning: that’s up to you

No matter what the poet says,

In prose no doubt,

About his poem, or hers


I saw a seal today

Lying on the rocks:

Its eyes were closed,

The waters of the harbor rippled up and down,

The seagulls squawked, kids squealed,

At a distance


The animal, so sleek, was breathing quietly


I knew it felt

The waters and the gulls,

The tremors of the air and earth


It was a long way from its haunts,



So I concluded it had swum here

On a whim


Languid and alert it let

The music of its respite sound

Before the plunge and journey home,

Or maybe to some other destination


Aware of danger, nourishment,

And joy


Emanuel E. Garcia

June 2014

The worst want everything and then some

But the best of us desire
Only just a little more
Than we deserve


Emanuel E. Garcia

June 2014