Friendship is such an ethereal experience. How does one describe it? Visceral? Intellectual? As children making that new friend, perhaps it is just the idea of not being alone in a crowd of small individuals, or maybe something about that other kid caught your attention-a toy, a coat, a color they wore-or perhaps they saw you alone and being a of a gregarious nature asked you to join in the fun. Or just asked if you wanted to play. Or perhaps circumstances put you together and in doing so found you had more than just the circumstances in common.

Ethereal doesn’t quite capture friendship, but to describe the almost mystical, almost spiritual facets of a bond that is formed outside of the physical realm, it is almost extra-dimensional…plus, I like the word and how it just rolls off the tongue as if casting a spell!

Friendship is eternal! It surpasses the boundaries of time and space sending echoes to the corners of the universe. It is passed down from generation to generation and gifted to individuals found worthy. The pain of its loss is felt in its absence.

Below is a paean to a friend, a friendship given with no strings and to this day, even time has failed to erode the sheen of his gift:

Childhood friends
I stopped by your old house the other day,
But a ghost answered.
I mean..not really a ghost..
but my memory of who you were.
Last I saw you, your beard was full and white, but my memory is not very adept at remembering that old picture.
I see the ghost of the kid I met at 14 yrs old with a full black beard and I always wondered how the hell you did that???
Being naive at that age with too much wisdom of working hard on a ranch I had no idea of differences.
It was the first school I attended where I actually had time to make friends and so you and others formed my circle of friends.
Ghosts come and go..
Some become spirits that evaporate in the wispy winds of our minds..
Others imprint themselves on our soul and write part of their life stories on our souls..
They help create who we are and hopefully they leave a wonderful story to tell our children when they are gone…
Perhaps that is why I went in search of you today, my old friend..
I was hoping to add another chapter to the story..or have completed your story and I didn’t know you began a new book in another universe unreachable to me yet.
If so..then I will miss your incisive insults, the simple wisdom you spoke at the oddest of times and the unabashed daring in doing things that others thought were beyond you.
But more than anything, I miss the moments of friendship that dissolved years of absence as if we were neighbors.
You were always my better in a conversation of equals but spoke with the humility of my friend.


Opinions are so biased!

I’m conversing with a fellow,
Whose opinion is of value..
To him..
To his sycophants..
BUT yet!!!
Means naught..
To a herd of Elephants!
What the hell does THAT^^^..mean?
It means…
That yours,
…is yours..AND..
Mine is mine!
Sometimes there’s a meaning if you can read between..
The lines!

Is God real?

Someone, perhaps someones,
wrote a book one day..
In rhythmic praises,
Colored it in pretty phrases…
Claimed it was God written, thus sublime..
One person read it one day, well..
Maybe more than one day,
Said to their friends..
Have you seen,
Have you read..
The awefilled new book of poetry making the rounds?
So two more, mayhap more than it and the readers..
Became a gathering of sorts,
Then a cult,
Of course..
Then a horde which became a horde of cults..
Which became a multitude..
Of the word so beautiful, that they called it sacred and proclaimed…this word will feed the multitude!
This is truly the Word of God,
At the least..God-inspired,
Called it scripture,
And religion was born.
Woe to thee, if ever you see,
Fault in the Word,
For at the drop of a scripture,
In God’s own gripsurely a prophet righteous..
Will call down the horde,
And might just..begin
another war of the word!

a PARADOXICAL state-dependent ASSOCIATIVE phenomenon..5-17-1

Jessie EcheverriaMay 21, 2019 · a PARADOXICAL state-dependent ASSOCIATIVE phenomenon..5-17-1

I once remembered you in a dream,
But not a dream..
I was awake…
Ambulatory in a musing,
Though not a thought of my own choosing..
They come and go,
go and come..
A visual exclamation..
Remind of things..
Some perhaps imagined,
Some done to fruition.
I have no explanation nor hesitation..
In claiming these my own..
Though no tether to persuade and though rare and few..
You never know when a thought sneaks through..
For me,
For you…I’m sure..
It’s just a case of De’ja’ Vu.

Remember when Kobe and his little girl died?

Jessie EcheverriaJanuary 26 · IT’S OKAY, DAD IS WITH ME

What was your favorite color?
I’m sure your mama knows.
She knows every little thing about you..
Doesn’t she?
Knows every lil toe..
every lil finger..
The wonder of you!
Of a little girl whose face she could only imagine for 9 months,
Until you made your grand entrance into the world,
With all of a child’s wonder,
A baby’s charm..yassss!
I want all of these lines to rhyme for you,
to be right,
make sense..
But then,
It wouldn’t be life,
Would it?
And death wouldn’t have to remind us,
How beautiful,
or excruciating,
How wonderful..
The ups..
And downs of life..
How sad we are today,
but how happy must heaven be!


Jessie EcheverriaMay 27 · BULLET: Stealing time!

I heard your gun last night!
You fired off your anger!
A warning into the night,
my name anonymous written on the explosion of your unspoken threat!
A promise..
..unspoken to the few and the demons that possess you!
To me, whatever you deem control-able,
….or maybe beyond your control!
Shall I fear my death?
Your reprisal?
..more than the denunciation of a life..
..reduced to cowering inside four walls
hoping you don’t hear us?
..hear me? Or..
Shall I ride your anger?
..your hatred of life?
….of yourself?
……of me?
Shall I surf the waves of animosity?
…venting out your skin like watching heat waves from the sun beating on black pavement? odor of passive-aggresive malice
wafting like a dark nimbus round your body like a shield!
Shall I ride above the fray?
..of your frayed character?
..for my children,
…for my life?
Only a bullet lovingly coated with hate can stop time!


Jan 29th, 2020


Sometimes a man,
Ain’t all he’s supposed to be!
Sometimes we fall,
Can’t count 1, 2, 3.
I beg your forgiveness,
To just let me be…
I saw a little girl die,
Crickets chirrupped quietly,
Cuz no one knew her name.
I felt the pain just the same.
And I write this for you,
Cuz..well cuz,
Sometimes a man
Ain’t all he’s stacked up to be!
Sometimes we fail,
Can’t count 1 to 3.
Bless me Lord,
I just can’t see.
The world is dying,
Bees are mostly gone,
Sunshine beckons me,
But it’s all but death, ya see.
Black Betty hymnal rocks quietly in my head,
Whilst I reach for my final beer..cuz..well, cuz
Sometimes a man,
He ain’t cut out to be,
Strong when he’s alone!
Madly counting 1, 2, 3.
Comfort me in your prayer,
My soul no longer wants to be.
The sun beats down on me,
I feel the clown laugh in glee,
For there’s no more shade or tree..
I mumble 1 to 3,
The oceans are gone
Nothing left you see!
Sometimes men,
They just aren’t meant to be!
Dinosaurs…bones is alls left of them and me.

LOST..4-21-19 to 07/16/2020

LOST..4-21-19 to 07/16/2020

Can I tell you about the lights?
If you squint real hard they look like fireflys?
Nighttime butterflys?
If you look between them,
You can see time slippin’ through?
..and it’s beautiful to watch the world unravel.
Can I ask you..
Have you ever seen the morning?
When it comes flowing in,
With a shawl of clouds wrapped about its withers?
Shall I tell you about all the worries,
They slow and fade..
At the beginning of,
too, the end of the day?
There is a time for..
Might I ask..
Do yo only look at..or,
Can you taste the beauty of unseen..
Close the eyes and hear the quiet of pretty?
Where is a port in the storm?
Difficult to be,
Hard to see when the winds are howlin’
like banshees in their millions.
So you look around in confusion,
Squint and focus on the lights,
Taste the beauty of the nights,
Then you start all over…
One more day.
Is it hope less?
Shall I go on,
or should I not?
Brother, can you spare a tear?
Or even a slightly used laugh?
In a moment of introspection..
When all the voices turn silent..
is when the truth sprinkles round you like a warm drizzle of jungle rain..
Whilst in the middle of a place not quite imagined..
Much less believe you’re in..
and your voice drones in your head,
With that monotonous refrain of sweet nothings..
You remember whispers riding on notes carried across a slight expanse in some willing ear..
you went on too long, though
and forgot to say what you really felt..
And the lights dim and die like the future moments you thought you had and didn’t realize there was no more road..
Just one big light trying to get you to come in.
Lost in a lost world…a plagiarized line from a moody blues song chases you down a rabbit hole and you echo carbon matter back to the universe that birthed you in a last bid for immortality.
Good night and God Speed..
We never die..


I wrote this poem on March 14, 2020. The world has not only been turned upside down, but twisted in so many ways, I feel it is trying to tell us something. Of course, we are not listening or are unable to discern what it is exactly trying to say. We are so busy living our lives that we can’t see what is dying around us. This is a study in contemplation when death comes to visit so unexpectedly, it leaves you breathless and breathing in sobs and stutters.

On the 24th of February, my younger sister passed away. Granted, she was 54 yrs old but that is relatively young in comparison to the current life expectancies these days. I’m 62.

That’s neither here nor there, truly, in what I’m getting at. She went into the hospital on a Friday and lasted a week with a little bit of hope that she would recover and be well. Deep down, I think we all were holding out hope like folks always do when the unbearable casts a large shadow across the room. She was in an induced coma to help her recover but she developed a fever and complications and so many tubes and machines doing all the work for her that 10 days later she succumbed to the inevitable, although we didn’t want to face that! Her lungs gave out and her organs begin shutting down as well as our hopes and we finally succumbed, as well, to the unacceptable!

We said our goodbyes and then emerged from our dark family conclave in time to realize there was a pandemic starting to creep its way into the world. As much as I would love to see my family, we have been in isolation like everyone else trying to bring this monster down. And yes, there are questions in my mind whether there was any relation in my sister’s passing and what is going on!

Which brings me to my 2nd portion regarding the butterfly flapping its wings and a hurricane occurs on the opposite side of the world:

Early civilizations called the world Gaia and gave this world all the anthropomorphic qualities in order to understand how the world works. We, however, are so much smarter that the old civilizations..right? Ever since all this pandemic stuff started, I’m not so sure anymore.

I’ve watched the Documentary titled “ONE STRANGE ROCK” on Netflix and one of the most interesting points made was that the Earth maintains an OXYGEN level of 21% at all times, somehow, no matter what the idiot human species does to screw it all up. How the hell does that happen? Science can always explain things but how can this be just science or coincidence if this planet is not alive but a chunk of rock that happens to be made of or originated from CARBON when the human race is also carbon? Ima gonna rely on the metaphysical now! Not religion as much as an abstract reality, hard to grasp and even less able to be proven or believed! Lol..

WHAT IF: the world is alive and has decided it needs a chance to breathe and recoup from all the damage human beings have caused and it is unable to catch it’s breath so as a runner needs to stop moving to catch their breath, maybe this pandemic is Earth’s way to stop the insanity of man to allow it to catch up and reset things some. Perhaps not purposely killing people but genetically it may have ways to defend itself from being killed by the people it has birthed. We, even the scientists don’t know everything about the world and God is also not in control, no matter how many religious folks say he/she/it is. If God is real and he created a living, thinking walking species known as man, why can’t he create a living sentient planet that we have no idea how it all works that it adjusts itself to all the species on its face?

WHAT IF: the Earth has run up against the clock and needs to do something now before it is too late? We’ve destroyed forests, scarred the face of a beautiful planet digging for riches, irradiated places with a technology we barely understand, polluted and dirtied the oceans and the land with the dumping of trash, killed and killing the reefs, the corals that provide homes to a myriad of sea life, blasted a hole that is just recovering in our ozone layer and spewed tons of pollutants into the very air we breathe and in our backward way loosed a pandemic of epic proportions into the world through our lack of understanding on how we are extinguishing life on this planet in our selfish desires to be on top of the food chain, not realizing every single organism from microbes to diatoms to guppies, frogs, bees all the way up to man, are interconnected and in killing the smallest, we are killing the greatest!! Be that man or leviathan!

WHAT IF: Douglas Adams had it right in his “HITCHHIKERS GUIDE TO THE GALAXY!” about Dolphins being THE intelligent species in the world and man is not as smart as he thinks? Perhaps the planet Earth..Gaia..has realized this and found a need to interfere to correct the wrongs we have perpetrated upon her! Or perhaps I’m only reaching for an explanation to the crazy, topsy-turvy world 2020 has become! Let’s get through this safely and lament what has been lost and hold up to the light what we have hopefully learned in our woeful response to the cries of our world!


You know those moments…
Moments when the only option is to step away?
Step back or lose yourself?
The maw of madness awaits..
A black hole of darkness,
Deep and unforgiving.
Climbing out is the trick.
So we turn to God..
Not realizing He is but a child playing in a sandbox?
Every grain of sand a celestial orb he gathered from the immensity of his reality to castles build..and…
Rarely does He know we exist..if at all!
We are but atoms in His sight..
Atoms in His sandbox..
That make up His reality as we beseech His mercy,
Not realizing..or knowing..
His judgement extends to what His fingertips touch.
He is not unkind, our Child-God..
But He is blind to us..much as microbes are to you and I,
And if He can not see, much less can He hear us..
But we hope!
We are the sand with which He plays..
And He creates His legacy..
While we shout,
Gnash our teeth in anger,
Speak at riddles hoping to discover..
To see if we can get God’s attention?
Is it chance..
Or a miracle when serendipity creates an answer?
Did God hear?
Or did He just decide at that moment to stand up,
and pour out a cup of water once his thirst sated,
while we believe God blessed us with rain..
Sad poets ask odd questions no one can answer…
While a God-Child plays amid the muck of make-believe ruinations,,and a preacher/pastor dances in the fire of his sermon adjuring the faithful to give to their belief..
To donate to an invisible being seen only by the righteous..
Give until it hurts!
And for some perhaps it does..the tithe tightening a belt ’round a waste of flesh in its sacrifice..
all so a God-Child will bless us with His presence..
In the background I hear strains of a song playing,
“and the band played on”,

I will emerge from darkness/from the cold lewd of anger/at what is lost/Let me bask in the light of the sun/while the heat of the day burns this husk of dismay from my soul/The cold of purgatory/ slams its gates upon my frozen limbs/as I return to the land of life/in honor of that which deep is buried/Your footprints remain/I will bask in their presence/bathe in the glow of their memory/in/the midst of their sorrow/I will taste of the moments/savor wondrous laughter that lights up our spirits/the beacons of hope visible in waning dusk.


This has links that will compensate the author of the poem if any purchases are made from said links.

She had a silken way of walking..
More like..
an ambulatory exhibition of wanton fascination,
aimed at the visual..
the optical nexus..
the focal point of sight…
A potion wending its way through the webs of a fertile imagination,
capturing every sinuous undulation of sexuality unfettered..

Little did the male men know..
It was never who she was,
It was what we made her..
A star,
A siren,
A seductress,
a purveyor of fantasies..

A load to carry,
heavy in expectation..
but no help,
and only the substance of empty words,
Empty love.

Marilyn Monroe was a star!
Billy Jean was not..
What we never saw,
Was what she knew!