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manny a moreno

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Member Since: Sep, 2007

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Selon tout le monde, Theodore Merlin souffre d’un mal de ventre, d’une maladie bénigne, d’une indigestion, (comme on dit souvent) d’un ballonnement, après avoir dégusté d..  
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I Dread
by manny a moreno
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Not rated by the Author.
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Recent poems by manny a moreno
•  The Tree
•  Sleepless Night In Stockton
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Dreading the changes happening in the San Joaquin Valley of California


Grandpa Hawk perched in a tree

looked down at me on a stump

gazing at fields being primed

for the advancement of the times

and asked unassumingly:

What is in your heart?

And so I began to speak;

I dread this alien rat race

mirrored in congested big city phlegm

manifest-destiny all over again

mixing into this country world

like oil with water

strangers with shark-like expressions

convoluting the landscape

in Hummers Volvos SUV’s

along with their collective wannabe’s

I dread this transformation of new homes and buildings

expanding like popcorn no locals can afford

I dread this attack of the new-age Borg;

Resistance Is Futile-You Must Assimilate

I dread these pimps of poorly planned progress

for pathetic self-profit

I dread taking scenic drives in the country

thundering with traffic thick as bees on honey

being forced to find places away from

familiar places where technology

yet has targeted its thoughtless tentacles

and capitalist clowns have yet proclaimed

their arrogant game of eminent domain

places where open spaces still be free of idiot boxes

blasting gangster obscenities

where no yuppies have fenced off areas once always open and free

of eyes of steel and robotic gates and fortresses of concrete

high as prison walls

and grandpa Hawk looked at me with eyes of wisdom and said;

listen,

listen to us

winged ones

four leggeds

insects

trees

rivers

as we sing our death

songs,

then grandpa Hawk flew off into the blue,

and I rose from the stump

for a bulldozer was coming

and I could no longer stay.  

 

 

 

Poetry Of many Moreno

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Reviewed by Glenda Bixler 9/6/2008
Ahhhh, I sit here among the 13 acres of trees surrounding my small log cabin and I am thankful I left the city where I worked that is also changing as you describe...And it will never stop...that is what is sad!

Reviewed by Poetess of The Soul Sheila G 2/20/2008
That EAGLE with a visonal eye enthralls my mind!
Your poem is descriptive to say the least!
A world going awry is truly scary!
This poem brought many tears and sadness to my heart, for what I have been feeling all along!
In a world gone wrong! as I try and stay POSITIVE!
May the red tailed hawks send messages far and near, to the spirits who care everywhere!
Write On!
and WELCOME! to the den, my door is always O P E N!
Warmest Blessings and Peace, Warrior Lady Sheooxoo

STay Positive! STay STrong!
Reviewed by Charlie 11/27/2007
Holy Cow! You said exactly what I'm experiencing. I grew up on a 1000 acre farm in S. Idaho. 26 first cousins in a square mile, and running bare-footed through the fields, the pasture, the zig-zagging ditches laced with siphon tubes. I was so FREEEEEE!!! Now life is mapped out on a grid--on the grid. At least 3000 people now live where once lived maybe 20 families. The pastures are all subdivided and fenced in--organized insanity. What a waste of humanity. How can the spirit soar, when life is plotted out for you in such way? Our children cannot run free as we did. Even my dogs cannot roam free--collars, tags and chains around their necks so they can walk "legally" around the miniscual block. Boy have you nailed it--and with such fluidity of words. A musical rant. I love it. --Charlie
Reviewed by Axilea MU 11/24/2007
Stunned by the power of your words, so true, so accurately descriptive.
"I dread these pimps of poorly planned
progress for pathetic self-profit "
Clear and uncompromising with meaningful alliterations.

You are looking from a different perspective and described what most people have become unable to see. Which is also the meaning of poetry.
"areas once always open and free
of eyes of steel and robotic gates
and fortresses of concrete
high as prison walls "

Great imagery till the very last words.

Axilea
Reviewed by Amber Moonstone 11/24/2007
Greetings, Manny,
Welcome to AD, I saw that you were tracking me and I wanted to check out your page. I am very impressed with your work. I shall look forward to reading your postings.
Thank you for visiting my page.
Much Blessings and may the great spirit live within your soul and guide you to greatness.
Peace, love, and Light,
Amber "V"
Reviewed by Karen Palumbo 10/21/2007
A very elogantly poignant tale as to the fate of what is already here and what is yet to come. So sad when quiet, serene places are eaten up by what we all call progress.....

Be safe,
Karen
Reviewed by Walt Hardester 10/21/2007
This composition shines in it's poetic beauty of a world gone mad. Very perceptive and well done.
Welcome to AD.

Walt
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