The Streets Paved in Gold – Poem by Bob Almodovar

“The Streets Paved in Gold”
By Bob Almodovar
___________

The little girl hugged her mother warmly, one last time.
They had to hurry to catch the flight, and they had bags
to carry. “Goodbye Janna. I will write often.” Yuri said
to his wife, pulling away. “Why can’t Mama come too”, Luda
asked, tears streaming. “She will, but later”, Yuri assured.

America was the place to go to find a good life. The Soviet
Union had finally opened its doors, and streams of Russian
citizens would walk through them, leaving loved ones
behind, in some cases, forever. Yuri, a carpenter by trade,
was sure he would make a new beginning for his family here.

What a sight when the plane finally touched down. They had
reached the promised land, as spontaneous cheers filled the
aircraft. It was a dream come true for all of them. It took a good
portion of his savings to find a place for them to stay for awhile.
“Tomorrow I must find work”, Yuri thought.

Employment was tough coming, and the language was a problem
for Yuri, who didn’t know anyone in this new land. Life was faster
and less forgiving here. Yuri did some odd jobs, mostly janitorial,
but money was scarce and services were not available. “When is
Mama coming?” Luda would ask often.

After a while, Yuri had no answer for his seven year old. The
months passed as things worsened. Though willing to work, Yuri
could not find a job. When the money ran out, he and Luda were
forced into shelters. “How will Mama know where we are?” Luda
asked. “It will be alright”, Yuri replied.

The shelter offered no protection for its inhabitants. Yuri was
beaten up several times and robbed of their few belongings.
Complaints to caretakers brought no results. There was a full
moon out that night. Yuri awoke Luda and took her up to the
roof to “see the full moon”, he said, the little girl’s eyes wide.

“Come here my daughter and we will fly together”, Yuri said
to Luda, standing on the ledge. “Oh papa, I’m afraid”, she replied.
With those words, the two launched themselves landing six stories
down to the cold sidewalk. The lights of emergency vehicles
shone across the blood filled street, giving it a gold-like shimmer.

*Photo Credits: Photo by TalkingTree (Steven Erat) on flickr

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The Dancer- Poem by Bob Almodovar

“The Dancer”
By Robert Almodovar

_____

The music peaked with white-hot notes
That scorched the air and bade those bodies
To gyrate in flares and twirls.

The wooden floor enhanced the sound of
Heels as if to give applause and praise
so they would hear that all is going well.

On center stage, a figure flowed in full control of
All the hearts of all the men that begged for
Just a glance, perhaps a smile to make their day.

And as she turned, a smile appeared with
Fire dripping from her eyes that sent the
Music fever high then tumbling to a crashing end.

Then laughter’s echoes in the halls soon faded into
Memories as hard realities replaced
The feather-light buoyancy of that night.

The fire in her eyes cooled as she gazed into
Far away places and days of struggle, sweet with
Hope and promise of eternal bliss.

Now time for chores and obligations that
Lay before her like steps beneath her feet,
And define her adequate existence.

Thoughts of the next getaway fill her head
As she turns the key and enters to realize
How cold a house can feel when love is not at home.

*Photo Credits: photo by V О И on flickr

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What Is Life – By Robert Almodovar

“What is Life”

By Robert Almodovar

——–

What is life: A strange continuous awareness
we have been thrust into without plan or sound advice.

What is space: A medium in which we may move about
or stare into, longingly.

What is time: A massive event into which life spans
and which there is always too much of, or too little.

What is I: This fragile protector of my soul and
collector of questions for which I have no answers.

What is you: The entity that draws out all my uncertainties
and makes them complete, and on which I look and I see me.

What is beauty: That which when I look out into space and see,
is pleasing to me such that it draws me closer,
even in the face of peril.

What is passion: A raging being within me that looks
only to join that which is me with that which is you.

What is love: An harmonious connection of I and you
so complete, that I only makes sense with you.

What is peace: A certain serenity in the knowledge that
love is true and complete, and forever.

What is hell: The absence of you.

———–

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