If everyone on Face Book was to pucker up in a kiss ad for a
beautiful planet we can be like a song. We can be Heroes just for one day and
forever and ever.
Saturday, November 29, 2014
Monday, November 17, 2014
See book. Read movie. LOL
In The South Bronx, when I was a boy who wanted to earn an
NYPD gold shield, I followed footprints in snow that lead me to the home of
Where The Wild Things Are.
Write what you know, Danny, advised Ms Raesade, beloved 6th
grade English teacher who believed I would write The Great American Novel. I
know The Hunt’s Point Public Library was my Fortress of Solitude and The Bat
Cave to boot up ideas.
In spite of having Patience and Fortitude, I got tired of
waiting for Super Man.
I wanted to go where no one has ever gone before. I wanted to be a science officer to make
computers talk. I found a book called From Sand Tables To Electronic Brains.
I recall this because of a photographic memory in childhood
enhanced by gifted ones.
Imagination is more important than knowledge, Albert
Einstein wrote to me in this mansion of geniuses that made me feel like Richie
Rich in The South Bronx
I have a dream for The City That Never Sleeps.
I dreamt of Supreme Court Justice Sonia Sotomayor reading
from her book from her hometown libraries to inspire future dreamers with
homework on Earth as I figured how to do my homework on creating a tour book to
draw tourists to The South Bronx. To quote Supreme Court Justice Sandra Day
O’Connor, no one gets a dream done alone.
That applies to a former South Bronx resident who wrote We,
The People in 1776.
I’ve been around like The Man In Black sang. I was a US
Marshal or Lone Ranger
Reckon its high noon to serve this here NYPL warrant for
arrested development.
Book them, Dano. Poetic Justice writes again on sunset of
centuries and sunrise
Once upon a time at The Public Library, the boy I was found
A Winkle In Time.
Know the past. Just never repeat bad things in history
again. Find the future.
This has been a mural of words for dreams and other planes
of existence.
I died in The South Bronx of America and went to Google
Heaven
Thanks for sharpening super visions, NYPL.
It’s my time to make you see.
See book. Read movie
Hope sequel’s better
LOL
First Cell Contact With The Better Aliens of Human
Imagination by Dan Aponte
Saturday, November 15, 2014
See Book, Read Movie
On Veteran’s Day, I heard “What the F you crying about?” I
looked through a peephole and saw a black man shout at his 4-year son who was
trying to climb up the stairs.
Then came the smell of pot in the hallways.
Instead of teaching his kids how to read, do math and draw,
he’s getting high while his five kids run back and forth for days and nights so
loud a stampede I can’t concentrate on watching 12 Years A Slave. I’m watching another crop of criminals to be
harvested by illegal chokeholds and bullets. If You See Something Say Something
A Mind Is A Terrible
Thing To Waste
Welfare took them out of plantation of poverty and into
building across funeral home and across river is Riker’s Island Prison. At night I stare out the window and Win98 to
write on Death’s Row with Jesus and Apostles behind me on kitchen clock.
Every night I run out of time and I would be so blessed to
get a last supper.
Stress is a killer
and here comes Black Friday and men without jobs.
Welcome to the belly of The South Bronx of America
I’m just a hobo with a library card. What can I do?
I’ll think of something to change the world.
First Cell Contact With The Better Aliens Of Our Human
Nature by D. Angel Aponte
Monday, November 10, 2014
I have to pay rent to prevent homelessness by selling story
on using movie logic to solve homework assignment on making tour book to draw
tourists to The South Bronx.
Good-bye South Bronx.
Hello South of France.
Life on Face Book is better than the next Great American
Novel of the 21-Century.
Fairy tales can come true if you’re young at heart, Old Blue
Eyes sang in my brain.
And here’s my mind’s MRI to prove I died and went to Google
Heaven.
Saturday, November 8, 2014
Bronx Bucket List: Get Oscar For My Own Misery!
I spat out blood violently in front of two cops.
They called an ambulance: ETA in 9 minutes. Officer Gonzales
of the 41 Precinct and FDNY medics asked the same question: Have I been to West
Africa lately?
I wish.
I’ll do anything to get out of The South Bronx.
I always wanted to travel Earth and beyond.
Oxygen mask on as sirens wailed in rain.
Oh my! How exciting! An adventure!
I spent 10 hours on a bed at Lincoln Hospital.
I saw young and old crowded in ER. They all were like
children afraid of the dark.
Health care workers of different nationalities talked about
movies as they surrounded me. A medic strapped on gloves with a snap and a
smile. You remind me of Dexter, I said. Please don’t kill me. He laughed. Blood
work came back fine. No Ebola. No HIV. No Tuberculosis. X-rays came back fine.
No Cancer. My heart bled in gratitude.
I thanked every professional for his or her service.
I thanked God like a little boy saved from lions.
Ulcer, blood pressure too high and a violent reaction to Advil
were the reasons I was spitting blood like an actor screaming in agony in Alien
and gory sequels galore.
I humbly ate two hamburgers at Mickey D. They tasted so good
without extra salt.
I drank pineapple juice. I walked home past a park under
stars and saw new country.
I saw The Wonder Years go on forever for future generations.
Truthfully, I’m dying for salty fried chicken wings.
And hot sauce hotter than Hell.
It would taste so sweet.
It would be Heaven.
Friday, November 7, 2014
Homer
I spat out blood violently in front of two cops.
They called an ambulance: ETA in 9 minutes. Officer Gonzales
of the 41 Precinct and FDNY medics asked the same question: Have I been to West
Africa lately?
I wish.
I’ll do anything to get out of The South Bronx.
I always wanted to travel Earth and beyond.
Oxygen mask on as sirens wailed in rain.
Oh my! How exciting! An adventure!
I spent 10 hours on a bed at Lincoln Hospital.
I saw young and old crowded in ER. They all were like
children afraid of the dark.
Health care workers of different nationalities talked about
movies as they surrounded me. A medic strapped on gloves with a snap and a
smile. You remind me of Dexter, I said. Please don’t kill me. He laughed. Blood
work came back fine. No Ebola. No HIV. No Tuberculosis. X-rays came back fine.
No Cancer. My heart bled in gratitude.
I thanked every professional for his or her service.
I thanked God like a little boy saved from lions.
Ulcer, blood pressure too high and a violent reaction to Advil
were the reasons I was spitting blood like an actor screaming in agony in Alien
and gory sequels galore.
I humbly ate two hamburgers at Mickey D. They tasted so good
without extra salt.
I drank pineapple juice. I walked home past a park under
stars and saw new country.
I saw The Wonder Years go on forever for future generations.
Truthfully, I’m dying for salty fried chicken wings.
And hot sauce hotter than Hell.
It would taste so sweet.
It would be Heaven.
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