Slots Soliloquy

Unashamed, lifes not the same,
malevolent, reticent.
perplexed and insane,
a cauldron, a serpent.

Saliency is high,
reaching for the sky,
with little remedy,
quering why.

Chaos, malice,
bewildered eyes,
irate, wishing demise,
questing clemency and advise.

Inaudit, sobbing song,
a wrong string strung,
meaningless saga left behind,
biber dies, much resigned.


© Copyright Sergio A. Morales All Rights Reserved

 

“Slots Soliloquy”

This poem is dedicated to a non-legend left behind by an imbiber or alcoholic .When an individual is consumed by iniquity it is very hard to find an exit to real life. Living a life of in toxication is a gruesome experience. Ignoring reality one thinks that this is the right "modus vivendi" . There are many defficiencies or lackness of the most basic elements of human behavior.

It is a yoke that will haunt you until it destroys you. Abnegation overcomes all reasoning and answers all the questions to be answered. Everyone is wrong at the eyes of alcohol, but blind is the consumer carrying the burden. Emotions are icognito and alcohol the panacea to the quandary.

Deep in the soul there is emptiness filled to the point where the cup runneth over in despair,desolateness,loneliness,shamelessness,lack of self esteem, perversion, abhorement, self pity, atheism, deceit, carelessness, depression, hate, ignorance, gluttony, grotesqueness, lack of respect towards yourself and others, lack of humility, lack of humbleness, lack of life and many more attributes that enhance the beauty of this condemnation.of ebriety. Pacified waters that are really turbulent.

This isn't real life. The gusto and the light of life has been smothered to apoint of no return.

Once you have come to your senses and have accepted that consumption of alcohol is really no solution then and only then you begin to see life in its true perspective. The beginning is like a dream but eventually turns into a nightmare. When you wake up there are many interrogants that do not have answers. Aghast at the legacy and destruction left behind you commence to ask for forgiveness within your soul and you feel helpless. By this time it may be late in life and you must now deal with the plagues that will succumb you into the valley of illness until you take the last heartbeat. You die and burry your thoughts in that deep,hollow catafalque carrying malevolent thoughts without being able to justify your reasoning for being a sot. Without even saying you are sorry. For if you try to say you are sorry no one will be there to listen to you even though you really mean it from the bottom of your soul. No one will believe you, no one will believe you.! Take it from me!

Seraphin

Dead, in calm,
splendor realm,
Seraphins hold,
engrossing soul.

Peregrinating,
starry scope,
gleaming,
matriarch.

Vision,
or fiction,
holy smile,
pious rile.

Bereaved,
soul deceived,
immortal,
fatal.

Come back,
don’t awake,
let me shake,
for my sake.

Need you,
miss you,
hurting for you,
ailing, for blessing.


© Copyright Sergio A. Morales All Rights Reserved

“Seraphin”

This is a poem about a dream of mom. My dear mom her which I defied in moments of pain and despair. Her which I consoled when no one was around. Her which I embraced in my arms and told her how much I loved her. Her which knew I could cry to. Her which we both cried together. Her which I knew she would always be there for me. Her which I would fight and we would both cry. Her where if there was pain she would console me.Her which would share my pain and I would share hers. Her where she found reasoning in no reasoning. Her that fed me when I was hungry . Her which was my crying pillow. Her whom made dreams become reality. Her whom in moments of despair would shed light and protect me. Her which made painful time pass .fast. Her which would listen to me. Her whom would always have time for me. Her breath was my breath. Her soul was my soul. Her whom would never anger. Her whom would understand no matter what. Her which I would kiss her pink cheeks. Her who when blinded by malady I was there for. Her whom understood my pain. Her whom fought with me in combat and shared my pain. Her whom never doubted Gods mighty power. Her whom would preach constantly. Her whom taught me what steps to follow in life. Her who was a pacifist. Her whom I miss and I only see in dreams. Her whom I have no more but just memories. Her whom lives in me every moment of my life. Her whom I think of constantly. Her which brought relief when there seem to be none. Her whom taught what maternal love was. Her that will always live in me in spirit and soul. Her whom in the endless quest to find eternity knew ahead of me that here is such a thing as life after death either spiritually or physically. She may pass my path on her way to eternity and I happen to be on my way to Dantes’ inferno I can see her and say how much I love her. I love you mom.

 As I see it  feelings are gone nowadays as humans tie themselves to the materialistic aspect of things but they can’t help but cling on to them for they need them to survive. Those who do not have any spiritual or materialistic things do not worry because the system will provide it to them at no cost. So the ones that worked so hard to achieve these things have to be on guard from these unrealistic human beings. Is it a fault of the system or is it a fault of ours.

Fertility

There seems to be an air,
in space and time,
defying what is sublime,
is it space or is it time.

We dwelved in the gutters,
of sweltering heat,
looking for recognition,
instead of humiliation.

Where do we go from here,
sterilized women,
against Gods will,
with a radiation pill.

Women, only human,
just a sperm deposit,
where other powers,
can control their prowess.

Don.’t preach sancticity,
to a room in volatility,
look at fertility,
as a heavenly treaty.


© Copyright Sergio A. Morales All Rights Reserved

The Gift of Life

Erratic change has come ,
as time withers,
the rose and spice of youth,
endless rhyme, no tune.

Pigments have faded,
leaving traces on my eyebrows.
yet, smiles linger,
hidden gloom, not aglow.

No longer a strife,
with wild passions of life,
just bear the storm,
and linger on.

Fates the culprit,
weightless doom,
the calling will be soon,
destiny, is but a tomb.


© Copyright Sergio A. Morales All Rights Reserved 

Determination

Thought the tree won,t blossom,
nor fruits fill it’s soul,
the labor shall not fail,
for truth will assail.

All shall be heard,
and no one will dread,
the field will yield,
a blessed will.

Sweet sounds will adorn the field,
pronounced in joy and heard,
the power of knowledge,
wretch the babbling wedge.

Tortures will turn to rejoice,
a glowing breast of inspire,
rejoicing in freedom and fire,
a greatenesss of admire.

The scorn will be despair,
the cymbal of triumph,
will be there,
a cure of care.


© Copyright Sergio A. Morales All Rights Reserved

Destined to love you

Why was I destined to love you?
Knowing that love is so sweet and so bitter.
My deceived heart could not believe it,
and my soul refused to hear it.

The aura that glowed around you,
was so full of enchantment,
That a smile from you,
was a temple of enlightment.

I felt that I could yank the stars from the sky,
the way you lifted my heart so high,
and when our bodies touched,
didn’t realize life could offer so much.

Your breath emitted your daintiness,
as you opened my eyes with your touch,
Why was loving you so wrong,
was I naïve,or too young.

Now my heart sings a song of endless tunes,
as love ebbs like dessert dunes,
confused I ask what I should do.
Since I cannot stop loving you.


© Copyright Sergio A. Morales All Rights Reserved

Uris Rest

Mind,foul,
a howl,
quivering soul,
a prowl.

Silhoutte,
!Bang,!
lifeless torso,
bullet rang.

Shriek,
freak,
inaudit,
destined.

Begged,
kindness,
renegged,
led in head.

Laments,
priceless,
line read,
sentence, death.



© Copyright Sergio A. Morales All Rights Reserved

“Uris Rest”

How do we deal with taking away someone dearly and loved, Someone who has risen from the yoke of poverty. Someone whose mother use to bake bread early in the morning to take care of family and village. Cradling infant in deepness soul , in a twigged cradle.  Shoeless soul whom performed  surgeries based on good nature and lament in years of tears in poverty.

Roses

Thirty one roses embraced,
Willies bed,
array of beautiful roses,
layed in different poses.

One stood out most,
caressing Willie as  host,
yellow  rose in rest,
a shining path of zest.

Unwanted choice,
decided to depart,
left us without  heart,
just emptiness and tart.


© Copyright Sergio A. Morales All Rights Reserved

Willies Departure

Thirty one roses stowed,    
cover you incessantly,
questioning why,
a sudden good bye.

Crying,
sighing,
dying.,
denying.

Advocate of impediment,
no remorse,
no resent,
God sent.

A legacy rests,
“What could I do”
no strength,,
just ado.

My job is done,
must go,
I can’t go on
love you all……………………...

Adios,adios,adios.
good bye, good bye,
my dear Borinquen,
land of my life,                        
unforgetable cradle.


© Copyright Sergio A. Morales All Rights Reserved

Good Night Mommy

Good night mommy,
good night mommy,
good night mommy,
I think I'm going to sleep.  

When mommy comes to me,
with a warm bottle of milk,
I'll say I love you mommy,
oh mommy yes I do.

Cause you are the only mommy,
in the world that loves me true,
good night mommy, good night mommy,
good night mommy, I think I'm going to sleep.

When mommy gives me a bottle,
I know is nice and warm,
so I take the little bottle,
and hold it in my arms.

Then I'll say I love you mommy,
cause you are my only mommy,
in the world that loves me true,
Good night mommy, good night mommy,
I think I am going to sleep.

I am going to close my eyes,
and count me up some sheeps,
but when the morning comes,
I want you next to me.

Good night mommy,good night mommy
good night mommy, I think I'm going to sleep,
good night mommy, good night mommy,
I think I'll count some sheeps.

I have two little hearts,
that adorn my nose for thee,
one little heart is for you.

To show how much I love you,
How much I love you true,
good night mommy,good night mommy,
good night mommy,
I think I am going to go to sleep.

© Copyright Sergio A. Morales All Rights Reserved

“Good Night Mommy”

This Lullabye was written for my dear baby Mikky(Mikhail) which I would kiss a thousand times and he would reciprocate in real love. These were very memorable moments which are hard to forget and which will live in my spirit and soul after death for eons to come until the commencement of the new life. I will take these lines and his love in my heart and soul to wherever I may go , be it hell or heaven if it exists.

I love my three sons equally without any separatism or preference. Each of the boys were brought up different due to the circumstances that we were living in either financially or emotionally.

Forgive me sons for whatever harm I may have caused you. If you really feel I have done you wrong it was not done intentionally. Please accept my apology. I am wholeheartedly and sincerely very sorry.

You are the seeds of our marriage and for thee I live.

One thing that I have always stated and reiterated to you guys and that is that your turn in being a father would come around. And that inevitably someway or somehow you would also make mistakes be it either bigger or smaller. !Don't make the same foolish mistakes I've made!

Love you guys always and your sibblings.

"Good Night Mommy"

This Lullabye was written for my dear baby Mikky(Mikhail) which I would kiss a thousand times and he would reciprocate in real love. These were very memorable moments which are hard to forget and which will live in my spirit and soul after death for eons to come until the commencement of the new life. I will take these lines and his love in my heart and soul to wherever I may go , be it hell or heaven if it exists.

I love my three sons equally without any separatism or preference. Each of the boys were brought up different due to the circumstances that we were living in either financially or emotionally.

Forgive me sons for whatever harm I may have caused you. If you really feel I have done you wrong it was not done intentionally. Please accept my apology. I am wholeheartedly and sincerely very sorry.

You are the seeds of our marriage and for thee I live.

One thing that I have always stated and reiterated to you guys and that is that your turn in being a father would come around. And that inevitably someway or somehow you would also make mistakes be it either bigger or smaller. !Don't make the same foolish mistakes I've made!

Love you guys always and your sibblings.

Mother Maria

Mother Maria,holy name,
deep inside my chest there’s a gush,
that rumbles with time,
so sweet and sublime.

For years it has flamed,
wild and untamed,
searched for a name,
and found it was love.

Maternal love,
that quenched and cared,
for me as I aged,
I angered and raged.

Your sweet voice cannot die,
even if I vie,
your love unquestioned,
just a painful why.

Your missed so much,
your tact is still here,
buried in soul,
buried in my tears.



© Copyright Sergio A. Morales All Rights Reserved

Ghetto Streets

Anguished filled eyes,
a message of fright,
expressing the plight.

Victimized by ghetto streets,
philandering but nescient,
plethoric dreams sojourned.

A road of aspirations, a dead end,
cicumstances deceived you,
plagiarizing your youth,
all barriers conquered,
but devastation overwhelmed.

A road of improbabilities,
digressing and diverging,
full of misery and unacceptance,
abhorement and intolerance.

Hopefulness prevails,
beseech there will be a day,
that will bring light,
to this impasse.

© Copyright Sergio A. Morales All Rights Reserved

                                                           “Ghetto Streets”

Of course most of us had problems with alcohol or drugs as we lived a life of devastating poverty. I as a human being never had problems with drugs and I had all the opportunities in the world but because of my religious upbringing I couln't see myself doing something that would make things worse. A life where before you can spend a penny you had to think about it. Now we can write about it and try to describe the the horrors of poverty. It isn't easy. Tears flow and the memories glow.

Living and being bred in poverty was a challenge and a nightmare. Waking up at the middle of the night and seeing roaches crawl all over the loaf of Wonder Bread or Tastee Bread which you were going to have for breakfast. You would take your hand and slap the roach off the tie so you could get to the bread for you were hungry. A challenge that was beyond control. No one wants to live in poverty. Everyone wants to get out of there. No one deserves poverty. Life is dismal. Unfortunately one must really look back to their roots. Ask yourself What kind of family did I come from or where did I come from. Was I well to do or just a pauper. Of course you do realize what the answer is.

My father was literally a "white slave" that cut sugar cane for survival from sunrise to sundown. He was traded for three white slaves. Am I ashamed of it NO. My fathers dignity and respect and their way of living was the only means of survival. What I am I supppose to do? Here I am.

I still think of my upbringing and I still do cash my soda and beer bottles at the Supermarket. I can't blame the past. Let's all work together and challenge the future.

Alcohol as we think of it, is the only consolation. We must get rid of the Beast.

We must all strive ahead and conquer whatever obstacles are presented with perseverance and determination.

Let us not fall in iniquity,for there we will only find misery and pain.

Chechnya

Chechnya, onerous war,
the bloody nightmare speaks,
for peace and freedom are so far,
since vultures control the weak.

Determined resolution,
perseverance, is their gun,
to conquer oppression,
'Till the cause is won.

Liberation, their only trek,
manumission from the yoke,
for humble souls are wrecked,
with oppressions stroke.

Fumes and lightning strike,
and ululations fill the sky,
cadavers and humans cry,
as morsels fly high.

Tempestuous night,
enemy is a horrific might,
Chechens won’t lose sight,
in the quest of Gods right.

Potentate, met its match,
Gibraltars rock,
!Thunderclap!
as they regress in shock.

Ode, left of scars,
aghast and in despair,
Russia,is unable to defeat,
Chechnyas strive and upbeat.



© Copyright Sergio A. Morales All Rights Reserved

“Chechnya”

This poem is another example depicting how superpowers use and abuse countries dignity in their quest for freedom. It shows how self determination is a strong will of the people to survive. Chechnyas perseverence is their gun.

911 Twins Debacle

Souls kedging vagrantly,
coveted, celestial canopy,
an impromptu voyage,
suscitated  savagery.

Thunderous tempest,
clattering Twins,
descending in exhaustion,
genesis devastation.

Potter's field ground,
human carnage,
ugly sounds,
clamoring astound.

!Heydey!
Freedoms Mayday,
terras stupor,
aphonic dismay.

“911 Twins Debacle”

This poem is dedicated to commemorate the innocent victims slaughtered in the savage attack committed on our nation.   In 09/11/01 our  beliefs and commitment proved what a great nation we are.  We stand tall, stout, proud and determined in the preservation of freedom for all.  Our commitment will be firm to this cause.  In order to maintain freedom we must pay a price.  In the terraqueous globe of silence and in the cosmics.

Universal brotherhood has been the outcome of this horrifying ordeal.  Unification of soul and spirit.  A bulwark of democracy. !Freedom is here to stay for eons!

Peace on Earth

Iron will for peace,
*diogenes lantern,
glorifying beliefs,
a pulpit, no grief.

Germinating skies,
sight of light,
sowing peace,
nothing amiss.

Heavens is sacrosanct,
america soars high,
ordaining human respect,
and inalieable rights.

Souls of the world,
give freedom a call,
drubb oppression,
a bugles call.

History depicts,
what freedom is,
a sinister battle,
cannons rattle.

Amidst confussion,
hearts shakened,
a token,
freedoms spoken.

Cherish peace,
let altars be,
scintillate,
freedoms sea.

Eons will prove,
everyones love,
as peace calls,
we'll stand tall.

© Copyright Sergio A. Morales All Rights Reserved

“Peace on Earth”

This poem is about the true meaning of freedom and peace. For peace and freedom we pay a price be it with a loss of a family member or even sacrifycing yourself your religion or belief. Freedom will ring as we predicate values without reservations. An endless battle, but freedom and peace will prevail..  Communicating to the world and joining hearts is what the purpose of living this planet Earth is all about. Together we will live many eons till nature do us apart. Let us propagate the seed of peace to the whole world and make it humble.We shall reap what we sow.

*Diagonese lantern means being rejected or being secluded

July 05, 2004

It’s a day past freedom,a day we can all call home,
you don’ get freedom,
just fight for the throne.

There  is sound in the air,
there is also pain,
and no one cares,
just blood runs the fair.

Give us respect,
for we did what we could,
safeguard your freedom,
a little respect.

We went to the trenches,
when you needed us,
we shed blood and tears,
we fought our fears.

We just want a little respect,
younger generations don’t care,
don’t forget we were there,
in  a mortal battle for your care.

We were once humble soldiers,
from different nests,
we did what we could do,
with different views.

Don’t blame us for the  result,
we did what we could,
it wasn’t our fault,
all was in the occult.

Let us walk in peace,
we did what we could,
don’t put weight,
on natures fate.

© Copyright Sergio A. Morales All Rights Reserved

Withering of Time

Mysterious powers move us about,
elongating happy hours,
much longer dreary hours,
quering, this route.

The wither of time,
has rolled cheerless eyes,
visage gone to no sight,
a search in a dreary plight.

Dreads are no longer here,
just psych and tears,
that old bust,
turned to rust.

Sunk in a somber song,
we hear the bell rung,
amidst the shade,
a cradle a charade.

Somber tune,
crypt fills it soon,
rocking the moon,
floating and marooned.

A year gone,
crumbling tower,
defying noble power,
why, so sour.

Beauty of yesterday,
will bloom embalmed,
in the old tomb,
in everlasting bloom.

© Copyright Sergio A. Morales All Rights Reserved

Viet-Nam Writhing Death

Lachrymating matriarch, shrilling echoes in the dark,
perusing to find her son or stalk, but, he had risen with his Patriarch.

Creeping and crawling, "in complete steel feeling"
howling in pain, crashing, claws of steel, terra digging.

Somber pitch in the night, a towering rage and phantom sight,
her gleaming eyes, were very bright, absence of reason, 'twasn't right.

His stiff flesh laid on the ground, as she shook the cadaver all 'round,
green in ire, she emitting sounds, incredulous in astound.

Why have you gone my dear son? For my perished spouse as you've gone,
take me with you, I have no one, as she injected a bullet in the gun.

Mumbling, life is but shadows, all is empty and very hollow,
distorted dreams, and no tomorrow, existing seems so callous.

Grimacing face wouldn't wane, querying why son died in vain,
slumping body over her saint, trembling body, with no restraint.

As a cascade of blood oozed her head, lay there she, as she bled,
before the lead left her head, son and mother lay dead.

'Nam crypt of souls, buried our innocent cold,
with but no explanation, rests our dead, young and old.


© Copyright Sergio A. Morales All Rights Reserved

My America

Happiness and freedom, hand in hand,
showering souls over the land,
governments wonder,  perplexed,
at a nation so young,  and diversed.

They  long for refuge here,
wondering secret of our career,
tyrants have no sanctuary here,
just peoples vision, hope, without  fear.

With our enduring fate,
cherubs guard us safe,
we can reckon wicked smiles,
of despots prey beguiles.

America virgin of the west,
ket no tyrant pillow your breast,
nor bow to a despot’s throne,
redeem to God alone.

Let freedom glow,
teach others the sober way,
to break the links,
of despair and dismay.

Heaven has made you pure,
from the glow of Freedoms fire,
so that other may be inspired,
resonate, a harmonious lyre.


© Copyright Sergio A. Morales All Rights Reserved

Sentinels Death

Sentinels bleeding deathbed,
terraine that he once defended,
now sings the tune of taps,
embracing him in its wrap.

Bier and dirge fill the air,
bullets everywhere,
as he closes his eyes,
in Gods care.

Valor speaks,
as he growls weak,
in ardor and sigh,
on his final goodbye.

He breathes a final prayer,
hallowed in his verdant grave,
leaves sway like waves,
as if blessing his way.

Tears of heaven descend,
embalming his soul,
a blessing trend,
an angel was sent.


© Copyright Sergio A. Morales All Rights Reserved

Purple Heart

Heart,

broken apart,

bedlam of horror

solemn warrior.

Unexplained,

abhorred.

restrained,

unheard.

Fear,

tears,

nightmares,

aloof stares.

Sighs,

seeks relief,

shaky leaf,

in grief.

Once proud,

of turmoil,

on foreign soil,

life spoiled.

© Copyright Sergio A. Morales All Rights Reserved

“The Badge of Military Merit”

(Purple Heart)

The Badge of Military Merit was established on August 07, 1782 during the Revolutionary War.at Washingtons Headquarters in Newburgh, New York 12550. Washingtons Headquarters was also known as the “old Hasbrouck House” The “old Hasbrouck House” was also referred to as a square room with “seven doors and one window”

Heart on February 22,1932 in respect to the memory of the 100^th anniversary of General George Washington.

This poem depicts the profoundness and somberness of a wounded patriot whom after returning from war on foreign soil what he has contend with in life and his conscious. At the beginning the pride and honor permeated from his very soul. A moral obligation to defend the freedom of this country. The ravage pain of war and what awaited him in combat, was the unexpected. He thrived and dreamed in high expectations of a world, full of glory, laurels and rewards.

Innocent and unaware that life is but a Pandoras Box . Life is like a river that overflows its bank, rumbling and resonating in its fury. Tawdrious and crackling, sounds that frighten the very soul of the fauna around its bed and devastates the existence of the flora, yanking it from its very root. Leaving nothing but chaos and confusion behind. Destiny, changed completely and the only recourse he has is to pick up the remnants of a once sublime crystal clear, sin free Utopic life and start all over. Mending pieces until he can reconstruct a pseudo-life. Then and only then, he will need to awake to reality and conquer new challenges.

Overwhelmed in fear, tears, nightmares and loneliness he reaches out in silence and darkness to no avail.. The echoes of the soul are ignored. Shaky nights in grief. Tremors that but the inner soul could only pacify in the emanating and overflow of painful tears.

Once the patriot stood proud in the midst of foreign soil in turmoil defending the very essence of democracy. Subsequently he realizes that all his dreams have been shattered and spoiled, and this is what he has to contend with today.

Old-Hasbrouck-house

Newburg, deep in your soul,
History you hold, has gone untold,
Birthplace of the Badge of Military Merit.
With limitless values and countless credit.

Amidst your foliage stands tall,
Old Hasbrouck-house with silent walls,
caressed by "the Great River of the mountains" a
relic history a sacred fountain.

Washington's home in autumn of 1782,
abode of his servants, slaves and troops too, a
prominent era of our republic,
birth of a nation, rich and historic.

Dreary mansion, hall of reception,
once filled with hospitality and celebration.
the square building stands aglow,
"with seven doors and one window".

Stories and commotions lit parties,
with French wine filling the ambient hearty,
but, the commandant wouldn't partake,
as he meditated on his soldiers fate.

Freedom of speech prevailed,
as everyone imbibed and hailed.
palavers and gestures heard throughout,
condemned by decendants pout.

II
A British officer had been quartered,
Scathed by wounds suffered,
Surgical care was afforded,
till he succumbed and departed.

The jest and mirth suddenly waned,
and conversations detained,
when the sad news broke loose,
general and troops stood confused.

With dignity and respect,
all marched out in regret,
cognizant he was contrary,
all were afflicted, all were sorry.

Observing from the "old square house",
one can see the broad bay and rocky sprouts,
as Hudson meanders through the land,
caressing the towering banks of the Highlands.

And as the mountains recede east,
Matteawan stream forwards like a beast,
turbulently through glens and falls,
rambling, pacifying in Hudson's fall.

See the sinistral bald rocky summits,
once possessed by beacon-fires,
where alarms warned incursions,
of the enemy's planned invasions.

The promontory of West Point,
occults the Hudson to endless points,
and Pollopell's Island military prison,
where captives dwelled for reason.

III
Now in your soul spirits dwell,
guarding your history so well,
entrusting your richness to the divine, a
symbol of freedom, a treasure of time.

© Copyright Sergio A. Morales All Rights Reserved

-----------****--------------

“Old-Hasbrouck-house”

This poem was written about Washington's Headquarters also known as the "old Hasbrouck-house located a little south of Newberg. The old Hasbrouck-house was also known as a square room with "seven doors and one window". It is an irregular building of rough stone. Our Great General George Washington occupied these premises in the autumn of 1782 as the headquarters of the American army, also to host guests in reception and to quarter a wounded British officer.

In 1776 beacon fires often blazed, warning our soldiers of the British incursions from the south also communicating signals between the frontier posts in Westchester along Verlplancks point,West Point and the barracks and encampment of the plains of Fishkill.

Matteawan was the name given to range eastward of the Hudson by the Indians, including the Fishkill Mountains. Matteawan means "Country of Good Fur".

It was here in the "old stone house" that Washington addressed his troops and read his general orders. In October 15, 1783, he had a military convention at a large barrack or storehouse then called "the new building". In the autumn of 1783 the war was over and our independence had been won. There was a lot of discontent and a sense of betrayal felt among his troops. He thus calmed his soldiers to a sense of submissive duty and loyalty to the cause.

Shortly after this he departed, with that portion of his army, which did not accompany him to take possession of New York. He had deep sense of patriotism in his heart and a lot of warm love for his country.

Trudging Sprawl

Light has embarked,
in a trudging spark,
through windy knolls,
cities, hills and parks.

Umbras changed,
milky Way rearranged,
zodiacal lights are absent,
artificial lights sentence.

Gazers hawk night in dismay,
questing stars gala display,
but dark skies are far away,
sable has become day.

Jovial with night,
idealist sigh,
etrenched defenders,
of nigrescent skies.

Phyrric war,
a nights defeat,
darkness lost feat,
progress won't retreat.

Trudging Sprawl

This poem is dedicated to the disappearing darkness in our planet Earth in the Milky Way Galaxy. Nights have become day. As one stares at the heavens it has become virtually impossible to see the 2500 or so stars that once use to bring light, life,poetry and dreams into the souls of the residents of the Hudson Valley. Stars filled dreams once but now are gone.

The constant fight to regain nights into the stargazers hearts will be an endless battle. Nights once thought to bring gloom and despair is now yearned. Needless to say "Black is Beautiful" and we must strive to preserve this beauty by controlling artificial lighting.

Major constellations and skyglow are gradually becoming invisible and becoming a thing of the past.

Light pollution and progress go hand in hand. Spraying our skies with artificial lights is killing the essence of living and the beauty of night.

We must all take a stand to protect the beauty of nature. "Let's protect the sight of night" .

© Copyright Sergio A. Morales All Rights Reserved

Yugo del Buey

Desde el yugo del buey,  
y la zafra de la caña,
abandone mi batey,
buscando lo que merecéis.

Ciales cuna inolvidable,
de paz infinita,
sagrada y bendita,
espíritu que no se olvida.

Como podré reciprocar,
si suena la trompeta,
y el magnetismo terrenal,
de un brindis final.

Aun viven recuerdos,
de tus riachuelos,
tu bendito soberano,
el caldo y el pegao.

Tú aroma del café tostao.
abrogan mi sentir,
ahoga mi vivir,
consuelo de mi existir.

Cultura que no muere,
vibrante, no inerte,
llena de dicha y suerte,
desafías para no perderte.


© Copyright Sergio A. Morales All Rights Reserved

Porque Dialogas solo

Porque dialogas solo,
todo es monotono,
sin sentido y felicidad,
laguna de mortandad.

Creastes esto,
o tuvo que ser asi,
causa del destino,
o puro frenesi.

Que bonito conversar,
que crimen rezar,
a estatuas,
sin hablar.

Palabras milesimas,
esprimidas rimas,
sin sentido sin sentir,
sin ser oir.

Hola estoy aqui,
no he de morir,
sin sufrir,
no me dejes ir.

Te quiero oir,
perdona lo que fui,
no estuvo en mi,
te siento en mi.

Nota:

Esta poesia es dedicada a mi sagrada esposa de 36 años la que conoci en un arabal de Brooklyn New York. La juventud no refleja, ni mide belleza pero si mide humildad y belleza interna. Cuando la conoci era una flor replandeciente y brillaba llena de espiritu y llena de amor. Atraves de los años su mentalidad ha cambiado pero ha recapacitado mucho. Se ha dado cuenta que la vida esta llena de sorpresas. Ella ha sido mi compañera de muchos años pero aun no ve la realidad.

© Copyright Sergio A. Morales All Rights Reserved

Partida de Willie

Treinta y una rosas te arropan,
cubriendote por siempre,
preguntan por que,
tu imprevista despedida.

Llorando,
suspirando,
muriendo,
denegando.

Advocate of impediment,             
sin remordimiento,
sin resentimiento,
un mandamiento.

Legacia que descansa,
“Que puedo hacer”:
sin fuerza,
no puedo mas.                                                                        

Mision cumplida,
me despido,
no puedo mas 
los quiero mucho.                    .

Adios,adios,adios.
Borinquen querida,
patria de mi vida,         
cuna que no se olvida.


© Copyright Sergio A. Morales All Rights Reserved

Gracias Padres

Gracias padre por haber soñado,
y del cafetal haberme sacado,
abandonando recuerdos gratos,
que jamas he de olvidado.

Aun veo el quemar del cañaveral,
cuando la safra ardia,
y el soberao donde jugaba,
con carritos de latas, garateaba.

Juegos de infancia viven en mi ser,
tan profundos que no los queria perder
al jugar de coger y al esconder,
muertos recuerdos vivos del ayer.

Dejastes sangre en la caña,
que picabas sin cesar,
desde el brillar del amanecer,
hasta el sombrio atardecer.

Que triste fue dejar mi patria,
en busca de nuevos horizontes,
y llegar a un arabal,
cuna  fatal.

© Copyright Sergio A. Morales All Rights Reserved

"Mother Blessed Saint"

Obsequious and full of care,
sufferance has curtailed time,
a stoical, distance stare,
tremulous but sublime.

Long, lanky fingers,
emit reverberations,
shaking me cold,
in desperation.

Words of wisdom,
Firm and fulfilling,
a pristine kingdom.
an altar eternally gleaming,.

What can I do?
You've travelled so far,
Time has you scarred,
And time has me barred.

My love is yours,
My spirit and soul.
My tears are of pain,
For you my blessed saint.

© Copyright Sergio A. Morales All Rights Reserved

Dedication of "Mother Blessed Saint"
This poem was written as a dedication to my sacred mother whom has since left me but lives in me through my every bit of blood,breath,palpitations and soul. I made a commitment to myself to dedicate a poem to my dear mother and I have done so. So a promise made a promise kept.           

A mothers physical and eternal life will never pass unto the annals of forgetness. Her presence will always be felt, be it physically or spiritually. Mothers courage and protection has been the impetus to understanding life better.  "Love You Mom Eternally"

Rosie

Porque dialogas solo,                                      Fecha: Diciembre 23, 2004  Todo es monotono,                                         Dia:     Jueves sin sentido y felicidad,                                    Temp: 60f laguna de mortandad.                                      Clima: Ventoso,calido,                                                                                       nublado,lluvioso Creastes esto, o tuvo que ser asi, causa del destino, o puro frenesi. Que bonito conversar, que crimen rezar, a estatuas. sin hablar. Palabras milesimas, esprimidas rimas, sin sentido sin sentir, sin ser oir. Hola estoy aqui, no he de morir, sin sufrir, no me dejes ir. Te quiero oir, perdona lo que fui, no estuvo en mi, te siento en mi. NOTA: Esta poesia es dedicada a mi sagrada esposa de 36 años la que conoci en un arabal de Brooklyn New York. La juventud no refleja, ni mide belleza pero si mide humildad y belleza interna. Cuando la conoci era una flor replandeciente y brillaba llena de espiritu y llena de amor. Atraves de los años su mentalidad ha cambiado pero ha recapacitado mucho. Se ha dado cuenta que la vida esta llena de sorpresas. Ella ha sido mi compañera de muchos años pero aun no ve la realidad. © Copyright Sergio A. Morales All Rights Reserved

Hermano Miguel

Viaje eterno,
alivio sin dolor,
sin infierno,
viaje eterno.

Memorias,
de hermandad y sabiduria,
espacio y tiempo,
y contratiempo.

Llegó el armagedón,
lo esperado,
sin espacio,
ni tiempo.

Huellas de penas,
y dolor,
cicatrices,
imborables.

Espiritu perdido,
confuso,
sin salida,
sin vida.

Mucha alegria,
tu presencia,
innecesaria,
dolor traias.

El yugo, tuyo,
cruz que te domino,
batallando el sino,
confuso destino.

Autor: Sergio A. Morales Gonzalez
© Todos derechos reservado (All rights reserved)

Destined to love you

Date:      June 17,2004 Day:     Thursday Temp:      83f Weather:     Windy, thunderstorms and cloudy

Why was I destined to love you? knowing that love is so sweet and so bitter. my deceived heart could not believe it, and my soul refused to hear it. The aura that glowed around you, was so full of enchantment, that a smile from you, was a temple of enlightment. I felt that I could yank the stars from the sky, the way you lifted my heart so high, and when our bodies touched, didn’t realize life could offer so much. Your breath emitted your daintiness,,  as you opened my eyes with your touch, why was loving you so wrong,, was I naive or too young. Now my heart sings a song of endless tunes, as love ebbs like dessert dunes, confused I ask what I should do. since I cannot stop loving you. © Copyright Sergio A. Morales All Rights Reserved

Broken Friendship

Links of friendship, have been broken,
darkened by evil smile,
lips breathing guile.

Ochry gold mocks decay,
as it wastes slow, parts away,
severs hearts once joined fast,
jagged friendship, past.

How cold must it be,
turning love to enmity,
streams that flowed together,
defunct dried forever.

Words random spoken,
with neglect, love is broken,
some remembrance may remain,
onus pledges, flower stained.
bitter truth is learned,

As wisdom learns repress,
young soul matures,
detaching weeds from flowers.

Author: Sergio A. Morales Gonzalez
© Todos derechos reservado (All rights reserved)

Written:   August 12, 2004
Day:        Thursday
Time:      10:40p.m.
Temp:     80f-85f
Weather: rainy,cool,warm

Jacinto Amigo Fiel

Jacinto! Jacinto! Amigo querido,
no puedo creer lo sucedido,
has dejado un laberinto,
de confusion y perdido.

Su amistad sincera,
y cada dia mas entera.
travesamos montes y praderas,
sin desconciertos ni barreras.

Respeto mutuo siempre existio,
con la bendicion de Dios.
charlando gozando y cantando,
el mundo sigue rodando.

Ausencia inaceptable,
de un ser tan tratable,
incognito resplandor,
latente era su dolor.

Antes del cantio del gallo,
conquistamos jaldas de hielo,
en busca del ciervo,
alcalzando el cielo.

Ausencia que perdura,
inmenso el vacio,
al cielo ha partido,
paraiso de olvido.
 
Autor: Sergio A. Morales Gonzalez
© Todos derechos reservado (All rights reserved)
Dedicado a Don Jacinto el padre de mi vecino quien yo apreciaba mucho ya que fue veterano de la Guerra de Corea y sabia alo del dolor que yo sentía por los veteranos heridos en combate. Me acompaño a las montañas varias veces porque también le gustaba compartir sus experiencias con otros cuando podía.

                                                  

“Sobre Los Mare Y Llanos Verdes”

Sobre los mares,
y llanos verdes,
la luz de mi alma,
de mi se pierde.

Busco aquel amor,(repite)
que en mi vivio,(repite)
pero como la luna,
se me oculto.

Mi gran amor,(repite)
donde estara, (repite)
estoy perdido,
en mi dolor.

Siento en mis venas,
un rio profundo,
siento en mis venas,
un rio profundo.

Y el palpitar.
de tu corazon,
que va,
sin rumbo.

Donde estara,(repite)
mi gran amor,(repite)
estoy perdido,
en mi dolor.

Aun yo siento,
tu calido tocar,
tus labios rojos,
y tu palpitar.

Donde estara,(repite)
mi gran amor,
estoy perdido,
en mi dolor.

Y en la penumbra,
del alma mia,
te busco en sombras,
todos los dias.

Donde estara,(repite)
mi gran amor,
estoy perdido,
en mi dolor.

Es una amargura,
tu gran ternura,
pero estar sin ti,
es una locura.

Donde estara, (repite)
mi gran amor,
estoy perdido,
en mi dolor.

 NOTA:  Como el bohemio que escribe, muchos los conceptuan como locos. Pocos saben que es la realidad. Y que el talento existe en pocos.

 Autor: Sergio A. Morales Gonzalez
© Todos derechos reservado (All rights reserved)

Aun yo siento,
tu calido tocar,
tus labios rojos,
y tu palpitar.

Donde estara,(repite)
mi gran amor,
estoy perdido,
en mi dolor.

Y en la penumbra,
del alma mia,
te busco en sombras,
todos los dias.

Donde estara,(repite)
mi gran amor,
estoy perdido,
en mi dolor.

Es una amargura,
tu gran ternura,
pero estar sin ti,
es una locura.

Donde estara, (repite)
mi gran amor,
estoy perdido,
en mi dolor.

“Sobre Los Mare Y Llanos Verdes”

Como el bohemio que escribe, muchos los conceptuan como locos. Pocos saben que es la realidad. Y que el talento existe en pocos.

Sergio Antonio Morales Gonzalez

Brief Biography
Sergio Antonio Morales Gonzalez Jr. one of five children was born March 17, 1945 in Fronton, Ciales, Puerto Rico. However he was not registered as being born until March 19, 1945. He was named after his father Sergio Morales Morales and his Paternal grandfather Jose Antonio Morales Manzano. His second surname Gonzalez was that of his mother Maria T. Gonzalez Ojeda who was born January 6, 1918 in Fronton, Ciales, Puerto Rico. He was known as “junior” during his young childhood and after being drafted during the Vietnam era was then known as “El Veterano” (The Veteran). During his senior years he is now known as “Commander Morales” since he was the commander of Chapter 1782 Newburgh, New York and Commander of the Department of the Caribbean-Puerto Rico of the Military Order of Purple Heart organization.

Many years have come and gone. I, Javier Angel Morales, the youngest of five have decided to write about my brother Sergio. There are many sad, fond and happy memories that I shared with him and I would like to share his life with all of you. On a personal note he is caring, trustworthy, inspiring, thoughtful about his past, present and current situation. He relates many of his thoughts through his poems and here I would like to pass on the story of his life as he sees it and I confirm it.

Ancestry

Our paternal

• great grandfather Jose Manuel Morales Manzano was believed to be born about 1850 in Fronton, Ciales, Puerto Rico
• great grandmother Felicita Manzano Padilla was believed to be born about 1835 in Fronton, Ciales, Puerto Rico
• grandfather Jose Antonio Morales Manzano was believed to be born about 1870 in Fronton, Ciales, Puerto Rico
• grandmother Maria Mercedes Morales Manzano was believed to be born about 1890 in Fronton, Ciales, Puerto Rico and passed on November 14, 1984
• father Sergio Antonio Morales Morales was born December 17, 1912 in Fronton, Ciales, Puerto Rico and passed June 14, 1991 in Waterbury, Connecticut

Our Maternal

• great great grandmother Juana Padilla Figueroa was believed to be born about 1816 in Fronton, Ciales, Puerto Rico
• great grandmother Maria Olegaria Gonzalez Ojeda was believed to be born about 1833
• great grandfather Felipe Gonzalez Padilla was believed to be born about 1850 and passed August 29, 1929 in Ciales, Puerto Rico

"Through poetry one transposes to realms of latent feelings thus exhibiting them in expressions of love, beauty or pain"                                                           By: Sergio A. Morales