San Miguel de Allende

San Miguel de Allende
Roof rainbow...San Miguel de Allende, Mexico

Thursday, January 27, 2011

Dear World, dear Earth, dear Angel Of Despair And Joy...January 6, 2011

(Continued from January post)-

Los Angeles, The Angels, at noon,
Angel Of Illegal Immigrants, Spanish,
Vietnamese, Chinese, Cambodian spoken
on the streets, many more, do you

sing in every human language,
Turtle Islands, once the massive
Tortoise emerging from primal,
cellular swirling sea, from

space blue blue blue womb
water, I hear you singing on
the streets of Los Angeles, your
sweet clear voice pierces my

stubborn, persistent, will-to-live
human heart...Angel Of Dreaming
Immigrants, Angel Of Native People
Of This Continent (their drums, their

voices, their rattles, dance, song,
keep us alive, ancient prophecy
coming home, coming home to the
streets of Los Angeles, The Angels, the

Earth, coming home), Angel Of The
Ancient Trade Routes, Angel Of
Shimmering Shifting Borders,
Angel Of The Dispossessed ,

Angel of The Possessive,
Angel Of Diamond Light Eyes,
I hear your sweet clear voice
piercing even the concrete, flowing

over the Pacific, her still fertile,
swelling waves, piercing every
stubborn human heart, our
Angel Of Despair And Joy,

I hear you singing in every
language, I don't know
the words, what I hear/feel,
your harsh, persistent healing.
* * *
Santa Cruz, Holy Cross, ancient
symbol of healing (not the crucifix),
night, oh Angel Of Scattered
Families, oh Angel Of Gathered

Families, how do we stand to feel
so much, I wonder, these gathered
memories from sheltered womb to
open door, the delicious, terrifying,

lush, killing, O beauty, O horror,
this human world,
this perfect Earth,
O Angel Of Diamond Light Eyes,

O Angel Of Terror And Wonder,
O Angel Of Despair And Joy,
O Angel Of Scattered, Gathered
Families, the families we're

born to, birth to,
the families we create,
O Angel Of Endless Weeping,
O Angel Of Endless Laughter,

we heard your harsh, persistent
voice, healing, and we danced,
oh we danced to your song,
terror, oh the wonder,

at the edge of Santa Cruz,
at the edge of Los Angeles,
at the edge of Mexico City,
at the edge of every floating,

rooted Turtle Island continent,
at the very edge of our Cosmos,
O Angel Of Diamond Light Eyes,
keep watch as the ancient prophecies,

the ancient trade routes, come
home, keep singing your harsh,
persistent, healing song, every language,
O Angel Of Despair And Such

* * *
(Watsonville, Califas, a few miles south of Santa Cruz...)

My granddaughter works with the
Farm Workers, their children born
two fingers to each hand, im
perfect (as my four children

were born perfect), spraying
of the fields, their parents
with cancers, dying
to pick the food of

millions, fresh cheap
food at the supermarkets,
ICE separating illegal parents from
their legal children- we marched

over thirty years ago, still they
spray the fields (every where, this
Turtle Island), two fingers to a
hand, the im perfect children, to

their parents perfect- my youngest
son works with the families of the
dispossessed, the hungry, no
food or refrigerator to hold it, no

place to sleep (bed, mattress), no
place to sit (couch, chairs), no
table to gather (food food), the
country of wealth, abundance,

one in four children are hungry,
Martin Luther King, "The worst violence
is poverty," O Angel Of The Farm Workers,
O Angel Of Toxic Food,

Angel Of The Im Perfect,
Angel Of The Perfect,
Angel Of Violence,
Angel Of Healing,

Surround each field, unfurl
your wings, tip to tip,
O Angel of Diamond Light Eyes,
the terror, and always

the wonder.

*To my youngest son, Jules...and to my granddaughter, Ashley.
To all the daily human angels, wing tip to wing tip,
every Turtle Island, into
The Sixth World.

Alma Luz Villanueva
San Miguel de Allende, Mexico


  1. magnanimous! the hymn like quality of the entire poem ... the rhythm ... like a baby in the cradle ... like the human heart that is still beating ...intense poetry Alma! Thank you!

  2. Gracias, felt like a hymn coming through me in the writing...

  3. This vibration sings to me, and I too, am hearing Her song, mas y mas hondo. Mi Padre worked the fields in Watsonville and this poem struck me with the paradox of nuestras familias who grew food to feel our nation, while they were poisoned with pesticides and sub-human treatment. And yet, She continues to evolve and shift into Her next incarnation. I rejoice with you and weep with you and eagerly await the sixth sun. Abrazos.

  4. Into Her next incarnation, yes...the Earth is listening for sure. I was amazed to see that Angel at the edge of Mexico City, not 'cloud-like' but very PRESENT and alive, as in pay attention we're ALL here. Gracias, Marial... I hope your father is doing well, tu familia... xoxo