San Miguel de Allende

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

Sunday, November 15, 2015


"Our fundamental state is joy." El Buddha

I trust my hungers, my
body's voice, purring
howling singing weeping
laughing, I follow
her wisdom, she's always 
right, mi Mamacita
called her La Llorona,
she's also Coatlicue,
IxChel, Quan Yin,
Green Tara, White
Tara, Shakti, Kali,
sweet/fierce Saraswati,
who I met in Bali,
she asked me, "What is
freedom, madam?"
The freedom of my
hungers, to be fed
beautiful food, float in
healing waters, bathe my
mermaid hair, human
body, to be loved
unconditionally this
undying Cosmos, to
dream... in spite

of wars, ongoing violence,
the innocent killed while
eating dinner, dancing at a
concert in Paris,
going to market, daily
human errands in
Beirut (and other places, the
Earth we share)- I

believe the killers are in
the minority, we who love
our hungers, laughter of
children, rising Sun Moon
Stars, who feed our
human hungers to love,
dance our
freedom, always
with the other,
we pass it on
this dance
we pass it on 

we shall 
this wonder

Alma Luz Villanueva (c)
San Miguel de Allende, Mexico
November 13, 2015

*I started writing this poem on November 11th, 
couldn't finish it for 'some reason'- until the 13th. 
We pass it on...
The Healer, in all her hummingbird forms...

Tuesday, October 27, 2015

Dear World,
Dear IxChel,
Dear Quetzalcoatl,                      October 23, 2015

We are becoming a
world of refugees,
immigrants, following the
ancient human trade

routes, not guided by
dreams this time, but
guided by poverty, war,
simple hunger, the

fierce desire that our
children survive us,
we follow that fierce
instinct over man made

borders, Madre Africa,
our Human Womb, dreams
her children in drought,
flood, tidal wave, hunger, 

war. See that Mexican
mother, baby in her arms,
older children surrounding
her, she is your

mother. See that Syrian
father, clutching his toddler,
wife lost at sea, he
is your father. See

that Congolese grandmother
starving, tortured, her
sons gone to war, rape,
she is your grandmother.

See that Guatemalan
grandfather weeping, watching
his 12 year old granddaughter
raped, los coyotes,

journey to the USA, safety,
land of daily food, he
is your grandfather.
See the five year old trying

to sleep with hunger, Land
Of Plenty USA, one in four
children hungry, she
is your child.

See the teens at Rikers
Island thousands, millions
in adult prisons USA,
at Rikers their once a day

outdoors, hour at 
dawn, rain, sun, snow,
in a cage, shackled,
solitary for months,

the teenage brain/mind/spirit,
the time of unfolding,
crushed, human promise
murdered, these are your

teens, these are your
teens, these are your
teens, these are our
teens, murdered promise.

See us all fiercely crossing
borders, the ancient 
human trade routes,
survival. Wherever

you are
your family

**The USA has the largest, for profit,
prison system in the world. At Rikers Island
the majority of teens are held for years, waiting 
for a 'court date,' as families cannot post their
bail.  Google Kalief Browder, who refused to 
plead guilty- the usual way out of Rikers- he 
refused, that immense courage. 

Alma Luz Villanueva (c)
San Miguel de Allende, Mexico
(My 'Dear World' poems are in their
20th year, where I bitch, moan, praise.)
They can be found in my books, most 
recently, 'GRACIAS.'
La Frida Kahlo's VIVA LA VIDA...
Mexico City, bike taxi...then to Frida's casita, where her Spirit lives, her laughter.


Saturday, April 11, 2015


The villagers call you 
father, brother, uncle, son-
I call you lover, my
ancient lover- flying in
to Mexico City I saw
your snowy peak, you
didn't fool me, I felt
the heat of your body,
your lava, your core,
your longing for my
touch, ancient lover,
the Earth danced beneath 
my feet, our Mother, la
Madre, she knew nothing
could keep me from you,
your body, your lava,
your core, the ancient
memory of our union.
I dream your body, gift from Earth,
Sun, Moon, every Star, I see
your molten eyes, your molten mouth,
your molten hands, your molten sex, lava
bright, meteor bright, first eruption,
genesis of our longing, I am coming,
wait for me, I am dreaming,
wait for me, I am singing,
wait for me, I am dying
to receive. Your burning
body. Lava. 

Alma Luz Villanueva (c)
San Miguel de Allende, Mexico
April 2012

*Two weeks after la Madre's dance, Popocateptl began to sing to his lover, Iztaccihuatl, fire and ash.

This poema is from my just published book, 'GRACIAS,' which can be found on   Just enter my name and all of my books pop up- also, my 4th novel, 'SONG OF THE GOLDEN SCORPION,' published last year is also listed. I love the personal emails I receive, but feel free to comment here as well- wishing you a beautiful Spring wherever you are.