Freddie Rodriguez

Freddie Rodriguez is a Creative Dabbler with an MA in Advertising and a BS in Radio-Television-Film from the University of Texas at Austin. Panamanian-born and Northeast El Paso-raised, he digs diversity and hopes that message permeates his work. He considers founding the defunct. META4 organization for poetic expression (an org. that brought unadulterated open mic poetry and poetry slam joy to downtown El Paso for a few years) his greatest accomplishment to-date. He hopes to get his first chapbook published this year and has always wanted to be a super hero.

Freddie

Boy in a bubble

I am an indigo ceramic monkey painted with gold details
That include my eyes, lips, and even my fingernails.
I sit atop my mountaintop having just awoken.
A hermit pondering last night's dream.
I dreamt I was a boy in a bubble
With no real connection to others.
That's all I remember.
 
Back inside my cave, I sit and sip herbal tea
While I wonder, "Which is the real me?"
The boy in the bubble or the ceramic monkey.
Not much of a stretch, I guess, though on rare occasion I do
play with an ivory elephant and a ruby-encrusted donkey.
Yet, their tribes number many.
As far as other indigo ceramic monkeys go--there aren't any.
There are no others to find.
I am the only one of my kind.
 
I curl up by the fireplace and as I try to remember the dream's
details
I look down at my fingernails
And wonder, "Does this mean I have the Midas' Touch or
golden sight for that matter?"
What about my lips? Does wisdom come from them? I begin to
doze off as the flames pitter-patter.
My eyes close, and, immediately, I remember it all.
 
I dreamt I was a boy in a bubble.
With no real connection to others.
I was left-handed when all others were right.
Latino when all were white.
Gay when all were straight.
And single when all were set to procreate.
 
Suddenly, I wake up; get up disturbed and drenched in sweat.
I dreamt I was the only indigo, gold-detailed, ceramic monkey
With only two friends--an ivory elephant and a ruby-encrusted donkey.
I turn on the lights and try to figure out what it all means.

There’s got to be more
 
There's got to be more than the day-to-day shuffle.
The hustle and bustle
Of the day.
 
There's got to be more than work, school, and meetings.
The prim and proper personal and professional greetings
Of the day.
 
There's got to be more than just going through the motions.
The order and chaos and commotions
Of the day.
 
There's got to be more than sleep and alarms.
The toxic harms and nuclear arms
Of the day.
 
There's got to be more than
Just hoping and groping
For more.
 
There's got to be more than
Just you and me standing at the bus stop waiting
For more.
 
There's got to be more than
Pages in my calendar book
And the look
I get when no one gets me.
 
There's got to be more than
Late ice cream and soda pop nights
And those internal fights
With the demons that consume you.
 
There's got to be more to life than just this.
What do I miss
That not one kiss
Or transgression
Would change the fact that
I feel like this?
 
There's got to be more
At the end of the day
That you can keep for yourself.
 
There's got to be more
to this life and myself.

Cadence with me

I wrote this June 24, 2005.
 Burning bridges all around me.
Not one hand to lift me.
To higher ground.
If I am to be found in the smoke,
Maybe I should stop looking.
The fire goes on and on
As the flames ravage the sky.
And my peace of mind.
 
All alone in the forest.
No one hears the sound of
Who I am.
 
Fire, envelope me
And take me to my purpose.
 
Forest, swallow me
And cleanse me of myself.
 
Fire, reinvigorate me
With shadow and light
In balance.
 
Take me to the one
Who will say my cadence
With me.