JAVIER ARREOLA

MADE IN HEAVEN

Made In Heaven

We all fantasize and visualize dreams
For beauty and happiness to be seen.
Sorry this poem is not about you
It is about God having a dream.
While he sleeps colors filled the air.
People enjoying the time they shared.
There was food for people to eat
The music fills his heart with the beat.
A beautiful girl in a charming dress
Parades like if she walks through heavens gates.
Everybody dancing having a good time
What will be this day that is so divine.
A Quinsenieda will be the celebration.
God gets goose bumps and a new sensation.
And while his eyes were shut closed
He smiles because that young lady
Is not a little girl anymore.
And he whispers here given name,
Sending angels down to our world.
Carrying a tiny baby girl
The name that God whispered
Was the baby,
AMY .

By Javier Arreola, author of Walking on Water

A FATHER AND HIS POET

A Father and His Poet

Religion is set say to separate.
Is Jesus God or God is Jesus
Today they still can’t get it straight.
Those words I am who I am
That shall no kill or lie
Were straight forward and commanded
From a burning bush and from the sky
To his children Moses David and Abraham
To Noah in words I will flood the land
And now Jesus a riddle and Poet
Over father whom art in heave hollowed
Be they names, words we never forget
Who is wish out sin cast the first stone
Words for a poet he was never known words from the never thirsting well to drink from kindness and love
And on the cross so we don’t go to hell
His words of poetry with his last strive
Tomorrow I will see you in paradise
One wrote damnation and salvation
A rule book and blue prints to better
The other was born and died a left
Use a chance and a love letter
With beautiful poetic words

Mama Praying For Me

Mama Praying For Me

I didn’t know my lyrics to be.
Were hidden inside of my poetry.
And now that they sprinkle my ashes.
Nothing to do but get right past it.
The only thing for my mother to see.
Was a memory in the back of her head?
Was hommie pulling triggers next to me?
I was hit, a strength bullet to the back of my neck.
My Mama said mijo look at your bleeding.
All I said I’m done and I didn’t carry a gun.
I’m scared I ‘m slipping away is it time to go.
Please God take me and open heavens door.
I go threw tunnel and see a bright light.
And now mama wishes that life after death.
That I was like Jesus and resurrected.
And she cries and prays with a rosary in hand.
Hoping that I made it to promise land.
I wish I could let her know I’m Ok.
I have angles flying by my side you see.
God forgive me for what happen that day.
So I whisper in her ear at night as she sleeps.
Mama there is a heaven and it’s a.
Peaceful place to be.

Shssss

Shssss

Hush mama don’t cry yourself over me.
You never wanted my dirty drug money.
That I hustled and stold making enemies.
Shssss you never told on me to the police.
Even if you knew I was better locked up then free.
Hanging with the thug life in my crimes.
Spending most of my life locked up doing time.
Now that I found a new path to go on.
Your still thinking that I’m doing things wrong.
Writing music,Shssss listen their singing my song.
Please listen mama I’m a changed man.
The money is for real I left it in God’s hands.
When I hear the sound of the wind breezing.
I say Shsss I can hear the angels singing.
My lyrics are more holy than ever before.
I can hear God’s fist knocking on my door.
So mama I leave these flowers at his grave.
Telling you ,I will see you soon cause I’ve been saved.

Empty Bottle

Empty Bottle

As a drink from the bottle of wine.
I saw myself needing help with time.
So little by little till the last drop.
I emptied it and stared at the top.
Now it’s empty, now I need to fill it.
What would be perfect what is the trick?
So I put my algebra of words to that test.
How will I fill it, with words and here they rest.
Here is my riddle of tricks or treats.
What was what is or is going to be?
you use it you move it you know it.
You try to change it even if it’s OK.
Its forever tomorrow and yesterday.
You see it you saw it you looked at it.
You read it you wrote it you’re reading it.
Now you know it you’re showing it.
My words of poetry that filled.
The empty wine bottle.

Silver Lining

Silver Lining

Life can be rough and tough to be seen.
The innocence has been a victims in the shooting.
I remember one day gazing at the stars.
I hear bang! A kid wasn’t into gain Violence.
He got shot in the back and now he’s dying.
Then the mother is told about a silver lining.
How can she see anything when its dark.
When everything she felt was all ripped apart.
It just happened in one quick day.
The boy is gone and Gods mysterious ways.
Now the family gives props at his grave.
Family talking about how good he was.
They didn’t even know him or his cause.
Will he go to hell or be saved by Gods hands.
Life is precious we don’t understand.
Which way to turn left it to the right?
Or wind up at a dead end losing your life.
Can you hear me, can you feel my hand.
I am reaching to help you stand.
I don’t think you care for you are aware.
You don’t budge and are still standing there.
I’m just a druggie trying to help the junkie.

Painted Poetry

Painted Poetry

If my poetry was of a beautiful angel.
It was sent and descended from heaven.
If my poetry was made so simple.
It was a thought and to you given.
If my poetry was a big statue.
It would be lady liberty given to you.
If my poetry was a great painting.
The Mona Lisa I would be creating.
If of poetry was made of food.
One bite and you won’t go hungry.
If my poetry is ever misunderstood.
Read it again, you’ll find my stories.
If my poetry compares to other poets.
You’ll see we all have different talents.
No matter how clever for what it’s worth.
How much time I put to my creative work.
I could never compare to God’s work.

Burning Bridge

Burning Bridge

As I walked across the old bridge boards.
Looking at the stars praying to my lord.
On one side of find all my sincerity.
With visions to see my charity.
Trying to see the other side and forgiveness.
On my side I have sin and hate.
I am not perfect I made mistakes.
The devil keept burning my bridge.
Blessed as a child in my baby crib.
Building bridges was a long life thing.
Looking for heaven and the angels sing.
So when time came I walked across.
The bridge I know it was burning.
Because faith Is strong nothing is wrong.
I seen the fire but it didn’t burn.
I remembered Jesus so I didn’t turn.
It was an illusion of disillusion.
I was done praying and open my eyes.
When I turned the bridge was gone.
I had made it to the other side.

TOUCHING WORDS

Touching Words

I was born to science of the world.
Not everybody can see my spoken words.
As a child it was hard for me to understand.
My words were said from my fingers to my hands.
One day a person sat in front of me.
His hands motion was confusing to see.
Then it hit me he was using Poetry.
He told me about his hands when they sway.
Like dancing in the air like a ballet.
His fingers dancing like leaves in the tree.
Death and can’t speak but in a lucky to see.
It’s this man’s hands the move and speak.
I can hear, I can hear his poetry.
By then I know he doesn’t know on their.
Because he is blind and his hearing is impaired.
So I moved close and the let him feel my hands.
And he smiles I communicate with him.
As I tell him how lucky I am.
To find somebody who can feel my words.
As he touches my Hands he understands.

TOUCHING WORDS 2

Touching Words 2

As I sit in my chair looking a dark stare.
In my silent world wondering why life isn’t fair.
I put my words in my hands and throw it to you.
My hands sway like dancing an intermit ballet.
In the air I orchestrate and my poetry comes alive.
Not being able to see I can touch the sky.
My masterpiece is painted in my mind.
I don’t know if you can see me or understand me.
Only the mute and death can see what I say.
So I sit here waiting for somebody day by day.
Hoping that maybe just maybe they see my hands.
I’m silent like a butterfly when I'm sad and cry.
I can’t here my sorrows or see my tears go by
But I feel my loneliness that sets in my chest.
What is love? Am I different from the rest?
I felt somebody touching me under my hand.
Talking sign language under my fingers and palms
Finally I met somebody I waited so long.
That person tells me how lucky we are
not to hear profanity or see the violence.
That pollutes and hurts the innocence.
And with that I tell him I understand.
Because within my heart and mind I found
Poetry within my own world.

A Different Caliber

A Different Caliber

When I was a very young boy.
A pencil and paper were my toys.
I had a dream of being in heaven.
The Shakespeare Mozart and Beethoven.
We were ordered by God to write some books.
Me and Shakespeare the commandments of love.
In beautiful words to be read from above.
The music was Mozart and Beethoven fifth.
So the angels can sing in heaven.
And now that the words and music were done.
He made a book and gave it to his son.
It was the most wonderful gift ever given.
More than gold it captured Jesus’ spirit.
And as we stood there and he read.
He told us his heart was fed then he said?
A different caliber and you four I have seen.
And that’s when I awaken for my dream.
And now I realize that I have the gift.
My poetry and Jesus dying for my sins.

In The Mirror

There will be a day when I can touch Gods hands.
Where I will see heaven from where I stand.
Like Jesus told the thief on the cross dying.
At this time tomorrow I will see you in paradise.
As the clouds moved swiftly threw the sky.
I hope and I pray that god hears me tonight.
Forgetting the truth and remembering the lies.
Why, why do I shiver and break down and cry.
With my knees on the ground can I be found?
Lost with in my mind I look up and I frown.
I plead lord have mercy on me please.
Let my mind and soul be free and be released.
I need to live I need my lungs to breath.
Help me I can smell the devils breathe.
I don’t want to find Hell for my soul to rest.
Is there a better way or is there a better day.
Can there be salvation when I am old and grey.
Still crying, still crying the old me is dying...
Now I can see the reflection in my mirror.
Can it be, is it he could that be me I see?
Because Jesus’ is standing in my reflection
Next to me