Voices on the Corner
Harold J. Recinos
Voices on the Corner
Copyright © 2015 Harold J. Recinos. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in critical publications or reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without prior written permission from the publisher. Write: Permissions. Wipf and Stock Publishers, 199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3, Eugene, OR 97401.
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ISBN 13: 978-1-4982-2902-9
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Acknowledgements
Grateful acknowledgement is made to Westminster John Knox Press and Abingdon Press in which some of my poems have appeared.
Excerpted from Jesus Weeps, Published by Abingdon Press (c) 1992.Used by permission. All rights reserved.
Latino Town
Been Waiting
14th Street
Excerpted from Who Comes in the Name of the Lord? Published by Abingdon Press (c) 1997.Used by permission. All rights reserved.
Burning in Heaven
The Witness
The Crucified
Excerpted from Good News from the Barrio: Prophetic Witness for the Church (c) 2006. Used by Permission. All rights reserved.
Suspects
Games
The Church
Piece Work
Excerpted from Harold J. Recinos and Hugo Magallanes, eds. Jesus in the Hispanic Community: Images of Christ from Theology to Popular Religion (c)2009.
The Water
The Kiss
Speak
Finally, this book was made possible by support from Perkins School of Theology’s Center for the Study of Latino/a Christianity and Religions, and funds provided by the Henry Luce Foundation.
King
the night falls into
brightly colored light
that streams down the
mountain passes, rolls
along the city streets and
touches people he never
knew, while each radiant
moment turns hate into stone
with the weight of simple
words that tell the truth.
beloved, you the people in
King’s dream, the sadness in
his daily gaze, the immense
travail deeply felt that steered
his step along a different
path, must echo now the
righteous dream. shout
even in the places you
cannot reach, scream on
this road so long ago begun
the magnificent sound of
free at last, free at last.
The Walk
we came this way before
afraid of the dark, looking up
at the stars that know nothing
of what lies ahead, or a world
in need of heaven, or the cries
on all the corners, or the need
to make truth out of all the
faulty things that make our
trembling self. we came this
way before frightened by the
falling tears left by people utterly
against the loud voices that quarrel
on the sidewalk and drag us into
their empty pits. we came this way
before hoping to find light lingering
some place not yet seen that calls
us over to it.
The Cathedral
they depart the Cathedral
feeling history not their own,
touched by the mysterious
grace that made your church
a foe of money, military
and might. each day they
come to pray for you,
the pastor who dared
to speak the long view
of a new promised land
in a time of sorrow and
death. they come to the
Cathedral to stand even now
beside you recalling those who
bathed the earth with blood
could not stop you from
resurrecting to guide them.
daily they come to look
upon you more certain now
of the meaning of love and
the magnificence of the God
who never left you.
Games
I saw children playing
on the corner wearing
the smiles old prayers
often bid for the whole
block. abuelitas came
out of tired buildings
to sit on stoops tying
unlaced sneakers with
wrinkled hands made
before time. they looked
up smiling at the old
man with stories that
cough up on all the
corners loud enough
to raise blinds and
open eyes in all the
windows. kids who
think games never
end made the street
sing a babble of
fun that left imprints
on