In the heart of Puerto Vallarta, I’ve been graced by the presence of women who do not age quietly. They embody art in motion—laughing louder, loving deeper, and wearing each year like paint upon canvas. This tribute is for them and for all who dare to age like fire...
For my mother, who shaped light. EZ
They told me I was dying. Ovarian cancer.
A flower too sacred to bloom wrong—and yet it did.
For weeks, I clutched fear like rosary beads, counting each maybe, each what if, each not yet.
I curled into the question, tight as a fetus— What now?
What...
In Puerto Vallarta, the streets often speak louder than words. A weeping clown on the Centro Bus, a homeless woman on the street. In their eyes, I saw pieces of myself. EZ
Painted Joy, Private GriefI was born with a painted-on grin—a trickster’s mask, stretched wide and thin.Red nose, big...
In a world frayed by loss and longing, art is how we rise. This week's poem is a call to remember: creation is resistance, and beauty is survival. EZ
This is precisely the time when artists go to work. There is no time for despair…That is how civilizations heal. –...
Wherever I am, I dress with intention. These two poems— one outward, one inward—celebrate color, spirit, and the sacredness of self, from Vallarta’s streets to the soul’s sanctuary. E.Z.
Dressing For God I wake up slow Not because I am tired But because the world is about to become a...
“Bottle of wine, fruit of the vine—when you gonna let me get sober?”I wasn’t looking for a problem.I was looking for a pinot.It started sweet—a little flirt with fermentation.A clink, a smile.A casual affair with Cabernet,a tender tango with Tempranillo.Maybe it started with Twisted Palms—Wind Down Wednesday in Vallarta.One...
Because music was there before I knew what God meant.Before I knew how to pray, I hummed lullabies to the moon.
It was my secret language when the world was too loud— a place to go. When I had nowhere to go.
I didn’t need permission to fall. I didn’t need...
Hasta Luego, Puerto VallartaI don’t say goodbye—(Not to you, sweet Vallarta…)I say hasta luego.Because goodbye feels like a door closing—And you?You live… in every open window of my soul.You are the salt in my skin,The rhythm in my hips,The sun in my stories.
You welcomed me like an old friend—(Returning...
Let there be no hesitation—the train has emerged again,Through the dark tunneled domain of separation and pain.They push them in—no words, no names,Just hollow stares and hidden shame.The doors slam shut—the bars clang down,Twist and shout—Silence lingers… no way out.
Unless—we get loud.For the human spirit was born to fight.And...
