blissful, in this cup of lukewarm
red wine. divinely finding its way
down my throat and into this
growing pool of fecklessness
that sits, passive and distrustful,
in my belly. and i am getting drunk.
watching for shooting stars behind
electrical wires that hang
over the backyard, blocking any real
view of the sky.
the summer sky, found only within
the city limits. limitless in how little
it affects the soul.
i’ve lost sight of my shoes and,
wait, is that a fly swirling inside
my glass, drawing muddled circles
on the surface of that crimson nectar?
the grass pokes at my soles.
and i drink deeply of the wine. so
deep, i can hear the fly, flapping tiny
wings against the inside of my stomach,
ask me for the wine’s vintage.
and i tell him, i’m sorry little fly.
you have been lost to the ages, forgotten
in this grander scheme of backyards
and cheap drinks and dry grass
and, i should really find my shoes
before the ants, hearing how shamelessly
i imbibed their fly cousin, attack my feet.
because i know of the viciousness of
ants when slighted.
This post is a little late, but please check out my latest poetry chapbook “Just Another Love Poem”, published by Flutter Press! Buy your copy here!
This short collection of love-inspired poems came from reflecting on my ten-year relationship with my wife and on our four-year-old son. I wanted to collect the poems I’d written together into a small journey from first meetings to last laughs. Like the poem “how i know she loves me”, love poems don’t have to be full of metaphor and caked in sugary lyricism. Love encompasses so many everyday things. There are 18 poems total.
My second chapbook “Yes I Know You Can’t Drive Across The World” was just released by Red Bird Chapbooks. Pick up your copy!
“Daniel Pereyra’s poems capture the wonder and delight of everyday life. In “afternoons in the backyard,” the author and his son play in a kiddie pool, and fight demons like bees. [Life] As a father, “i am his hero and he my apprentice.” Billy Joel shows the narrator that it is no longer his life, it is his now son’s in “a lesson from the piano man.” The son “…tells me about his day / and how he colored an elephant yellow / because he really likes yellow.” Pereyra’s poems also reflect on rainstorms in the desert, treasures left behind in attics, and the dynamics of married life. A spider decorates the porch and a fly critiques wine choices. The author speaks for many of us in the final lines of “some honesty on a tuesday” when he says,
that i think, with sincere clarity, drinking my coffee with eyes closed /
damn, i’m tired.”
like a struck match
burns for me
much too quickly /
and fast, leaving
whispers of sulfurous
One of my favorite pictures from a recent trip back home. I never miss New York more than when I’m with my family or walking along the Brooklyn promenade.
we play rock-paper-scissors
and i lose
not because i let him win but
because he’s beaten me
with a well placed dinosaur;
at my fingers
/ at three years old he’s figured
dinosaurs should no doubt
beat rock paper and/or
scissors every time
which is true /
when i try to explain that the game
is in fact not called
he shakes his head as if
pitying me my lack of imagination
readying himself for
I’m excited to say that my first poetry chapbook, Sunday Morning Ponderings, is now available from Flutter Press! Click the link and pick up your copy!
“The theme of Daniel Pereyra’s chapbook, Sunday Morning Ponderings, is transition and new beginnings. They are poems about his move from the cities of New York to the deserts of Arizona and many have to do with nature, home, and family”
there is that time in the morning when
bird songs mingle with the
sound of the sprinklers coming alive /
< beads of silvery water cascading
in succession down single blades
of grass >
the gurgling of a percolator floats
through the still air;
watching the sun break
through a distant horizon, scaling single
story houses like an olympic hurdler –
the music of a coming day waiting for the
brass band of daily living to start up and
get us marching
i can think, with sincere clarity, drinking my coffee
with crust in my eye:
damn, i’m tired.
to be published
/ like stepping into a downpour
is to submit yourself
to the elements
in a way not
felt since the first
across the high grassed plains
and away from the waiting
maws of a lion
la luz toca mi cara –
tan fuerte, yo parpadeo
cubriendo con mi mano lo
que hace que las plantas crescan
lo que crea la vida
bloqueado por mis pequeñas manos
con un suciedad todavia abrazando
mis palmas /
desde trabajar en el jardin
deben tener un poder
el sol de brillar